Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Explaining Chaos
Yesterday, I was told that the course I had been attending for a week would no longer be valid for credit and I would need to find a new course. Knowing that the other course I had been attending was changing its schedule, I knew that Monday I would go to the Literature and Philosophy Department to start from scratch, picking classes from square one once again. Last night I wasn’t feeling so hot about the idea, feeling that stress I had felt the week before. But the morning after, something had changed. I went into that Department building determined but aware of what I was dealing with.
I am basically shopping for classes, like I would be at Harvard, except that more is unpredictable. Not only do I have to pick classes, I have to find classes that work together. On top of all that however I have to deal with the idiosyncrasies of each class. One class doesn’t yet have a professor so the class, understandably, hasn’t yet started. Another class had its schedule changed. While yet another exists and has a syllabus online but exists nowhere on the schedules posted in the Department. Another class has two sections which meet together this week and then split up. While yet another class won’t start until next Tuesday. And all the while finding information for these classes is just short of impossible. Meanwhile, students back in the United States are going to class, reading for class, writing midterms and papers for classes and taking a midterm break.
What am I doing? I am taking it very lightly. I am going to seven or eight classes, taking notes and knowing that I may not take the class. I’m trying to laugh at it, because while it could be stressful, I should rather find it funny as my dear Marina suggested. Oh the class isn’t meeting tomorrow? Oh it’s changed classroom? It’s one big adventure. Within two weeks, I’ll have four courses, I’ll do the reading for said courses, get through the semester and finish the oral exams in January returning home felice e contento, happy and content. In a country that thrives on disorder, you just have to learn to adapt and say that maybe tomorrow things will be completed. The installation of our new shower has been going on for a week, and they still haven’t installed neither the knobs for the water nor the showerhead. Maybe tomorrow.
I am basically shopping for classes, like I would be at Harvard, except that more is unpredictable. Not only do I have to pick classes, I have to find classes that work together. On top of all that however I have to deal with the idiosyncrasies of each class. One class doesn’t yet have a professor so the class, understandably, hasn’t yet started. Another class had its schedule changed. While yet another exists and has a syllabus online but exists nowhere on the schedules posted in the Department. Another class has two sections which meet together this week and then split up. While yet another class won’t start until next Tuesday. And all the while finding information for these classes is just short of impossible. Meanwhile, students back in the United States are going to class, reading for class, writing midterms and papers for classes and taking a midterm break.
What am I doing? I am taking it very lightly. I am going to seven or eight classes, taking notes and knowing that I may not take the class. I’m trying to laugh at it, because while it could be stressful, I should rather find it funny as my dear Marina suggested. Oh the class isn’t meeting tomorrow? Oh it’s changed classroom? It’s one big adventure. Within two weeks, I’ll have four courses, I’ll do the reading for said courses, get through the semester and finish the oral exams in January returning home felice e contento, happy and content. In a country that thrives on disorder, you just have to learn to adapt and say that maybe tomorrow things will be completed. The installation of our new shower has been going on for a week, and they still haven’t installed neither the knobs for the water nor the showerhead. Maybe tomorrow.
Monday, October 09, 2006
Food Glorious Food
I find myself thinking ahead to my next meals with the introduction of buying groceries and cooking for myself in this study abroad experience. I try to think what could go well together, how much time I need to prepare, what is on sale at the supermarket. Cooking meals at home was never a responsibility of mine, except for a few occasions when I decided to do a few recipes and cook for the fam. Here, every single meal needs to be planned. They don’t HAVE to be, but it would be nice to eat healthily and eat well. There will always be pasta, the quick easy fix to the question what are we going to eat? Truly, thinking ahead about food isn’t that much of a burden, but we all have our moments when we don’t feel like cooking and go out to eat (like I did when I bought a kebab sandwich Saturday night arriving later than the closing time of Conad, the supermarket) and, god forbid, we might just give in to the Golden Arches in Piazza Cattedrale (like Claire did, confided to me in a hushed confession).
In Italy food is a big deal, besides fashion, design and art, food is probably one of the most renown features of Italian culture abroad. Saturday I had the pleasure to go out to the Eel Festival in neighbouring Comacchio (well, 50km away…). I had heard that the Eel Festival was extremely celebrated in the little town but knew not what to expect. I arrived, after waiting for about an hour for the bus with the high school crowd of smoking styled out teens. It was raining and my first impressions were of a very strange town. The festival itself consisted of plenty of vendors selling their wares, from herbs to sweets, from cheese to bread to meat, from kitchenware to jewelry.
But through the rain you could smell a fried fish, not an unpleasant smell, a curiously lingering odor. I soon discovered that Comacchio seemed to be a bastardized version of Venice with shallow canals and shallow bridges but wide sidewalks. The Queen of the Valleys of Comacchio, the eel has represented a source of sustenance for the people of this town for a long part of its history. Eel and polenta was the staple meal and the same odor I smelled wafted through the streets. I saw some vendors selling the black slimy sea creatures whose lives still remains a mystery to biologists. The festival was very strange with its mix of vendors and its featured medieval boat race down the canal. I felt as if I had entered some strange place. Since it was an Eel festival I, of course, had to try the food now become something of a delicacy in the culinary world. My bus schedule prevented me from eating lunch or dinner so I decided to have a marinated eel piadina (Sandwich typical of the Northeast, like a pita but thicker). I was afraid. You see eels and they are slimy and black, elusive and rubbery. But I rather enjoyed it, not too strong, subtle, substantial and with a taste that lingers hours after while you wait for the bus and arrive home.
Perhaps next week as the weather chills, I’ll try horse and go to the supermarket to purchase the equino (horse meat). I thought I had eaten horse this summer mistakenly in Milan, and I’ve always been curious to give it a shot. Let the adventures begin.
In Italy food is a big deal, besides fashion, design and art, food is probably one of the most renown features of Italian culture abroad. Saturday I had the pleasure to go out to the Eel Festival in neighbouring Comacchio (well, 50km away…). I had heard that the Eel Festival was extremely celebrated in the little town but knew not what to expect. I arrived, after waiting for about an hour for the bus with the high school crowd of smoking styled out teens. It was raining and my first impressions were of a very strange town. The festival itself consisted of plenty of vendors selling their wares, from herbs to sweets, from cheese to bread to meat, from kitchenware to jewelry.
But through the rain you could smell a fried fish, not an unpleasant smell, a curiously lingering odor. I soon discovered that Comacchio seemed to be a bastardized version of Venice with shallow canals and shallow bridges but wide sidewalks. The Queen of the Valleys of Comacchio, the eel has represented a source of sustenance for the people of this town for a long part of its history. Eel and polenta was the staple meal and the same odor I smelled wafted through the streets. I saw some vendors selling the black slimy sea creatures whose lives still remains a mystery to biologists. The festival was very strange with its mix of vendors and its featured medieval boat race down the canal. I felt as if I had entered some strange place. Since it was an Eel festival I, of course, had to try the food now become something of a delicacy in the culinary world. My bus schedule prevented me from eating lunch or dinner so I decided to have a marinated eel piadina (Sandwich typical of the Northeast, like a pita but thicker). I was afraid. You see eels and they are slimy and black, elusive and rubbery. But I rather enjoyed it, not too strong, subtle, substantial and with a taste that lingers hours after while you wait for the bus and arrive home.
Perhaps next week as the weather chills, I’ll try horse and go to the supermarket to purchase the equino (horse meat). I thought I had eaten horse this summer mistakenly in Milan, and I’ve always been curious to give it a shot. Let the adventures begin.
Friday, October 06, 2006
Still alive and well in Italy
Yesterday I went to a little reunion for all the students doing Erasmus or Study Abroad in Ferrara. There were students from the USA, from France, from Spain, from Germany. I real mix of people spread across departments, all united to have an experience abroad. It was nice to meet new people, add a bit of personal connection to the experience and learn that some people hadn’t learned Italian for more than a month and were approaching the whole situation with a very light-hearted attitude that within a month everything would be alright. Just that has given me a new breath of confidence. I marvel at the fact that these people have hardly any Italian and are facing university-level Italian. A German guy said he admired the fact that I am traveling so far from home to have an experience abroad, but I admire many of these Erasmus students because they face a new challenge with so much determination and so little stress.
As my mother told me, it is amazing how small of a threshold I have for frustration. I’d like to be plopped into a new situation and just start learning and running and understanding. The second difficulties pop in, my mind goes into panic. And the first three days of class were like that. But once I started finding the books that I have to read for my classes, and bought some and photocopied others, I felt better. I can start planning my own studies and take the whole learning process as much into my own hands as possible.
So for now, the first week is over. It was tough. I felt like quitting. I felt like crying. I didn’t understand a whole bunch of what I was doing or what I was hearing. But I am still here, still alive and well in Italy, determined to tackle this difficult beast, determined to succeed and look back on the crises of this first week and laugh.
As my mother told me, it is amazing how small of a threshold I have for frustration. I’d like to be plopped into a new situation and just start learning and running and understanding. The second difficulties pop in, my mind goes into panic. And the first three days of class were like that. But once I started finding the books that I have to read for my classes, and bought some and photocopied others, I felt better. I can start planning my own studies and take the whole learning process as much into my own hands as possible.
So for now, the first week is over. It was tough. I felt like quitting. I felt like crying. I didn’t understand a whole bunch of what I was doing or what I was hearing. But I am still here, still alive and well in Italy, determined to tackle this difficult beast, determined to succeed and look back on the crises of this first week and laugh.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
University getting you down? Have a party
I can’t even begin to express how frustrating an experience university has been so far. In the United States, all your classes start on a certain date, the class is available, the assignments are mapped out for the entire semester and you will know when the exam will be. In Italy, classes seem to start a little haphazardly, all starting after a certain date, but perhaps starting a week or two afterwards. As for the professor for the class, he or she may still not exist during the week when the class is scheduled to begin. Homework? There isn’t any, go figure out the reading for yourself in time for the final and only oral exam.
I find myself sitting in class and trying so very hard to understand what the professor is saying. At best I get 60-70% of what he says, if even. I’ve got the same art history professor for two courses and he strangely has a very different style in each course. Same person. I find the whole university experience extremely frustrating. On top of my usual existential crisis of what the hell am I doing at university, I’ve got the added bonus this semester of what the hell am I doing in Italy. But I have to be strong and positive, know that I’ve got friends and family rooting for me. I can go and speak with the professor and figure out my academic life so that by the time the final exam hits, I will go in confident.
On the verge of crying, giving up and seriously considering the possibility of giving up, last night my roommates threw a little party. Given it was Wednesday night, students flooded the main piazza and a bunch of Marco’s friends filled our small kitchen. We had a good time, I bonded with the roommates, joking about my painfully low tolerance for alcohol, marveling at the taste of Disaronno and field berry vodka with Stephanie, and being told perhaps 6-8 times by this one girl Ambra that I was nice (tu sei simpatico! Yea, she was hitting on me…She even said she wanted to marry me). By the end of the evening at 3am, many cigarettes had been smoked by the Italians, plenty of alcohol had been consumed, and loud conversation continued. We went to bed almost instantly, not without a quick cleanup, and woke up nice and early this morning to receive the plumbers who are installing a new shower.
I guess the lesson is not to take life too seriously; you’ll have a good time in the end. Things will figure themselves out, things always work out. Just like the certainty that each day will inevitably spill into another, each of the moments in your life will certainly pass and perhaps yield better, brighter days.
I find myself sitting in class and trying so very hard to understand what the professor is saying. At best I get 60-70% of what he says, if even. I’ve got the same art history professor for two courses and he strangely has a very different style in each course. Same person. I find the whole university experience extremely frustrating. On top of my usual existential crisis of what the hell am I doing at university, I’ve got the added bonus this semester of what the hell am I doing in Italy. But I have to be strong and positive, know that I’ve got friends and family rooting for me. I can go and speak with the professor and figure out my academic life so that by the time the final exam hits, I will go in confident.
On the verge of crying, giving up and seriously considering the possibility of giving up, last night my roommates threw a little party. Given it was Wednesday night, students flooded the main piazza and a bunch of Marco’s friends filled our small kitchen. We had a good time, I bonded with the roommates, joking about my painfully low tolerance for alcohol, marveling at the taste of Disaronno and field berry vodka with Stephanie, and being told perhaps 6-8 times by this one girl Ambra that I was nice (tu sei simpatico! Yea, she was hitting on me…She even said she wanted to marry me). By the end of the evening at 3am, many cigarettes had been smoked by the Italians, plenty of alcohol had been consumed, and loud conversation continued. We went to bed almost instantly, not without a quick cleanup, and woke up nice and early this morning to receive the plumbers who are installing a new shower.
I guess the lesson is not to take life too seriously; you’ll have a good time in the end. Things will figure themselves out, things always work out. Just like the certainty that each day will inevitably spill into another, each of the moments in your life will certainly pass and perhaps yield better, brighter days.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
And thus chaos commences.
As I walked towards the university in the morning with Sarah, we witnessed school children all dressed in blue smocks, holding hands in line two-by-two, and we later saw a teddy bear blowing bubbles in front of a toy store. Classes would be anything but child’s play, or everything like it.
Sarah had warned me that even though I thought my schedule was settled it could change like things did for her last Thursday. Luckily all my classes remained in place on the schedules on the bulletin boards. But Sarah discovered that some classes don’t start until later, upon consulting another bulletin board. I did the same and found that two of my classes did indeed start Monday and one not until the following Friday. My other class was not to be found.
That class, Italian literature, was scheduled for 12.15. By 1.00 a group of students had gathered and decided to go check out the situation, only to discover that our class didn’t yet have a professor. Thus it is possible that the schedule will change, let’s hope the class still exists when it is scheduled again for Thursday.
One of my classes was moved to a bigger classroom and then interrupted and cut short while the other class of the day included only 5 students in an echoing chamber of a classroom. I can’t say I understood everything, or followed the teacher’s line of argument and academic conversation. Nor did I feel comfortable asking a question, or even phrasing a question.
I was left with that feeling of negativity and doubt that I often have at the beginning of the semester on the first day of classes. Not only is everything up in the air, everything is up in the air in Italian. I always have that feeling where I throw my world into question, because it is just that much easier. That feeling where I question why I am studying, why I am where I am, why I am not in the real world already. It happens every beginning of the semester. The constant thought and turmoil make Stefan who he is, a considerate, listening, always receptive individual who will put his entire world into question if it means digging a little deeper to the root of truth and a little further toward a sense of enlightenment.
Sarah had warned me that even though I thought my schedule was settled it could change like things did for her last Thursday. Luckily all my classes remained in place on the schedules on the bulletin boards. But Sarah discovered that some classes don’t start until later, upon consulting another bulletin board. I did the same and found that two of my classes did indeed start Monday and one not until the following Friday. My other class was not to be found.
That class, Italian literature, was scheduled for 12.15. By 1.00 a group of students had gathered and decided to go check out the situation, only to discover that our class didn’t yet have a professor. Thus it is possible that the schedule will change, let’s hope the class still exists when it is scheduled again for Thursday.
One of my classes was moved to a bigger classroom and then interrupted and cut short while the other class of the day included only 5 students in an echoing chamber of a classroom. I can’t say I understood everything, or followed the teacher’s line of argument and academic conversation. Nor did I feel comfortable asking a question, or even phrasing a question.
I was left with that feeling of negativity and doubt that I often have at the beginning of the semester on the first day of classes. Not only is everything up in the air, everything is up in the air in Italian. I always have that feeling where I throw my world into question, because it is just that much easier. That feeling where I question why I am studying, why I am where I am, why I am not in the real world already. It happens every beginning of the semester. The constant thought and turmoil make Stefan who he is, a considerate, listening, always receptive individual who will put his entire world into question if it means digging a little deeper to the root of truth and a little further toward a sense of enlightenment.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
final farewell to summer
I've finished my book and now have a couple of hours to reflect, wander, buy foccaccia and head home to Ferrara the eve of my first day of classes. My time in Cinque Terre has been wonderful, filled with sunshine (except for yesterday and this mornings), hiking, English conversation and wandering.
Most of my time was spent out in the sun, wandering up and down beaches, and hiking between towns. The second I got to Riomaggiore, I headed down to the rocky beach and lay in the sun and swam in the water. The sun was hot and satisfying, the sea cold and refreshing. It seemed like the heat would go on forever and the sea would stretch out into the horizon. I sampled the seafood of CinqueTerre that evening along with the tradional Ligurian pesto, and was braced to sleep by the hourly bells of the church (and 5 minutes before the hour too), the loud meowing of a cat and the general rumore (noise) of the quiet town. The church never stopped ringing its bells throughout the evening but somehow I slept very peacefully, grateful that the church would wake me up when my mind was ready to hear its bells five minutes before and on the hour.
The Cinque Terre, five little fishing villages linked by hiking paths, are quite beautiful and natural, sprouting up in the coves with colourful stucco houses. Small, quaint, cosy, untouched by car traffic, trains hidden away in tunnels in the mountain. I hiked four towns before giving up, feeling as if I had done my part to see the paths, walk along the vineyards, see the vistas, drink down a liter of water. That afternoon I headed to a beach, one I had seen along my hike. I hadn't really seen it but saw signs leading to it. It costs 5 euros but seemed ultimately secluded. To get there, one has to walk through what seems like an abandoned railway tunnel. But it was worth it. You then walk through an olive grove and you end up at a secluded beach where people go topless, naked, in shorts,whatever. A delightful little getaway, peaceful, removed, no noise of tourism, no words of English.
Most people I met were Australian, since now is the time for their summertime. Three darling girls and I went out for dinner in Manarola last night, a great deal, a great time. Lucy turned 19 yesterday so we celebrated, laughed, joked, chatted. I got a little tipsy on the house wine. I still don't understand my incredibly low tolerance. It was nice to spend time in English but I know that I have to head back into the world of Italian this afternoon, devo pensare in Italiano, devo pensare in Italiano... Tomorrow classes begin.
My days in Cinque Terre were spent hiking around in the morning and laying around in the afternoon. I came here to finish my Calvino book, and I did. I had been frustrated with it at first but then it finished up on a good note. So I don't mind it now. I am ready to start my classes, having soaked up the sun, swam in the water, and discovered hidden secrets. The true summer vacation I had been seeking.
Most of my time was spent out in the sun, wandering up and down beaches, and hiking between towns. The second I got to Riomaggiore, I headed down to the rocky beach and lay in the sun and swam in the water. The sun was hot and satisfying, the sea cold and refreshing. It seemed like the heat would go on forever and the sea would stretch out into the horizon. I sampled the seafood of CinqueTerre that evening along with the tradional Ligurian pesto, and was braced to sleep by the hourly bells of the church (and 5 minutes before the hour too), the loud meowing of a cat and the general rumore (noise) of the quiet town. The church never stopped ringing its bells throughout the evening but somehow I slept very peacefully, grateful that the church would wake me up when my mind was ready to hear its bells five minutes before and on the hour.
The Cinque Terre, five little fishing villages linked by hiking paths, are quite beautiful and natural, sprouting up in the coves with colourful stucco houses. Small, quaint, cosy, untouched by car traffic, trains hidden away in tunnels in the mountain. I hiked four towns before giving up, feeling as if I had done my part to see the paths, walk along the vineyards, see the vistas, drink down a liter of water. That afternoon I headed to a beach, one I had seen along my hike. I hadn't really seen it but saw signs leading to it. It costs 5 euros but seemed ultimately secluded. To get there, one has to walk through what seems like an abandoned railway tunnel. But it was worth it. You then walk through an olive grove and you end up at a secluded beach where people go topless, naked, in shorts,whatever. A delightful little getaway, peaceful, removed, no noise of tourism, no words of English.
Most people I met were Australian, since now is the time for their summertime. Three darling girls and I went out for dinner in Manarola last night, a great deal, a great time. Lucy turned 19 yesterday so we celebrated, laughed, joked, chatted. I got a little tipsy on the house wine. I still don't understand my incredibly low tolerance. It was nice to spend time in English but I know that I have to head back into the world of Italian this afternoon, devo pensare in Italiano, devo pensare in Italiano... Tomorrow classes begin.
My days in Cinque Terre were spent hiking around in the morning and laying around in the afternoon. I came here to finish my Calvino book, and I did. I had been frustrated with it at first but then it finished up on a good note. So I don't mind it now. I am ready to start my classes, having soaked up the sun, swam in the water, and discovered hidden secrets. The true summer vacation I had been seeking.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Piccola Miss California
Last night I went to see Little Miss Sunshine dubbed in Italian. I went expecting the same hilarious, subtly ironic, delicate tragic-comedy I had seen last month with my parents in English. The truth is it didn’t translate very well. People laughed less, they seemed to take the jokes seriously. Somewhere between the failure of matching lips to dialogue, much was lost in translation.
Granted there were things like the van horn that never stops honking and Olive’s routine that are simply beyond words and garnered laughs from the whole audience. But, the movie was so entrenched in American culture that it was hard to see it in Italian. Lines that were funny in North America failed in Italy. The family dynamic didn’t seem to match up with that of Italy. I left feeling as if I should never see an American movie in Italy.
The dubbing industry in Italy is huge. It’s strange to think that foreign films never have subtitles. All these American TV programs and films get redone in Italian, tailored to fit the language and the culture just a little more. It isn’t very appealing from my point of view. Why not learn more languages to better understand foreign films, or just read in the movie theatre. In Italy, films have an intermission. They interrupt the movie smack in the middle and let you walk around. Very odd, very odd indeed. I better just embrace it, read Italian, see Italian movies, and dub my thoughts in Italian because that way people will understand me better and I’ll get more out of it in the end.
Granted there were things like the van horn that never stops honking and Olive’s routine that are simply beyond words and garnered laughs from the whole audience. But, the movie was so entrenched in American culture that it was hard to see it in Italian. Lines that were funny in North America failed in Italy. The family dynamic didn’t seem to match up with that of Italy. I left feeling as if I should never see an American movie in Italy.
The dubbing industry in Italy is huge. It’s strange to think that foreign films never have subtitles. All these American TV programs and films get redone in Italian, tailored to fit the language and the culture just a little more. It isn’t very appealing from my point of view. Why not learn more languages to better understand foreign films, or just read in the movie theatre. In Italy, films have an intermission. They interrupt the movie smack in the middle and let you walk around. Very odd, very odd indeed. I better just embrace it, read Italian, see Italian movies, and dub my thoughts in Italian because that way people will understand me better and I’ll get more out of it in the end.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Good ol' Unreliable
Yesterday I was thinking back to a conversation I had with an Italian. We discussed the subject of my watching machine and how it took about 2 weeks to get the thing fixed and operational. The chase for the technician, along with the afternoon waits, had been what consumed my time for the days when the door to the washing machine just wouldn’t open. We are still waiting for the plumber who was supposed to come in August. Luckily that situation isn’t urgent. So me and this Italian (I don’t name him because I don’t really remember who it was) talked about how in Italy a student needs a tessera (membership) for just about everything, nothing is straightforward or logically and everything takes a long time to complete. That just seems to be the way things go. But the trains, this Italian marveled, the trains are always on time.
So I had wanted to write about the trains in Italy, the regionals, the intercity, the eurostars, and how on time and efficient they are. But as I had had a marvelous weekend (thus the rule of life balance would eventually screw me over) and I had planned ahead (a thing someone should never do with a thing as unruly as life in Italy, let alone life itself), there was of course going to be a strike planned for the day I wanted to travel. In Italy, they tell you about the strikes in advanced. Thus, I learned this morning from my classmate Hezzy and later from the trenitalia website, that in fact the trains would not run on time or at all on Wednesday September 27, 2006 from 9am to 5pm.
For some reason I went into a semi-crisis, trying to figure out what plan B would be, since I hadn’t had a plan B before. Would I leave the previous evening and have an additional day in Cinque Terre? Would I leave Wednesday at 5pm when the trains picked up again? After a bit of stress, I ultimately got back to my senses after talking to my mother, sweet, wise, soothing mother, and decided to just postpone the trip for one day and extend it for one day on the other side. The weather would be better anyways for later in the week. Thus I will have a few days to myself to plan out my classes, wrap up some homework, maybe even do some laundry. I’ll just have to learn that I can’t really ever rely on anything or anyone in Italy, and that I should always have a plan B.
So I had wanted to write about the trains in Italy, the regionals, the intercity, the eurostars, and how on time and efficient they are. But as I had had a marvelous weekend (thus the rule of life balance would eventually screw me over) and I had planned ahead (a thing someone should never do with a thing as unruly as life in Italy, let alone life itself), there was of course going to be a strike planned for the day I wanted to travel. In Italy, they tell you about the strikes in advanced. Thus, I learned this morning from my classmate Hezzy and later from the trenitalia website, that in fact the trains would not run on time or at all on Wednesday September 27, 2006 from 9am to 5pm.
For some reason I went into a semi-crisis, trying to figure out what plan B would be, since I hadn’t had a plan B before. Would I leave the previous evening and have an additional day in Cinque Terre? Would I leave Wednesday at 5pm when the trains picked up again? After a bit of stress, I ultimately got back to my senses after talking to my mother, sweet, wise, soothing mother, and decided to just postpone the trip for one day and extend it for one day on the other side. The weather would be better anyways for later in the week. Thus I will have a few days to myself to plan out my classes, wrap up some homework, maybe even do some laundry. I’ll just have to learn that I can’t really ever rely on anything or anyone in Italy, and that I should always have a plan B.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Impassioned Florence
I now appreciate Florence much more. This summer, I had gone with my parents and it had been hot, rushed and short. I had been inspired by the David and by the solitude of San Marco, but in all I couldn’t grasp how Firenze could be the cradle of the Renaissance. This weekend I had a chance to visit my college roommate once again and spend a good two and a half days wandering, grazing, chatting.
After walking up before sunrise in Ferrara to catch a train to Florence with the students in my program here and after wandering around Florence with a tour guide and learning much about the city, we were left to our own devices to discover the city. Chris, Hezzy, Stephanie, Chiara and I forged off to first to Trattoria Anita, a cute little trattoria near Santa Croce with a Florentine menu, an affable waiter and great company. The dishes were small but prepared with expertise, a satisfying culinary venture. Upon the recommendation of our waiter, we went to Gelateria dei Neri to feed our lust for gelato. We were satisfied beyond belief. I sampled Chocolate with hot pepper and pistachio aside Crema Giotto (coconut, almond and hazelnut). Creamy, delicate, light and satisfying. After descending back to earth, we wandered around until we finally made it to the San Miniato, a church with an expansive view of the cradle of the Renaissance. After resting for a few moments, taking much needed water and rest, we explored the strange church and its intricate mosaics, frescoes and tile work. We joked around all five of us, getting along quite nicely, always talking in Italian, appreciating each other’s company and friendship.
That evening there was a welcoming evening at Sesame, a swanky restaurant/lounge. We chatted the night away, enjoying the drinks and food. A very strange place with a name that strikes Asian references, a décor that wanders from Turkey with hookahs to India with its lamps, and food that was all over the map. Suffice to say we had a good time and left unwillingly after Middlebury’s block on time was over. We headed back to Chris’ and chilled out for the rest of the evening until we fell asleep.
Saturday morning we decided to make a group brunch (or as we like to call it collanzo, a cross between collazione and pranzo) before heading to the Palazzo Vecchio for our tour of the secret passageways. Hezzy made the omelets, Stephanie and Chiara took charge of fruit and dishes, and Chris and I helped in various ways with cutting, serving and drinks. We arrived for our Italian tour, looking very much like foreigners but forging ahead to learn about the secret rooms that held precious art and documents, hidden from all others. There was one room for Francesco I, where he kept his precious art and objects. At first it looks like a room full of paintings but then the paintings open to passageways and cupboards. A fun little tour, a small secret, precious places.
We bid Chiara, Hezzy and Stephanie adieu at the train station with very fond memories of our time together, joking around, snapping photos, cooking, going through security at Palazzo Vecchio, trekking to San Miniato, and enjoying each other’s company. Chris and I slowly made our way back to his place, stopping to see the neck-stretching intricate mosaics on the ceiling of the Baptistery and to see the divinely finished paintings at the Church of S. Annunziata. After relaxing and reading for quite a while and then cooking dinner to Scooby Doo dubbed in Italian, Chris and I wandered the night seeing a clown performing his act in the street, a guitarist singing on the Ponte Vecchio and finally testing the night scene at Moyo and The William. We had two drinks each, trying old favourites and discovering crazy new concoctions before walking home and passing by a Turkish kebab joint to satisfy a midnight hunger.
Sunday couldn’t have been more wonderful, waking up fulfilled and rested and heading to the Bargello Museum to discover that it is Museum Day in Florence and all the museums are free. We soaked ourselves in sculpture from Donatello to Michelangelo to many many others before heading to catch my train back to Ferrara. On the way we rounded the corner to beautiful flute music. It filled the streets before we saw the flute duo, and my heart rose at the sound. Hearing the buzzing trill of the flute made me remember my time with the instrument. I was enraptured by the duo, they were playing without music stands and were staring intensely at each other, letting the music move them in tandem. It was as if they were making love in the street. I gave them a few coins and had to turn back to go buy their CD, I was so entranced by their music. Chris and I walked through an antique market before arriving at the train station and sending me back home to Ferrara.
Florence is definitely a city compared to Ferrara. There is much more stimulation, much more activity, and so much to see. I will definitely visit Chris again, we had such a wonderful, peaceful, pensive time together. We are planning to go traveling together. I snapped tons of photos, sensing the urgency of travel to capture my visual experience. Friendships crystallized during the weekend and I realized how much I cherish Chris as a roommate and a friend, and how much I will enjoy my time with Hezzy, Chiara and Stephanie here in Ferrara. A weekend full of memories, another step in this journey of taking in my surroundings, connecting to my friends and feeding my desire to learn and grow.
After walking up before sunrise in Ferrara to catch a train to Florence with the students in my program here and after wandering around Florence with a tour guide and learning much about the city, we were left to our own devices to discover the city. Chris, Hezzy, Stephanie, Chiara and I forged off to first to Trattoria Anita, a cute little trattoria near Santa Croce with a Florentine menu, an affable waiter and great company. The dishes were small but prepared with expertise, a satisfying culinary venture. Upon the recommendation of our waiter, we went to Gelateria dei Neri to feed our lust for gelato. We were satisfied beyond belief. I sampled Chocolate with hot pepper and pistachio aside Crema Giotto (coconut, almond and hazelnut). Creamy, delicate, light and satisfying. After descending back to earth, we wandered around until we finally made it to the San Miniato, a church with an expansive view of the cradle of the Renaissance. After resting for a few moments, taking much needed water and rest, we explored the strange church and its intricate mosaics, frescoes and tile work. We joked around all five of us, getting along quite nicely, always talking in Italian, appreciating each other’s company and friendship.
That evening there was a welcoming evening at Sesame, a swanky restaurant/lounge. We chatted the night away, enjoying the drinks and food. A very strange place with a name that strikes Asian references, a décor that wanders from Turkey with hookahs to India with its lamps, and food that was all over the map. Suffice to say we had a good time and left unwillingly after Middlebury’s block on time was over. We headed back to Chris’ and chilled out for the rest of the evening until we fell asleep.
Saturday morning we decided to make a group brunch (or as we like to call it collanzo, a cross between collazione and pranzo) before heading to the Palazzo Vecchio for our tour of the secret passageways. Hezzy made the omelets, Stephanie and Chiara took charge of fruit and dishes, and Chris and I helped in various ways with cutting, serving and drinks. We arrived for our Italian tour, looking very much like foreigners but forging ahead to learn about the secret rooms that held precious art and documents, hidden from all others. There was one room for Francesco I, where he kept his precious art and objects. At first it looks like a room full of paintings but then the paintings open to passageways and cupboards. A fun little tour, a small secret, precious places.
We bid Chiara, Hezzy and Stephanie adieu at the train station with very fond memories of our time together, joking around, snapping photos, cooking, going through security at Palazzo Vecchio, trekking to San Miniato, and enjoying each other’s company. Chris and I slowly made our way back to his place, stopping to see the neck-stretching intricate mosaics on the ceiling of the Baptistery and to see the divinely finished paintings at the Church of S. Annunziata. After relaxing and reading for quite a while and then cooking dinner to Scooby Doo dubbed in Italian, Chris and I wandered the night seeing a clown performing his act in the street, a guitarist singing on the Ponte Vecchio and finally testing the night scene at Moyo and The William. We had two drinks each, trying old favourites and discovering crazy new concoctions before walking home and passing by a Turkish kebab joint to satisfy a midnight hunger.
Sunday couldn’t have been more wonderful, waking up fulfilled and rested and heading to the Bargello Museum to discover that it is Museum Day in Florence and all the museums are free. We soaked ourselves in sculpture from Donatello to Michelangelo to many many others before heading to catch my train back to Ferrara. On the way we rounded the corner to beautiful flute music. It filled the streets before we saw the flute duo, and my heart rose at the sound. Hearing the buzzing trill of the flute made me remember my time with the instrument. I was enraptured by the duo, they were playing without music stands and were staring intensely at each other, letting the music move them in tandem. It was as if they were making love in the street. I gave them a few coins and had to turn back to go buy their CD, I was so entranced by their music. Chris and I walked through an antique market before arriving at the train station and sending me back home to Ferrara.
Florence is definitely a city compared to Ferrara. There is much more stimulation, much more activity, and so much to see. I will definitely visit Chris again, we had such a wonderful, peaceful, pensive time together. We are planning to go traveling together. I snapped tons of photos, sensing the urgency of travel to capture my visual experience. Friendships crystallized during the weekend and I realized how much I cherish Chris as a roommate and a friend, and how much I will enjoy my time with Hezzy, Chiara and Stephanie here in Ferrara. A weekend full of memories, another step in this journey of taking in my surroundings, connecting to my friends and feeding my desire to learn and grow.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
by my self
I don’t mind being alone. I don’t really long for anyone. I miss people. I love people. But I will see them again. One day. Here in the quiet space of a small town with foggy mornings and inspiring views, I have space to create, dream and think. I can close myself behind my door and just focus on pouring out a story from my imagination. In the early morning, when the door is still closed, I can transfer my dreams onto paper, recording the greatest most creative work ever thought up. My subconscious writes stories to me while I sleep, feeding me the faces of friends, intertwining disaster with beauty. Always memorable moments.
Here I have the space to think and be alone. Alone is not a scary adjective, it’s powerful. Here I don’t have friends that are in the same city and are impossible to reach. Here few people are just a phone call away. At this moment in time, I have the liberality to create, mix, test. It is just the right amount of disconnect. I’ve got one hour a day to write back home and let people know how I am doing and then the rest is devoted to exploration, feeling, capturing. I’m not interested in lovers in these parts, I can’t express myself well enough to achieve that. I am just looking for friends, people with whom to share parts of my day, vent in times of frustration, people who are just far enough so that I can close the door and write.
For some reason being in a foreign culture gives me the space to create and to write. It may be that it feels as if I am the only one who nurtures the English language. I’ve been entrusted to create stories of my imaginings using this language completely my own and not spoken. Day-to-day life is just different enough that it doesn’t usurp or intrude. It simply feeds me more, I am awake to all the differences that exist. In a culture not my own, I am the right kind of awake to observe, question and capture. I enjoy my time abroad, it gives me time to see again.
Here I have the space to think and be alone. Alone is not a scary adjective, it’s powerful. Here I don’t have friends that are in the same city and are impossible to reach. Here few people are just a phone call away. At this moment in time, I have the liberality to create, mix, test. It is just the right amount of disconnect. I’ve got one hour a day to write back home and let people know how I am doing and then the rest is devoted to exploration, feeling, capturing. I’m not interested in lovers in these parts, I can’t express myself well enough to achieve that. I am just looking for friends, people with whom to share parts of my day, vent in times of frustration, people who are just far enough so that I can close the door and write.
For some reason being in a foreign culture gives me the space to create and to write. It may be that it feels as if I am the only one who nurtures the English language. I’ve been entrusted to create stories of my imaginings using this language completely my own and not spoken. Day-to-day life is just different enough that it doesn’t usurp or intrude. It simply feeds me more, I am awake to all the differences that exist. In a culture not my own, I am the right kind of awake to observe, question and capture. I enjoy my time abroad, it gives me time to see again.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Ferrara
The calm has settled in quite deep. Bells chime at odd time intervals. Bike traffic escapes no small alleyway. Everything closes for three hours for lunch. Most everything closes on Thursdays (it’s the law). Local specialties include a bread that looks like a bulbous man with outstretched limbs, a pasta that encloses sweet pumpkin, a pastry that hides a meaty macaroni and a chocolate fruit and nut cake covered in chocolate. The streets here aren’t narrow but wide. Savonarola was born here. The Italian language still reigns. This is Ferrara.
I couldn’t be more content with my choice of town for study abroad. I had avoided picking big cities because I feared I wouldn’t be fully immersed in Italian. I chose well. All I hear is Italian. In the quiet before the start of university, I have plenty of time to write and reflect. So I am monopolizing on that time. Monopolizing on that time also to take small trips, planning a small escape to Florence to visit Chris this weekend and a three day sojourn in the Cinque Terre at the end of next week. I have wild dreams of making it to London, Paris, Sicily and Barcelona, but those plans may be thwarted once school kicks in and the wild optimism of summer washes away. I am in a wonderful region, close to Bologna, Modena, Padova, Venice, Ravenna. I will at least have the chance to take daytrips to these spots. Maybe friends will visit…
I’m not sure I will enjoy life when I cannot write to the world every day. I started writing great daily missives this summer and that hasn’t really stopped. But it might. I may be deprived of sleep, be burdened with reading, be struggling with classes. I have no idea what to expect. I enjoy hearing from friends so much, exchanging correspondences, hopes and thoughts. I don’t want that to stop… it just might cease a bit. I stand before a giant crevasse of unknown possibilities. I keep making up the next few months in my head.
…I will work hard during the week and accomplish all the reading I have to, continue writing my weekly emails and daily blogs, travel on weekends, do yoga every day, cook. I will not travel at all, only taking a daytrip to Bologna, my writing will fall to the wayside, people will wonder what happened to me, I’ll start eating pasta for every meal. My classes will leave me swamped and unhappy, with a pile of books I could never read in a life time, chained to my desk and to the library, hoping for a way out, Chris and I will only see each other this weekend…
There are too many possibilities; I have to keep in mind what I am here to do. I am here to learn through reading lots of Italian, going to class, hanging out with the locals, writing and reflecting, traveling when it is economical and feasible, finding time to connect with Chris. Ultimately I will leave with an appreciation for Ferrara, a few people I call good friends who accompanied me along the way, confident results from final oral exams, and a well-traveled suitcase. If I keep this in mind and live day to day, Europe will be my oyster and I will be its spinning forming pearl.
I couldn’t be more content with my choice of town for study abroad. I had avoided picking big cities because I feared I wouldn’t be fully immersed in Italian. I chose well. All I hear is Italian. In the quiet before the start of university, I have plenty of time to write and reflect. So I am monopolizing on that time. Monopolizing on that time also to take small trips, planning a small escape to Florence to visit Chris this weekend and a three day sojourn in the Cinque Terre at the end of next week. I have wild dreams of making it to London, Paris, Sicily and Barcelona, but those plans may be thwarted once school kicks in and the wild optimism of summer washes away. I am in a wonderful region, close to Bologna, Modena, Padova, Venice, Ravenna. I will at least have the chance to take daytrips to these spots. Maybe friends will visit…
I’m not sure I will enjoy life when I cannot write to the world every day. I started writing great daily missives this summer and that hasn’t really stopped. But it might. I may be deprived of sleep, be burdened with reading, be struggling with classes. I have no idea what to expect. I enjoy hearing from friends so much, exchanging correspondences, hopes and thoughts. I don’t want that to stop… it just might cease a bit. I stand before a giant crevasse of unknown possibilities. I keep making up the next few months in my head.
…I will work hard during the week and accomplish all the reading I have to, continue writing my weekly emails and daily blogs, travel on weekends, do yoga every day, cook. I will not travel at all, only taking a daytrip to Bologna, my writing will fall to the wayside, people will wonder what happened to me, I’ll start eating pasta for every meal. My classes will leave me swamped and unhappy, with a pile of books I could never read in a life time, chained to my desk and to the library, hoping for a way out, Chris and I will only see each other this weekend…
There are too many possibilities; I have to keep in mind what I am here to do. I am here to learn through reading lots of Italian, going to class, hanging out with the locals, writing and reflecting, traveling when it is economical and feasible, finding time to connect with Chris. Ultimately I will leave with an appreciation for Ferrara, a few people I call good friends who accompanied me along the way, confident results from final oral exams, and a well-traveled suitcase. If I keep this in mind and live day to day, Europe will be my oyster and I will be its spinning forming pearl.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
swimming
I went to the library today to check my email and respond to messages and found my inbox flooded with people’s lives and happenings and wishes and thoughts and greetings. I left after two hours not having finished all that I wanted and feeling as if I was developing a headache. Not only have I been swimming in Italian, now I was swimming in the messages dropped thoughtfully from across the ocean.
It’s hard to think that in two week’s time my time might be engulfed in school work and that I will not have the privileged time to respond to emails and wander around the Internet idly looking for news, facts and flights. But I came here to Italy to learn, to immerse, to disconnect, to grow and then, to go back. I anxiously await in the silence for university to begin, filling my time with writing, reading and yoga to set a rhythm over the idleness, to give myself a sense of routine.
It’s hard to be so far away from those I care about, not able to just sit and have a cup of tea with friends, to just be surrounded by spoken English, to just settle back into the familiar. I keep traveling and changing my life slightly so that I have new adventures, explore new facets of the planet and myself and ultimately grow as a person. That’s why I am here, to grow a little more before I transplant myself for good. This is a period in my life where I discover what independence is all about, dealing with the stress and worry along the way but ultimately steering confidently from the captain’s deck.
I love my friends and family very much and wish I could just pick up the phone and let spill what my fingers have to articulate. It’s fine, I’ll deal. And my head will stop spinning. Then, I’ll be able to sit down and write nice notes, breathe in and continue living here and now so that when I get back I’ll be able to tell my stories in a dormant English anxious to breathe again.
It’s hard to think that in two week’s time my time might be engulfed in school work and that I will not have the privileged time to respond to emails and wander around the Internet idly looking for news, facts and flights. But I came here to Italy to learn, to immerse, to disconnect, to grow and then, to go back. I anxiously await in the silence for university to begin, filling my time with writing, reading and yoga to set a rhythm over the idleness, to give myself a sense of routine.
It’s hard to be so far away from those I care about, not able to just sit and have a cup of tea with friends, to just be surrounded by spoken English, to just settle back into the familiar. I keep traveling and changing my life slightly so that I have new adventures, explore new facets of the planet and myself and ultimately grow as a person. That’s why I am here, to grow a little more before I transplant myself for good. This is a period in my life where I discover what independence is all about, dealing with the stress and worry along the way but ultimately steering confidently from the captain’s deck.
I love my friends and family very much and wish I could just pick up the phone and let spill what my fingers have to articulate. It’s fine, I’ll deal. And my head will stop spinning. Then, I’ll be able to sit down and write nice notes, breathe in and continue living here and now so that when I get back I’ll be able to tell my stories in a dormant English anxious to breathe again.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Milan Revisited
The weekend seemed a bit ominous, with forecasts of nothing but rain for Hezzy and Stephanie going to Cinque Terre and similar forecasts for my trip to Milan. Regardless, I bid adieu to sunny Ferrara to hurtle across the country on a train bound for the city I called home for a good part of the summer.
It was strange to go back. It was either the fact that I am reading Se una notte d’inverno un viaggiatore of Italo Calvino or the drastic change in climate from unbearable heat to calm cool dampness. It was nice to see Niki, Dorota, Matilde and Marina again, as if I was coming home from another day of work. The weekend consisted of plenty of chitchat with Dorota, plotting with Niki about his online downloads (downloading is huge in Italy, or so I was told), going out to grab drinks with Matilde and Marina at Tijuana and Kaputziner, and hitting downtown for a little shopping with my fashion consultant.
It’s hard to write down more of what happened, so much of it is tied up in inside jokes, abstract thoughts and old routines. My trip wasn’t about sightseeing, it was about visiting friends and catching up in a way that isn’t based on question and answer but on spending time in each other’s presence. Gin Julee, in the navy, Mary Poppins, desperate German housewives, future plans of marriage, plotting to travel the continent… in a list they just bubble together in a stew of confusion for those who weren’t there. A strange but beautiful weekend.
Returning, I left a now sunny Milan to come home to Ferrara, soaked and rainy. Finally making it to my apartment down a very quite via Garibaldi, I found Sarah sitting in front of our door, locked out and ecstatic to see her roommate home. In Ferrara it had rained all weekend but she had managed to get out to Bologna on Saturday and out to run her half-marathon on Sunday. She came home bearing prizes from her race (since the first 30 women get prizes and since there were only 6 women running) which included a bra from Pierre Cardin, cookies, frying oil, Kleenex, rigatoni, tomato paste and iced tea. So much for a gift certificate to Sport’s Experts. So we both came home with an ample and varied munition of prizes from a refreshing weekend.
It was strange to go back. It was either the fact that I am reading Se una notte d’inverno un viaggiatore of Italo Calvino or the drastic change in climate from unbearable heat to calm cool dampness. It was nice to see Niki, Dorota, Matilde and Marina again, as if I was coming home from another day of work. The weekend consisted of plenty of chitchat with Dorota, plotting with Niki about his online downloads (downloading is huge in Italy, or so I was told), going out to grab drinks with Matilde and Marina at Tijuana and Kaputziner, and hitting downtown for a little shopping with my fashion consultant.
It’s hard to write down more of what happened, so much of it is tied up in inside jokes, abstract thoughts and old routines. My trip wasn’t about sightseeing, it was about visiting friends and catching up in a way that isn’t based on question and answer but on spending time in each other’s presence. Gin Julee, in the navy, Mary Poppins, desperate German housewives, future plans of marriage, plotting to travel the continent… in a list they just bubble together in a stew of confusion for those who weren’t there. A strange but beautiful weekend.
Returning, I left a now sunny Milan to come home to Ferrara, soaked and rainy. Finally making it to my apartment down a very quite via Garibaldi, I found Sarah sitting in front of our door, locked out and ecstatic to see her roommate home. In Ferrara it had rained all weekend but she had managed to get out to Bologna on Saturday and out to run her half-marathon on Sunday. She came home bearing prizes from her race (since the first 30 women get prizes and since there were only 6 women running) which included a bra from Pierre Cardin, cookies, frying oil, Kleenex, rigatoni, tomato paste and iced tea. So much for a gift certificate to Sport’s Experts. So we both came home with an ample and varied munition of prizes from a refreshing weekend.
Friday, September 15, 2006
Week's End
We learned earlier this week that the weekend in Italy begins officially on Wednesday (although in summer it is supposedly always the weekend). Because soccer games are traditionally on Wednesday nights and Italians love soccer, it serves as an excuse for everyone and anyone to make the focal point of the work week a time to relax until the wee hours of the morning.
Last night, Chiara and I decided to check out the scene in the main piazzas. We both live facing this one piazza/parking lot where people assemble in front of a bar that serves drinks until 2 am. I had tried to go to sleep with the windows open around 11.30 pm but the whitenoise of chitchat kept me awake until I closed the windows. So last night, we went to check out the scene. Italian cities are always so beautiful at night because their white marble duomos are light up and glow in the darkness (I’ll bring my camera one Wednesday night, promised). The piazza della Cattedrale was packed with chitchatting slightly drunk Italian young folk.
At a certain point we met up with Chiara’s Italian roommate who introduced us to all his friends, now pleasantly tipsy. Each one would chat up a storm and ask many questions so that we never felt awkward, or alone, or in silence. There is a warmth that is contagious in these people. So the chaotic jabbering and meeting continued for about an hour and a half before chill set in and whisked my classmate and I home.
It is Thursday and thus ends the class week for us ‘American’ ragazzi. With Friday off, I’ve decided to take the long weekend out to Milan where I will reunite with my family and friends of summer, chill out, hang out and then return to another place that I will call home.
Last night, Chiara and I decided to check out the scene in the main piazzas. We both live facing this one piazza/parking lot where people assemble in front of a bar that serves drinks until 2 am. I had tried to go to sleep with the windows open around 11.30 pm but the whitenoise of chitchat kept me awake until I closed the windows. So last night, we went to check out the scene. Italian cities are always so beautiful at night because their white marble duomos are light up and glow in the darkness (I’ll bring my camera one Wednesday night, promised). The piazza della Cattedrale was packed with chitchatting slightly drunk Italian young folk.
At a certain point we met up with Chiara’s Italian roommate who introduced us to all his friends, now pleasantly tipsy. Each one would chat up a storm and ask many questions so that we never felt awkward, or alone, or in silence. There is a warmth that is contagious in these people. So the chaotic jabbering and meeting continued for about an hour and a half before chill set in and whisked my classmate and I home.
It is Thursday and thus ends the class week for us ‘American’ ragazzi. With Friday off, I’ve decided to take the long weekend out to Milan where I will reunite with my family and friends of summer, chill out, hang out and then return to another place that I will call home.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Ode to my washing machine
So the news was good. For a little while. We could wash our clothes again. The technician had come to the apartment, fixed the washing machine door and left confident that his job was done. I returned home to a seemingly finished cycle and tried to open the door, thinking that it would open effortlessly, the clothes inside would be ready to hang out to dry, and our life would move on. No sooner did I try to open the door than the plastic cover popped off and the glass window shrugged out, leaving the door still shut with an open hole between me and my rommate’s pile of soaked clothes still sitting in water.
I called Sarah to announce to bad news. Then, I called the technician again. But what happened? Asked the woman on the other side of the line. I tried to open the door, that’s what happened. In this provincial life where my greatest excitement is going out on a Wednesday night (because, according to my language class, that’s when the weekend begins in Italy), this washing machine fiasco seems to be providing all the fun, stress and excitement I need. It may be Italy, it may be me, it may be the washing machine, but something just isn’t working here.
I’ve always had bad luck with water. As a child I was petrified of learning to swim until I put on a snorkel mask in a pool and glided into the strokes fearlessly. Once I accidentally defrosted the freezer in the basement, having been lured to press the big red button in the fridge, not thinking of the consequences of big red buttons. There was also an overflowing toilet, but that was minimally damaging. There is a photo taken by my mother, early in her photographic career, of me holding a bucket looking exasperatedly up at the leaking skylight. But that wasn’t my fault. Oh, but who could forget that night when I ran a bath, and went downstairs and forgot. Thinking that my brother was keeping an eye on the water I had gone to the basement calmly. Seeing drops of water leaking from the ceiling in the kitchen below the bathroom when I came back upstairs, my heart stopped. I ran upstairs to find the bathtub overflowing and the bathroom floor thick with water. That night I felt so stupid, all that damage, neglect, water. Regardless, I still like to swim. In short, water and I have a love-hate relationship.
So Thursday the technician comes again and perhaps this time solves all of our problems, leaving me to wash my clothes as much as I want, but even in this unknown future scenario I will surely be afraid to try and open the door.
I called Sarah to announce to bad news. Then, I called the technician again. But what happened? Asked the woman on the other side of the line. I tried to open the door, that’s what happened. In this provincial life where my greatest excitement is going out on a Wednesday night (because, according to my language class, that’s when the weekend begins in Italy), this washing machine fiasco seems to be providing all the fun, stress and excitement I need. It may be Italy, it may be me, it may be the washing machine, but something just isn’t working here.
I’ve always had bad luck with water. As a child I was petrified of learning to swim until I put on a snorkel mask in a pool and glided into the strokes fearlessly. Once I accidentally defrosted the freezer in the basement, having been lured to press the big red button in the fridge, not thinking of the consequences of big red buttons. There was also an overflowing toilet, but that was minimally damaging. There is a photo taken by my mother, early in her photographic career, of me holding a bucket looking exasperatedly up at the leaking skylight. But that wasn’t my fault. Oh, but who could forget that night when I ran a bath, and went downstairs and forgot. Thinking that my brother was keeping an eye on the water I had gone to the basement calmly. Seeing drops of water leaking from the ceiling in the kitchen below the bathroom when I came back upstairs, my heart stopped. I ran upstairs to find the bathtub overflowing and the bathroom floor thick with water. That night I felt so stupid, all that damage, neglect, water. Regardless, I still like to swim. In short, water and I have a love-hate relationship.
So Thursday the technician comes again and perhaps this time solves all of our problems, leaving me to wash my clothes as much as I want, but even in this unknown future scenario I will surely be afraid to try and open the door.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
vita varia
Walking to class after having written whatever for half an hour this morning, I found myself philosophizing with Sarah on the way. I’ve switch a city full of bicycle thieves for city overflowing with bicycles. Here everyone is on two wheels, a traffic that is even more dangerous than cars. Being a flat city, Ferrara encourages bicycles everywhere to cascade through the alleyways and cobblestoned piazze. Bikes line the fronts of busy stores, stop in hoards at traffic lights, and crisscross in and out of crowds of people on foot. Once you get used to being alert always you can start to enjoy the city and relax.
I walked into the main cathedral the other day and remarked at how big the space was inside. Many streets in Italy are narrow and dense with population so public spaces represent a beautiful and natural stage for feeling the grandness of space. It makes the concept of space that much more sacred. In Ferrara, although the public squares are very large and open, the space within the Duomo is still very much holy, reducing your apparent size in its cavernous darkness and silence. A beautiful space for meditation and escape. Standing on the marble floor as the sunlight hits the golden details of the church’s metalwork inspires awe and shushes your frenetic heart to silence.
Taking a tour with our guardian angel student, I realized that the life of a student in Italy will be an adventure. A gym membership in Italy requires a certification of good health from a doctor (for which you have to pay if you can’t get one from your own doctor), proof of inscription at the university (which we don’t have yet) and a document (we have this! We have this!). Getting the thumbs up from Sarah that our Internet connection at the library does indeed work, the group rejoiced knowing that the end had come to our paying for Internet on a daily basis. A small success for us all. Gio (Joe) our guardian angel student, let us know that in order to photocopy materials we would have to get yet another membership, this time from the photocopy store (I joked that we would have a whole card deck full of memberships by the end of the semester). In order to do all the photocopying we had to, we would have to ask to use the photocopiers in the back so that no one broke copyright laws knowingly. We’re students, dammi un break. Hopefully I’ll be able to buy a few of my books legally. At the end of it all we had Spritz, some sort of alcoholic drink that did quite some good, and toasted to our semester. In January after our exams we’ll be so ready to buy memberships and show 8 forms of ID that we won’t know what to do when things are just too simple to complete.
I walked into the main cathedral the other day and remarked at how big the space was inside. Many streets in Italy are narrow and dense with population so public spaces represent a beautiful and natural stage for feeling the grandness of space. It makes the concept of space that much more sacred. In Ferrara, although the public squares are very large and open, the space within the Duomo is still very much holy, reducing your apparent size in its cavernous darkness and silence. A beautiful space for meditation and escape. Standing on the marble floor as the sunlight hits the golden details of the church’s metalwork inspires awe and shushes your frenetic heart to silence.
Taking a tour with our guardian angel student, I realized that the life of a student in Italy will be an adventure. A gym membership in Italy requires a certification of good health from a doctor (for which you have to pay if you can’t get one from your own doctor), proof of inscription at the university (which we don’t have yet) and a document (we have this! We have this!). Getting the thumbs up from Sarah that our Internet connection at the library does indeed work, the group rejoiced knowing that the end had come to our paying for Internet on a daily basis. A small success for us all. Gio (Joe) our guardian angel student, let us know that in order to photocopy materials we would have to get yet another membership, this time from the photocopy store (I joked that we would have a whole card deck full of memberships by the end of the semester). In order to do all the photocopying we had to, we would have to ask to use the photocopiers in the back so that no one broke copyright laws knowingly. We’re students, dammi un break. Hopefully I’ll be able to buy a few of my books legally. At the end of it all we had Spritz, some sort of alcoholic drink that did quite some good, and toasted to our semester. In January after our exams we’ll be so ready to buy memberships and show 8 forms of ID that we won’t know what to do when things are just too simple to complete.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
lingua italiana
Yesterday began morning classes in Italian and it got my mind working about language. Aside from being a difficult day with early rising, an absent yet needed washing machine repairman and hearing aid problems, Monday proved to rub me in all the wrong ways. But sticking to the great motto: this too shall pass: the day is now over and I can continue on with my life and focus on the next moments.
Enough complaining and whiny digression, back to Italian. For the first time I thought about my relationship with my roommate Sarah from the point of view of language. We have shared nothing but words in Italian since the day I arrived, no English conversations whatsoever. It is so strange seeing that English is both of our mother tongues and Italian just this other language we are trying to pick up. The other day a man walked into the Internet café where Sarah and I go to check our email until that glorious day when we will have free wireless access at the university library. He started talking to us in English and I stumbled a bit for words. Sarah and I still spoke to each other in Italian.
Whenever my mother calls, the switchover is pretty automatic, although lately I’ve noticed that trying to speak in English to my mother is even becoming a bit belabored. I guess I picked right when it came to cities for Italian language integration. I had wanted to avoid the big metropolis cities of Italy, hoping to avoid the hoards of English students. Chris tells me that in Florence 90% of the students studying abroad do not speak a word of Italian, it’s a point of pride for all of us. Chris walked into a gelateria the other day and ordered in Italian to a woman, shocked, who responded How do you know Italian? And gave him a discount.
I’ve picked up some books in Italian in an attempt to get up to speed with my reading before university starts. I’ve always taken pleasure in reading Italian, it just seems so tied up in real life that every phrase gives me a new appreciation for my existence or a new point of view on interpreting life. At least that’s how I felt with Pirandello and Fo. Hopefully my romp through Italian literature and the Italian university system will give me a similar view on life. In any case, I’ll always have my writing for that.
Enough complaining and whiny digression, back to Italian. For the first time I thought about my relationship with my roommate Sarah from the point of view of language. We have shared nothing but words in Italian since the day I arrived, no English conversations whatsoever. It is so strange seeing that English is both of our mother tongues and Italian just this other language we are trying to pick up. The other day a man walked into the Internet café where Sarah and I go to check our email until that glorious day when we will have free wireless access at the university library. He started talking to us in English and I stumbled a bit for words. Sarah and I still spoke to each other in Italian.
Whenever my mother calls, the switchover is pretty automatic, although lately I’ve noticed that trying to speak in English to my mother is even becoming a bit belabored. I guess I picked right when it came to cities for Italian language integration. I had wanted to avoid the big metropolis cities of Italy, hoping to avoid the hoards of English students. Chris tells me that in Florence 90% of the students studying abroad do not speak a word of Italian, it’s a point of pride for all of us. Chris walked into a gelateria the other day and ordered in Italian to a woman, shocked, who responded How do you know Italian? And gave him a discount.
I’ve picked up some books in Italian in an attempt to get up to speed with my reading before university starts. I’ve always taken pleasure in reading Italian, it just seems so tied up in real life that every phrase gives me a new appreciation for my existence or a new point of view on interpreting life. At least that’s how I felt with Pirandello and Fo. Hopefully my romp through Italian literature and the Italian university system will give me a similar view on life. In any case, I’ll always have my writing for that.
Monday, September 11, 2006
primo weekend
The first weekend is over and what a lovely weekend it was. With the end of appointments and tests on Friday, Sarah and I had dinner and went to a concert out in the open air of the Castello’s courtyard. I sat there listening to an hour and a half of classical music, imagining that 300 years ago there was a ball happening in the very courtyard I was sitting in to the very same music. Regal and grand. At one moment, as the small Orchestra Citta di Ferrara concluded their first piece, I shut my eyes and had that full body shiver with the resolution of the final chord. And opened my eyes to applause.
Saturday morning meant that the students from the Middlebury program in Florence were coming to visit Ferrara for the day, thus it also meant that my roommate from college, Chris, was coming to visit me in Ferrara for Saturday and Sunday. It was so nice to spend time with someone who knows me quite well and someone who I appreciate and who appreciates me too. We wandered the city at first as a tour group, learning of the city’s dual history as Medieval and Renaissance town, noting the changes in architecture in the buildings we saw, understanding the details and their meanings (a fresco inspired by the Sistine chapel, a solitary arch designed by Alberti, an unfinished campanile, a town with a revolutionary Jewish population). I continue to appreciate this city and pick up bits and pieces as I wander its streets.
Now my mission is to find a few books written by Giorgio Bassani, the famous Jewish author from Ferrara. For some reason, I strike a chord with the author, simply hearing of his work, hearing of the reality he had to live through. The Jews in the town had to identify themselves and attend Church, a symbol of their difference but of their eventual conversion. I imagine Jewish women wearing yellow scarves around their heads, walking in to the Church through the women’s entrance on the right, bowing their faces to the ground and sitting through the service pursed lips, not knowing the words to repeat, refusing to play along.
I visited two Museums this weekend: il Museo del Cattedrale which, among other treasures, showcase Jacopo della Quercia’s Madonna della Melagrana (Mary of the Pomegranate), a very femininely rotund Madonna with a baby Jesus holding a scroll that looks like the bread of Ferrara, and I also visited the Museo dell’Ottocento, a refreshing change from Renaissance art, showcasing Italian painters near the Impressionist period. It was wonderful to see paintings in suitable frames that exhibited such elegance, such liberty and such passion as the paintings of Boldini.
For the first time since I arrived, I went out to dinner with Chris, Chiara, and Sarah to a little restaurant that claims to have been in existence since the mid 1400s and have served such people as Copernicus and Titian. Sarah and I shared a delightful pasta called cappelacci, a Ferrarese specialty, a pasta filled with what seemed to be sweet potato, in a word, wow. Another Ferrarese specialty which Sarah and I discovered still edible and unexpired in our fridge at home was a pampepato, a chocolate covered chocolate cake with almonds and candied fruit. Piano piano (slowly) I will try the specialties of this city, find its wonderful markets selling fresh wares and hear the secrets whispered from its palazzi.
Saturday morning meant that the students from the Middlebury program in Florence were coming to visit Ferrara for the day, thus it also meant that my roommate from college, Chris, was coming to visit me in Ferrara for Saturday and Sunday. It was so nice to spend time with someone who knows me quite well and someone who I appreciate and who appreciates me too. We wandered the city at first as a tour group, learning of the city’s dual history as Medieval and Renaissance town, noting the changes in architecture in the buildings we saw, understanding the details and their meanings (a fresco inspired by the Sistine chapel, a solitary arch designed by Alberti, an unfinished campanile, a town with a revolutionary Jewish population). I continue to appreciate this city and pick up bits and pieces as I wander its streets.
Now my mission is to find a few books written by Giorgio Bassani, the famous Jewish author from Ferrara. For some reason, I strike a chord with the author, simply hearing of his work, hearing of the reality he had to live through. The Jews in the town had to identify themselves and attend Church, a symbol of their difference but of their eventual conversion. I imagine Jewish women wearing yellow scarves around their heads, walking in to the Church through the women’s entrance on the right, bowing their faces to the ground and sitting through the service pursed lips, not knowing the words to repeat, refusing to play along.
I visited two Museums this weekend: il Museo del Cattedrale which, among other treasures, showcase Jacopo della Quercia’s Madonna della Melagrana (Mary of the Pomegranate), a very femininely rotund Madonna with a baby Jesus holding a scroll that looks like the bread of Ferrara, and I also visited the Museo dell’Ottocento, a refreshing change from Renaissance art, showcasing Italian painters near the Impressionist period. It was wonderful to see paintings in suitable frames that exhibited such elegance, such liberty and such passion as the paintings of Boldini.
For the first time since I arrived, I went out to dinner with Chris, Chiara, and Sarah to a little restaurant that claims to have been in existence since the mid 1400s and have served such people as Copernicus and Titian. Sarah and I shared a delightful pasta called cappelacci, a Ferrarese specialty, a pasta filled with what seemed to be sweet potato, in a word, wow. Another Ferrarese specialty which Sarah and I discovered still edible and unexpired in our fridge at home was a pampepato, a chocolate covered chocolate cake with almonds and candied fruit. Piano piano (slowly) I will try the specialties of this city, find its wonderful markets selling fresh wares and hear the secrets whispered from its palazzi.
Friday, September 08, 2006
Orient Yourself Take 2
Life is taking a peaceful rhythm with orientations and tours and exams. This morning we were lectured a bit on transportation before handing in our documents and money for our permesso di soggiorno. Then we took a tour of the faculty where we would be studying. Although the University of Ferrara has all its course information online, the best way to figure things out is to consult the boards in the department building, that gives schedules, room changes, office hours and locations, and more complete course information (complete with an actual person to help you). The ordering of the classrooms doesn’t really make sense, omitting classrooms 1 and 17 (17 is unlucky in Italy whereas 13 is actually fortunate) and having classroom 16 in a building found through a parking lot and classroom 18 resemble a bomb shelter more than an actual classroom.
This afternoon we took a multiple choice Italian test along with an oral interview to test our general level of Italian to better teach us for the next three weeks. I left my interview feeling a bit tongue-tied, blech. And it was raining. I need to get the whole oral expression thing under my belt because my whole academic life, ie my grade, will depend on my oral performance at the end of the semester, being asked questions by the professor. But for now, all is good, I have some time to sharpen my skills, arguably plenty of time, so I walked home in the rain and called the technician for the washing machine that is now firmly shut, the handle having come off. Bene. Let’s hope that the appointment for Monday afternoon will actually be followed, boh.
Speaking of broken, taking a shower is an experience here in my apartment. The stream of water from the showerhead is absolutely fine, it is only that the drain well, doesn’t really do its job to, you know, drain. It does but it takes a long time. So you can’t just take a shower, you have to take a shath or a bower (amalgam of bath and shower, yeah, I know, bad). Hopefully the Italian Drain-O stuff I bought today will clear up whatever beast of a hairball or whatnot is stuck in our drain. We can only hope.
And so now the weekend and future visits from both Chris and Marina. I’m so excited. This place, which I am growing to love more and more everyday, will feel even more my own with some apparitions of familiar faces. This whole sensation of home is a strange thing, it has to do with getting a full night’s sleep, discovering your surroundings and breathing more easily. I was just walking around and discovering great little shops for food, gelato, and drink. Places where I could really hang out. In the end, when you breathe easily and drift off to sleep, it’s hard not to call the bed your own or the city your home.
This afternoon we took a multiple choice Italian test along with an oral interview to test our general level of Italian to better teach us for the next three weeks. I left my interview feeling a bit tongue-tied, blech. And it was raining. I need to get the whole oral expression thing under my belt because my whole academic life, ie my grade, will depend on my oral performance at the end of the semester, being asked questions by the professor. But for now, all is good, I have some time to sharpen my skills, arguably plenty of time, so I walked home in the rain and called the technician for the washing machine that is now firmly shut, the handle having come off. Bene. Let’s hope that the appointment for Monday afternoon will actually be followed, boh.
Speaking of broken, taking a shower is an experience here in my apartment. The stream of water from the showerhead is absolutely fine, it is only that the drain well, doesn’t really do its job to, you know, drain. It does but it takes a long time. So you can’t just take a shower, you have to take a shath or a bower (amalgam of bath and shower, yeah, I know, bad). Hopefully the Italian Drain-O stuff I bought today will clear up whatever beast of a hairball or whatnot is stuck in our drain. We can only hope.
And so now the weekend and future visits from both Chris and Marina. I’m so excited. This place, which I am growing to love more and more everyday, will feel even more my own with some apparitions of familiar faces. This whole sensation of home is a strange thing, it has to do with getting a full night’s sleep, discovering your surroundings and breathing more easily. I was just walking around and discovering great little shops for food, gelato, and drink. Places where I could really hang out. In the end, when you breathe easily and drift off to sleep, it’s hard not to call the bed your own or the city your home.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
ferrarese fog
Today I woke up to a fog that obscured the view from my window, a cool mist descended from above to cool off the city. It made the sunlight white and thick. This will be a sight I will wake to often, since fog seems to be common in Ferrara, as is rain. But so far, none of that. Today was the first day of orientation and we learned all about the Italian university system and its laxaties and unpredictabilities, and other details of our next few weeks. Entering the classroom for the orientation center I felt at ease, somehow knowing that this place of learning would be once again my place only in a different city. Here the grades of everyone are posted publicly, teachers lecture and give out bibliographies, there is only one grade, the final oral exam, and it's up to you to learn whatever you want.
After all the orientation, I wandered around snapping photos in the light of the setting sun, walked into the cathedral and felt its voluminous space, and started to see the city differently. With my camera I start to seek details that I wouldn't see otherwise. I'm starting to sink into a routine that I enjoy, filled with writing, yoga, Italiano, sunlight and independence. Who could ask for more?
After all the orientation, I wandered around snapping photos in the light of the setting sun, walked into the cathedral and felt its voluminous space, and started to see the city differently. With my camera I start to seek details that I wouldn't see otherwise. I'm starting to sink into a routine that I enjoy, filled with writing, yoga, Italiano, sunlight and independence. Who could ask for more?
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
A bicycle built for a city
One afternoon complaining to myself and to others about feeling uneasy and an evening of chitchat and cooking later and I am starting to feel at home. I arrived in Ferrara not feeling terribly enthusiastic, what an ugly city, the same words my mother spoke when she arrived in Milan. Once I infiltrated the ugly outskirts and found the charming center of twon, monuments interwoven with everyday shops, and sprnkled with palazzi, there is something about this twon that I can grow to enjoy. The colours and architecture are reminiscent of Venice. I can befriend the woman in the cafe, the man at the hardware store. People are friendly, the make small talk without caring about much else. And bikes, they're everywhere, watch out. They come streaming from all directions.
In the bank today the woman asked me if I was going to stay in Italy. Funnily enough, Sarah got the same question earlier this week. It seems like having come to this little town, removed from the tourist path, and absolutely filled with bicycle traffic, that we stranieri might be serious about the whole Italy deal. But as both Sarah and I say, vedremo, we shall see.
I am back in Italia, the heat is back, the sweat is back, the constant Italian is back. I find myself swimming in the language, watching Grey's Anatomy in Italian, starting to think and dream in the foreign tongue, so much I am removed from any English whatsoever. The onlyEnglish I possibly have is on the phone with my parents and writing on the Internet and for myself. I've started putting together writings for this writing mentorship I have signed up for. 4 installments of around 30 pages or less (less please!) of writing, which means 4 installments of comments and suggestions to guide me on the path to more serious writing. It may be enough for me just to let the words flow from mind to fingers, ma vedremo.
Although my walls are still white, my little apartment has these gorgeous terrazzo floors that make everything better, just look down. Plus, if I climb out my window onto my quasi-balcony, an outdoor corridor of sorts, I have a nice clothesline, but moreso a space outdoors where to hang out. From that space I also face the bell tower of Santo Stefano, perhaps a sign that I'll be okay here, wandering these streets of jumbled architecture, medieval towers, renaissance palazzi, eastern-influenced arches. I think it might be time to start taking photos.
In the bank today the woman asked me if I was going to stay in Italy. Funnily enough, Sarah got the same question earlier this week. It seems like having come to this little town, removed from the tourist path, and absolutely filled with bicycle traffic, that we stranieri might be serious about the whole Italy deal. But as both Sarah and I say, vedremo, we shall see.
I am back in Italia, the heat is back, the sweat is back, the constant Italian is back. I find myself swimming in the language, watching Grey's Anatomy in Italian, starting to think and dream in the foreign tongue, so much I am removed from any English whatsoever. The onlyEnglish I possibly have is on the phone with my parents and writing on the Internet and for myself. I've started putting together writings for this writing mentorship I have signed up for. 4 installments of around 30 pages or less (less please!) of writing, which means 4 installments of comments and suggestions to guide me on the path to more serious writing. It may be enough for me just to let the words flow from mind to fingers, ma vedremo.
Although my walls are still white, my little apartment has these gorgeous terrazzo floors that make everything better, just look down. Plus, if I climb out my window onto my quasi-balcony, an outdoor corridor of sorts, I have a nice clothesline, but moreso a space outdoors where to hang out. From that space I also face the bell tower of Santo Stefano, perhaps a sign that I'll be okay here, wandering these streets of jumbled architecture, medieval towers, renaissance palazzi, eastern-influenced arches. I think it might be time to start taking photos.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
finding home
My body hasn't adjusted to sleep here, waking up at 1am to plan the photos I want to print for my room and watch an episode of Grey's Anatomy in Italian. A day spent wandering around, buying little things and straightening out other things has just made me feel slightly better. Once orientation hits, I will feel intinitely better. I think I may also be experiencing Internet relapse. My walls are still very white, but with phone calls from my mother and from my friend Marina who might visit this weekend I can only feel loved even though I ache for just a hug from someone familiar. Henderson the teddy bear isn't sufficing for now. I will go home and write, unconnected to the Internet and perhaps feel better.
There are things that I love about this city and about my apartment... The rich deep red curtains that cover the windows on the outside of certain buildings, the bell tower that chimes in the evening rising from the chiesa santo stefano outside my window, the heat that is back in my life, the yoga that is constant in my life. Perhaps a little music and I'll be set. I can't really figure out this whole settling down into a city again. Routine and habits need to work their way back into my life. Perhaps daily visits to Ferrara Frutta for fruit and veggies, morning writing, evening wine, a constant eye for photos. Although life itself is not constant in the very least, having those steady elements makes you feel safe, and right now, I don't know what it is, but I feel a bit exhausted and unpositive internally about things. Perhaps a full night sleep and I'll be alright.
There are things that I love about this city and about my apartment... The rich deep red curtains that cover the windows on the outside of certain buildings, the bell tower that chimes in the evening rising from the chiesa santo stefano outside my window, the heat that is back in my life, the yoga that is constant in my life. Perhaps a little music and I'll be set. I can't really figure out this whole settling down into a city again. Routine and habits need to work their way back into my life. Perhaps daily visits to Ferrara Frutta for fruit and veggies, morning writing, evening wine, a constant eye for photos. Although life itself is not constant in the very least, having those steady elements makes you feel safe, and right now, I don't know what it is, but I feel a bit exhausted and unpositive internally about things. Perhaps a full night sleep and I'll be alright.
Monday, September 04, 2006
Impending sleep
A 5pm flight was not such a fabulous idea, no of course it was, it meant coming to Italy one more time, finding a new city, an apartment and new adventures. But right now, having had very little sleep, and traipsing through what feels like semi consciousness, I am trying very hard to get through the first day, or afternoon, or thing, whatever this is. I am sitting in a little free Internet cafe (for which I need to get tea or juice or something to be able to wander the net forever (within reason) for FREE). I am a bit bummed that I don't have an Internet connection I can rely on more regularly, but who am I kidding, I just got here!
Writing blogs every day this summer was nice, and convenient. I had a job with lots of time to fill and plenty of time to daydream and write. Unfortunately this may be the first of only a few interspersed blog entries for this new adventure. I will still write, undoubtedly, but a lot more for myself and a lot less online-distracted. Will I be reduced to quick notes to friends? And large impersonal updates? What will life be without a constant Internet? I fear.
I arrived in Ferrara slightly disgusted. The train station was under construction, all I saw were high rise buildings towering up with what seemed like acne break out regions of sattelite dishes. I immediately thought I couldn't spend 5 months here. This was the boy who had been awake for 24 hours pretty non stop and was a bit cranky. But meeting my first two of a total three roomates brightened up may day and kick started the italian once more. I wonder what school will be like here, how busy I will be, what my new routine will be. Many more uncertains on this path. I'm glad I spilled some thoughts, even if I am floating in adrenaline levtating away from earth. Glad the roomies have coazed me into helping with a communal dinner. That I can do.
And tomorrow, a day of discoveries of the city, perhaps some writing, buying more essentials, finding new hotspots, being free of the Internet, seeing if the sheets and towels that are around feel right to me, doing Yoga, hugging my Canadian teddy Henderson and breathing in the hot hot Italian air. Summer sure is back. I'll sleep well tonight. Jet lag? No thank you.
Writing blogs every day this summer was nice, and convenient. I had a job with lots of time to fill and plenty of time to daydream and write. Unfortunately this may be the first of only a few interspersed blog entries for this new adventure. I will still write, undoubtedly, but a lot more for myself and a lot less online-distracted. Will I be reduced to quick notes to friends? And large impersonal updates? What will life be without a constant Internet? I fear.
I arrived in Ferrara slightly disgusted. The train station was under construction, all I saw were high rise buildings towering up with what seemed like acne break out regions of sattelite dishes. I immediately thought I couldn't spend 5 months here. This was the boy who had been awake for 24 hours pretty non stop and was a bit cranky. But meeting my first two of a total three roomates brightened up may day and kick started the italian once more. I wonder what school will be like here, how busy I will be, what my new routine will be. Many more uncertains on this path. I'm glad I spilled some thoughts, even if I am floating in adrenaline levtating away from earth. Glad the roomies have coazed me into helping with a communal dinner. That I can do.
And tomorrow, a day of discoveries of the city, perhaps some writing, buying more essentials, finding new hotspots, being free of the Internet, seeing if the sheets and towels that are around feel right to me, doing Yoga, hugging my Canadian teddy Henderson and breathing in the hot hot Italian air. Summer sure is back. I'll sleep well tonight. Jet lag? No thank you.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
anticipation
In the lull of being home, or perhaps just the comfort of truly familiar surroundings, I've lacked the drive to write every day, not felt the necessity of writing every day. In a way my writing is a way to reach out, or reach within, in order to communicate with others and myself. Lately, life hasn't thrown me anything incredibly new and exciting. Or at least nothing that strikes me as terribly different from my lifestyle like my travels in Italy did. But with Italy just around the corner yet again and the finishings of little writing application for an online mentorship with UBC and working my last week at the office, I can't help but feel that excitement and anticipation of new adventures to come.
Last week it had hit me that I would be leaving. For Italy. For 5 months. I would have no towels that are my own, no sheets that are familiar, nothing but a barely furnished room without decoration, without life settled in it. I would be in Europe. I would be going to school. Completely in Italian. And for some reason I had felt afraid and nervous. This only hit more when I started going through some clothes with my mom last weekend. I would need clothes for lots of weather, it rains a lot in Ferrara, especially in November. I found everything incredibly overwhelming. I didn't know when I was leaving, I hadn't yet printed out my ticket, I owed some amount of money to my landlady for an apartment whose address number I had forgotten. For months I have been repeating that I am going to study abroad with the Middlebury Program in Ferrara this fall for a semester until January in which month I will have exams. I still don't know when I am coming home. I still don't know my courses. The repetition didn't help solidify the fact that I would be going away for a long period of time. But the fear and worry has worn off as the moment of the end/beginning, that time in between that is so hard to grasp, starts to take hold.
I will be in Europe. Completely in Italian. A couple of opportunities to travel. Plenty of time to learn, read, write. I will write more often, and find a new rhythm. Buy sheets, towels, food, notebooks, textbooks. I'll bring my yoga mat and Henderson, my Canadian maple-leaf-sweater-wearing teddy bear. I'll start with a fresh confidence and determination to learn. A new year, a new beginning, a new continent. It's hard not to feel more excited now when I repeat that refrain that I will be in Ferrara for the fall semester. I will be in Ferrara! For the fall semester! In Italy! Wowzers, this is exciting.
Last week it had hit me that I would be leaving. For Italy. For 5 months. I would have no towels that are my own, no sheets that are familiar, nothing but a barely furnished room without decoration, without life settled in it. I would be in Europe. I would be going to school. Completely in Italian. And for some reason I had felt afraid and nervous. This only hit more when I started going through some clothes with my mom last weekend. I would need clothes for lots of weather, it rains a lot in Ferrara, especially in November. I found everything incredibly overwhelming. I didn't know when I was leaving, I hadn't yet printed out my ticket, I owed some amount of money to my landlady for an apartment whose address number I had forgotten. For months I have been repeating that I am going to study abroad with the Middlebury Program in Ferrara this fall for a semester until January in which month I will have exams. I still don't know when I am coming home. I still don't know my courses. The repetition didn't help solidify the fact that I would be going away for a long period of time. But the fear and worry has worn off as the moment of the end/beginning, that time in between that is so hard to grasp, starts to take hold.
I will be in Europe. Completely in Italian. A couple of opportunities to travel. Plenty of time to learn, read, write. I will write more often, and find a new rhythm. Buy sheets, towels, food, notebooks, textbooks. I'll bring my yoga mat and Henderson, my Canadian maple-leaf-sweater-wearing teddy bear. I'll start with a fresh confidence and determination to learn. A new year, a new beginning, a new continent. It's hard not to feel more excited now when I repeat that refrain that I will be in Ferrara for the fall semester. I will be in Ferrara! For the fall semester! In Italy! Wowzers, this is exciting.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Kick Carbon Ass
I've always been a fan of planet earth. Whether it was Captain Planet, Ferngully, recycling or the ecological footprint, I couldn't help but get excited about environmentally conscious ideas. I've been looking for a way to do my part and signed up to do the Nature Challenge with the David Suzuki Foundation (http://www.davidsuzuki.org/NatureChallenge/). Although I try to opt for public transit or walking most of the time, I know that I will inevitably be releasing carbon out into the atmosphere. Even if I became a hippy nudist camper out in the woods, I would still need to produce some carbon to live. So aside from trying to support socially and environmentally friendly organizations (www.fairware.ca), I discovered the possibility of individual carbon offsetting. There are a few websites (www.carbonfund.org, www.terrapass.com, www.driveneutral.org) that allow you to calculate your carbon emissions and your required donation to offset those emissions. An offset will go towards renewable energy development and thus offset your carbon emissions in the long run. It strikes me as a great idea, and a concrete way for individuals to kick some carbon ass.
Monday, August 21, 2006
retrospective on my weekend
After 15 phone messages and catching up with life at the office, here I am to wring some words out of my system. I need to write an article for work, so I am trying to get the mental juices flowing. It's surprisingly quiet and for some strange reason I've lost my ambiance music, it kind of makes me sad and a little nuts. Well not too nuts, just peaceful. No ringing, no classical music, just silence and the sound of me typing. Maybe this is better, a bit of meditative moments at the office.
I had a quiet weekend mostly to myself to regroup, recollect and resurface. I was in a downright foul mood on Friday even though I did not spend the day at work but volunteering. The foulness was alleviated slightly by hanging out with my sister and watching a crazy funny movie called Flirting with Disaster, basically common truths extrapolated to the utmost degree. Good times (you are NOT good B and B people!)
Saturday was spent getting an early morning haircut, doing some intense yoga (and finally getting that handstand I have been attempting to do ALL summer) and a chillaxed evening with a Spanish movie called Sex and Lucia, a spanishly circular, wonderfully sensual and poetic, slightly erotic portrait of a writer. It really appealed to my sensibilities, and I drifted off to sleep content.
Sunday was a rainy day but still the parents and I ventured out to Milano and Jean Talon market for foodstuffs. Amazingly it was quite busy out there. It's quite fun to hang out with my parents, they're such positive kooky people. I laugh a lot and enjoy myself, man they're awesome people. My mother seems to have preserved this childlike excitement for everything, and that sense that everything must be done immediately. I don't get it, but it's wonderful. We also headed for an expertly crafted lunch at my Aunt and Uncle's house with perhaps the funniest sounding most delicious corn I've ever tasted. Picture 5 people eating long cobs of corn that is so crunchy you can hear all the kernels popping off the cob in what sounds like a cross between a downpour, applause and fireworks. I couldn't help laughing at one point. Man that was a good moment.
I had a quiet weekend mostly to myself to regroup, recollect and resurface. I was in a downright foul mood on Friday even though I did not spend the day at work but volunteering. The foulness was alleviated slightly by hanging out with my sister and watching a crazy funny movie called Flirting with Disaster, basically common truths extrapolated to the utmost degree. Good times (you are NOT good B and B people!)
Saturday was spent getting an early morning haircut, doing some intense yoga (and finally getting that handstand I have been attempting to do ALL summer) and a chillaxed evening with a Spanish movie called Sex and Lucia, a spanishly circular, wonderfully sensual and poetic, slightly erotic portrait of a writer. It really appealed to my sensibilities, and I drifted off to sleep content.
Sunday was a rainy day but still the parents and I ventured out to Milano and Jean Talon market for foodstuffs. Amazingly it was quite busy out there. It's quite fun to hang out with my parents, they're such positive kooky people. I laugh a lot and enjoy myself, man they're awesome people. My mother seems to have preserved this childlike excitement for everything, and that sense that everything must be done immediately. I don't get it, but it's wonderful. We also headed for an expertly crafted lunch at my Aunt and Uncle's house with perhaps the funniest sounding most delicious corn I've ever tasted. Picture 5 people eating long cobs of corn that is so crunchy you can hear all the kernels popping off the cob in what sounds like a cross between a downpour, applause and fireworks. I couldn't help laughing at one point. Man that was a good moment.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
my mission
Too many words spilled on pages never read. I hesitate to type the next sentences wondering where they will live on, in silence, in print, flashing black and white. Who it will reach and swim bitterly in the mouths of haters, dance happily in the minds of lovers. Words broadcasting out to the world to no one in particular, joining the flood of typed text in the newspapers, on billboards, typed on bright
computer screens. Flowing out and trickling down into the sewer, getting lost in pools of ink, getting drained to rivers of waste, to be forgotten, to be unused. But far from the black seas of unread ink there are those words that shine crisply on the page, struck so proudly on the page they indent the paper making sure they will stand still. Those words speak loud to readers' eyes, snaking excitedly from sight to thought, igniting a frenzy of inspiration. There you have the very special meaning of words laden with honesty, they inflate others with emotion, send waves to their fingertips that scream for a keyboard or a pen. And thus the tradition continues, and words scratched years ago with a feathery quill and bronze ink on parchment ignite the phrases of the keyboard into a new document.
computer screens. Flowing out and trickling down into the sewer, getting lost in pools of ink, getting drained to rivers of waste, to be forgotten, to be unused. But far from the black seas of unread ink there are those words that shine crisply on the page, struck so proudly on the page they indent the paper making sure they will stand still. Those words speak loud to readers' eyes, snaking excitedly from sight to thought, igniting a frenzy of inspiration. There you have the very special meaning of words laden with honesty, they inflate others with emotion, send waves to their fingertips that scream for a keyboard or a pen. And thus the tradition continues, and words scratched years ago with a feathery quill and bronze ink on parchment ignite the phrases of the keyboard into a new document.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
old people moments
I don't know what it is but I have been having these moments where I have been observing elderly people doing whatever they are doing. First the man with his soundless violin playing, then this woman with her twittering Mozart pink cell phone and today an elderly couple.
I was getting my lunch (I stupidly forgot the leftovers from the Chinese feast the Rubin clan had last night) and there was this couple in front of me squinting at the menu and bickering amongst themselves. They flipflopped their decisions and pointed at things and loudly exclaimed that they would take the wrap and this salad not that salad. They were either deaf, American or both. They seemed so discombobulated and wrapped in their own world. The saleslady tried nicely to tell them to go to the cash once but they obviously didn't hear and upon a second louder and more eyecontact filled attempt got the couple to the cash. The lady and I exchanged smiles as if we both knew that senility was to blame, we seemed to love these old people regardless. They were dressed sort of tacky and were a bit liver-spotted. The man seemed outraged or amazed, I couldn't tell, that the price of a wrap two salads and two coffees was 9 dollars. Judging from the 5 in his hand, I think he might have only deemed the meal worth 5 bucks. Having paid the woman when to stake out a chair and yelled to the man to join her, at which point he yelled her way that he was waiting for the wrap. They were off to eat. After their 9 dollar meal they ambled discombobulatedly (i think that word was made for them) off into the Montreal downtown. I was fascinated.
I was getting my lunch (I stupidly forgot the leftovers from the Chinese feast the Rubin clan had last night) and there was this couple in front of me squinting at the menu and bickering amongst themselves. They flipflopped their decisions and pointed at things and loudly exclaimed that they would take the wrap and this salad not that salad. They were either deaf, American or both. They seemed so discombobulated and wrapped in their own world. The saleslady tried nicely to tell them to go to the cash once but they obviously didn't hear and upon a second louder and more eyecontact filled attempt got the couple to the cash. The lady and I exchanged smiles as if we both knew that senility was to blame, we seemed to love these old people regardless. They were dressed sort of tacky and were a bit liver-spotted. The man seemed outraged or amazed, I couldn't tell, that the price of a wrap two salads and two coffees was 9 dollars. Judging from the 5 in his hand, I think he might have only deemed the meal worth 5 bucks. Having paid the woman when to stake out a chair and yelled to the man to join her, at which point he yelled her way that he was waiting for the wrap. They were off to eat. After their 9 dollar meal they ambled discombobulatedly (i think that word was made for them) off into the Montreal downtown. I was fascinated.
Monday, August 14, 2006
plan A never works
I had another moment, for lack of a better word, on the bus coming home on Friday. I was sitting reading my book as I heard this shrill cellphone tinkering out a classical work by Mozart. A cell phone ringing, fine. But it just kept going, hammering out the sonata, or whatever it was, in a high-pitched bell succession. I tried to ignore it, but at a certain point looked up to see who the hell wasn't answering their cell phone. Are you that deaf that it has to ring for 30 seconds? And when I looked up I saw this older woman looking down at her ringing pink metallic cell phone. Perhaps sensing it had gone on too long she silenced the ring and gave her cell phone a discreet and meek smile before putting it back in her purse and staring out the window. I was touched.
Anyways, this weekend I vowed not to use the Internet. Since I have Internet access from 9am to 4pm 5 days a week constantly at work, I decided enough is enough. I am going to spend the weekend with people, books, movies, nightclubs. No Internet. Not that the Internet is the devil or anything, it's just I had had enough and felt I was developping a bit of an addiction. The thing is the Internet gives you the impression of being in touch with people, which of course it does, but at the same time, you are at a computer. You need real people in your life. After two days, I survived. It wasn't really that hard. I had Sarah Dunant's book The Birth of Venus to finish and some photos to edit as well as writing to compile. The urge was great to go and waste time on Facebook and MySpace, but I found other ways. It's funny how much we rely on technology just to pass time. Instead, I cooked with my dad, I rented a movie, I chatted with my mom. Much more exciting in my book.
I came to work today thinking that I would have time to write long emails to friends who had written over the weekend, but instead found that people actually had tasks for me to complete! Wonder of wonders, I was manning the photocopier (good ol' buddy o' mine) and researching hotels before the morning was through. Lesson: never vouch on plans working out, it usually doesn't happen. Welcome to life. Well, back to work, never know what else might hit!
Anyways, this weekend I vowed not to use the Internet. Since I have Internet access from 9am to 4pm 5 days a week constantly at work, I decided enough is enough. I am going to spend the weekend with people, books, movies, nightclubs. No Internet. Not that the Internet is the devil or anything, it's just I had had enough and felt I was developping a bit of an addiction. The thing is the Internet gives you the impression of being in touch with people, which of course it does, but at the same time, you are at a computer. You need real people in your life. After two days, I survived. It wasn't really that hard. I had Sarah Dunant's book The Birth of Venus to finish and some photos to edit as well as writing to compile. The urge was great to go and waste time on Facebook and MySpace, but I found other ways. It's funny how much we rely on technology just to pass time. Instead, I cooked with my dad, I rented a movie, I chatted with my mom. Much more exciting in my book.
I came to work today thinking that I would have time to write long emails to friends who had written over the weekend, but instead found that people actually had tasks for me to complete! Wonder of wonders, I was manning the photocopier (good ol' buddy o' mine) and researching hotels before the morning was through. Lesson: never vouch on plans working out, it usually doesn't happen. Welcome to life. Well, back to work, never know what else might hit!
Thursday, August 10, 2006
touch
I sit behind this desk receiving emails and correspondence from friends, reading up on world news and keeping abreast to the lives of friends and the world. All the while, I still feel equally individual, as if all these words flashing across the screen feeding my mind and heart mean nothing.
It's really nice to know that there are people out there who appreciate you, but there is something to be said for actually being in touch, hearing someone's voice, seeing their facial contortions, feeling the closeness of a hug. Today, for instance, I saw an old friend after maybe three years of keeping some sort of strange contact. It was so much nicer to see him in person instead of writing notes online. You can talk so much quicker, tap into body language, subtleties, guide the conversation wherever. You don't have to rely on your sense of trying to decipher what is actually going on, what tone of voice your friend is using. The Internet is great for keeping contact, but to really be in touch you need to ACTUALLY see your friends. Some write, others don't, you live in the physical present and take your friends along for the ride and whatever happens later remains a fact to be seen, to be written to be experienced.
It's really nice to know that there are people out there who appreciate you, but there is something to be said for actually being in touch, hearing someone's voice, seeing their facial contortions, feeling the closeness of a hug. Today, for instance, I saw an old friend after maybe three years of keeping some sort of strange contact. It was so much nicer to see him in person instead of writing notes online. You can talk so much quicker, tap into body language, subtleties, guide the conversation wherever. You don't have to rely on your sense of trying to decipher what is actually going on, what tone of voice your friend is using. The Internet is great for keeping contact, but to really be in touch you need to ACTUALLY see your friends. Some write, others don't, you live in the physical present and take your friends along for the ride and whatever happens later remains a fact to be seen, to be written to be experienced.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
routine
I truly miss Italian gum. I finished my last stick yesterday and accidentally bought Trident Splash Vanilla Mint which only reminds me of trips to the dentist. Why can't they sell gum like they do in Italy, 40 little pieces in a box with a breathfreshening bit of eucalyptus in the middle. Ok, I'll stop.
As I listened to what seemed to be the life story of some man from Ontario, I wondered if I could get used to this job. It is already Wednesday, midway through week one, and I have been answering questions and happily diverting calls when the little phone rings here. Well it isn't too little, its one of those phones that has three parts and needs little stands to hold it up. This place does help students pay for their education among many other things and I can wear fancy nice clothes to work. I don't think I could answer phones for the rest of my life. I have hit that tender time in life where I won't stand for what I don't like anymore because I am on that chase for that life career. The job I have for now will be great, nice people, nice work environment, good pay, but in the back of my mind I am still wondering what type of routine I could ever get used to, if any. So the search continues.
Meanwhile, I saw the man and his violin again today, determined to make music, still ignored by most passing. I wonder to myself if I will ever build the courage to talk to the man, ask him what he is playing. Would I pretend to hear his imaginary music or would I ask him what he is trying to do and crush his determination?
As I listened to what seemed to be the life story of some man from Ontario, I wondered if I could get used to this job. It is already Wednesday, midway through week one, and I have been answering questions and happily diverting calls when the little phone rings here. Well it isn't too little, its one of those phones that has three parts and needs little stands to hold it up. This place does help students pay for their education among many other things and I can wear fancy nice clothes to work. I don't think I could answer phones for the rest of my life. I have hit that tender time in life where I won't stand for what I don't like anymore because I am on that chase for that life career. The job I have for now will be great, nice people, nice work environment, good pay, but in the back of my mind I am still wondering what type of routine I could ever get used to, if any. So the search continues.
Meanwhile, I saw the man and his violin again today, determined to make music, still ignored by most passing. I wonder to myself if I will ever build the courage to talk to the man, ask him what he is playing. Would I pretend to hear his imaginary music or would I ask him what he is trying to do and crush his determination?
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
montreal moments
Today I feel like a problem solver. No longer is it a civic holiday in Canada and the phones really are ringing. Although I may not know too much about what goes on her but, luckily, I have the names of the people who do. So all I have to do is transfer, extension number, send and the call has been connected and the person who needs their information will surely get it. Hoorah.
So I took a personality test and discovered:
***You Are An INFJ***
The Protector
You live your life with integrity, originality, vision, and creativity.
Independent and stubborn, you rarely stray from your vision - no matter what it is.
You are an excellent listener, with almost infinite patience.
You have complex, deep feelings, and you take great care to express them.
You would make a great photographer, alternative medicine guru, or teacher.
I saw perhaps the most depressing thing ever today. There was a man on the street playing his violin for money. Beggars are nothing new to me, after my two year stay in Cambridge, MA where they almost line the streets. This man however was older, white-haired and balding, wearing thick glasses. Amidst besuited men and women going to and from lunch and people milling about downtown, I leaned in to hear what he was playing. Although he was moving his bow in what seemed like a rapid tremolo, his fingers covered in off white powder as was the bow and the body of the violin below it. But leaning in, there wasn't a sound at all. Just a man, violin case at his feet, trying desperately to play his violin, as if he had once graced Place-des-Arts as a stunning soloist, fallen into disrepute by old age, fearing whether or not he could charm a note out of his violin. It was sad. As evocative as a detail from a dream.
So I took a personality test and discovered:
***You Are An INFJ***
The Protector
You live your life with integrity, originality, vision, and creativity.
Independent and stubborn, you rarely stray from your vision - no matter what it is.
You are an excellent listener, with almost infinite patience.
You have complex, deep feelings, and you take great care to express them.
You would make a great photographer, alternative medicine guru, or teacher.
I saw perhaps the most depressing thing ever today. There was a man on the street playing his violin for money. Beggars are nothing new to me, after my two year stay in Cambridge, MA where they almost line the streets. This man however was older, white-haired and balding, wearing thick glasses. Amidst besuited men and women going to and from lunch and people milling about downtown, I leaned in to hear what he was playing. Although he was moving his bow in what seemed like a rapid tremolo, his fingers covered in off white powder as was the bow and the body of the violin below it. But leaning in, there wasn't a sound at all. Just a man, violin case at his feet, trying desperately to play his violin, as if he had once graced Place-des-Arts as a stunning soloist, fallen into disrepute by old age, fearing whether or not he could charm a note out of his violin. It was sad. As evocative as a detail from a dream.
Monday, August 07, 2006
call me maria
Two days, a four and a half hour layover, and a lovely business seat later, and I am back in Montreal, writing from behind the reception desk, replacing Maria, the secretary during her month of vacation to god only knows where. It really is hard to believe that 72 hours ago at this time, I was sitting in Milan eating lunch. How the world has changed.
I've crossed the Atlantic ocean and things are quite different. The streets are wider, everyone owns cars, people live in houses and have yards, there isn't a historically intersting landmark every 100 metres or so, and the food on average is of a lesser quality. Asked questions by my parents whether I like Italy or Canada, I defaulted to say that I love my home nation a lot more because of its embracing of tolerance and diversity. But as I mulled over the question more and more, I realized I enjoyed the expressiveness of the italian people, the high quality of food no matter where you go (although I am beginning to think that my family is a European one transplanted in North America), the heat (yea, I think I love it), the people, the beautiful purity of the language, and well the sun. I need more time to get readjusted to Montreal, the town that will always be my home. I need to get reaquainted with the nightspots, the downtown rhythm, the pace of life, the people. It's funny how different life is here. It will still be a few days before I stop becoming tired at 9pm thinking its around midnight (not bad on the second day... that one day for every hour of change just might ring true).
So here I am at the paying job of the summer. Not to mu knowledge, today is a civic holiday in the rest of Canada since Quebec gets St Jean Baptiste and Manitoba gets Family day (thanks for clueing me in Nadira). I guess the rest of Canada wants a day off too. So what that has meant for me is that I have been writing lots of emails and am now writing this blog. There have been no faxes, no mail, and one phone call. Luckily, I get paid a ridiculous amount. The highlight of my day has been calling the building hotline to tell them that a toilet is leaking. It involved tracking downt he number and filing the complaint. Man, my life is exciting. My hours are wonderful, working not 9-6 like in Italy (although I always left at 5, in quiet but unpurposeful protest),but instead 9 to 4. Which now means I only have a bit over 2 hours left. Who knows, maybe I'll get another phone call.
I've crossed the Atlantic ocean and things are quite different. The streets are wider, everyone owns cars, people live in houses and have yards, there isn't a historically intersting landmark every 100 metres or so, and the food on average is of a lesser quality. Asked questions by my parents whether I like Italy or Canada, I defaulted to say that I love my home nation a lot more because of its embracing of tolerance and diversity. But as I mulled over the question more and more, I realized I enjoyed the expressiveness of the italian people, the high quality of food no matter where you go (although I am beginning to think that my family is a European one transplanted in North America), the heat (yea, I think I love it), the people, the beautiful purity of the language, and well the sun. I need more time to get readjusted to Montreal, the town that will always be my home. I need to get reaquainted with the nightspots, the downtown rhythm, the pace of life, the people. It's funny how different life is here. It will still be a few days before I stop becoming tired at 9pm thinking its around midnight (not bad on the second day... that one day for every hour of change just might ring true).
So here I am at the paying job of the summer. Not to mu knowledge, today is a civic holiday in the rest of Canada since Quebec gets St Jean Baptiste and Manitoba gets Family day (thanks for clueing me in Nadira). I guess the rest of Canada wants a day off too. So what that has meant for me is that I have been writing lots of emails and am now writing this blog. There have been no faxes, no mail, and one phone call. Luckily, I get paid a ridiculous amount. The highlight of my day has been calling the building hotline to tell them that a toilet is leaking. It involved tracking downt he number and filing the complaint. Man, my life is exciting. My hours are wonderful, working not 9-6 like in Italy (although I always left at 5, in quiet but unpurposeful protest),but instead 9 to 4. Which now means I only have a bit over 2 hours left. Who knows, maybe I'll get another phone call.
Friday, August 04, 2006
l'ultimo giorno
So I'll make this brief (not that other posts have been incredibly long). I awoke to a paradoxically cool day in milan, the one that is sunny with that cold undercurrent. In other words, blissful. I slept in, because I could for the first time in a long time. I went swimming because there was a pool, and i did yoga because it brings me back to earth and helps clear my head. I wandered around downtown and checked out a 'modern' art museum, housed in napoleon's villa, a wonderfully free sojourn (I am not even sure if I had to buy a ticket...)
The real reason I am back in Milan today was for the Last Supper. I called at the end of June and the first available spot was the last time slot on the day before I left. I waited in the piazza in front of the last supper pretending to read a book for an hour. I wondered what it would be like, how I would feel. Would I be disappointed because, like the museums I have seen lately, the smell would be rancid, the lights would be badly placed and there would be no information provided. I walked in, paid for my ticket, and when we were ushered in, the group of 6.30, we were herded into one room, then another, then another, being encouraged along by opening doors as doors behind us closed. We waited tensely in the last room, trying to peer through the glass. I was at the back of the pack so I couldn't see anything, and just waited for them all to go forward. And then I stepped in.
I got that full body shiver. The last supper fills a whole wall. I know I had read that it does, but you don't understand it until you see it. Bone-chilling. Lifelike. It feels like Jesus Christ is actually having his last supper right there before your eyes. It was wonderful to see someone paint not goldleafed triptychs, not a woodworked cross of a dying christ, but a real scene. Truly amazing, executed with skillful attractive geometry. A thrilling reflective end to my trip here in Italy.
The real reason I am back in Milan today was for the Last Supper. I called at the end of June and the first available spot was the last time slot on the day before I left. I waited in the piazza in front of the last supper pretending to read a book for an hour. I wondered what it would be like, how I would feel. Would I be disappointed because, like the museums I have seen lately, the smell would be rancid, the lights would be badly placed and there would be no information provided. I walked in, paid for my ticket, and when we were ushered in, the group of 6.30, we were herded into one room, then another, then another, being encouraged along by opening doors as doors behind us closed. We waited tensely in the last room, trying to peer through the glass. I was at the back of the pack so I couldn't see anything, and just waited for them all to go forward. And then I stepped in.
I got that full body shiver. The last supper fills a whole wall. I know I had read that it does, but you don't understand it until you see it. Bone-chilling. Lifelike. It feels like Jesus Christ is actually having his last supper right there before your eyes. It was wonderful to see someone paint not goldleafed triptychs, not a woodworked cross of a dying christ, but a real scene. Truly amazing, executed with skillful attractive geometry. A thrilling reflective end to my trip here in Italy.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
lost in words
today was a day of travel on high speed trains across the boot that is italy. i got lost in my book today, feverishly trying to finish it, never getting to the end. the train ride back felt like I had entered a poirot novel with its cabins with facing rows of seats. whirring through rain and sun past italian countryside, the passages of the shadow of the wind have been unfurling in my mind. a meeting with marina, shopping at gs, and a dinner later and I am still entranced in the novel wondering how it will ever end and when it will ever end. it sure has been a long time since I have been so entranced in a novel, I had to force myself through the first 6 chapters to become hooked but i finally managed to get involved. as the sun sets I realize i have one final full day in milan and then i will be heading back to canada for a month chez moi before returning to this boot. i should go and finish this novel and put my frenetic mind to rest.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
little bits of goodness
I had a bunch of good moments yesterday, so I am going to make a list because I don't feel much like writing. Currently I am in Pisa which is really nothing but a leaning tower that doesn't even lean that much and a bunch of church buildings. Woo.
Wonderful moments of yesterday:
early morning stroll through empty lucca
reading on the battlements on a shade covered bench
finding lucchese olive oil and wine
buying a shirt that fits my body type just right and getting some strappy sandals
visiting the cathedral museum alone during a violent thunderstorm amidst medieval music
getting a free chocolate sample at a shop that was out of this world (and i have no idea what it was)
being mistaken for spanish, polish, italian, french everything but american or canadian
dressing up for dinner with carly and hitting the town
turning heads
finding a restaurant with a handwritten menu
seeing a family of three adopted children and two fathers, wonderfully responsible and content
talking to carly about family futures, and all the possibilities
eating a dinner of two courses, wine and water for 15€
befriending a couple from london\burma and laughing away
feeling sexy both at the beginning and end of the night
finishing off the night with a tiramisu amidst salsa music
great moments brought to you by stefan zebrowski-rubin
Wonderful moments of yesterday:
early morning stroll through empty lucca
reading on the battlements on a shade covered bench
finding lucchese olive oil and wine
buying a shirt that fits my body type just right and getting some strappy sandals
visiting the cathedral museum alone during a violent thunderstorm amidst medieval music
getting a free chocolate sample at a shop that was out of this world (and i have no idea what it was)
being mistaken for spanish, polish, italian, french everything but american or canadian
dressing up for dinner with carly and hitting the town
turning heads
finding a restaurant with a handwritten menu
seeing a family of three adopted children and two fathers, wonderfully responsible and content
talking to carly about family futures, and all the possibilities
eating a dinner of two courses, wine and water for 15€
befriending a couple from london\burma and laughing away
feeling sexy both at the beginning and end of the night
finishing off the night with a tiramisu amidst salsa music
great moments brought to you by stefan zebrowski-rubin
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
hotness
I am incredibly happy. There are moments when I have to tell myself: I am in Italy, I am alive, I am alive in Italy. I had one of these moments with Carly, having a picnic on the walls of Lucca. There was a nice breeze, we had bread we had cheese, I tasted the best peach of my life (yellow huge and juicy) and I was alive in Italy (and still am). After this lunch from divine powers, I had a great huge plan to visit two gardens and two museums. Getting a bit lost, we plopped ourselves down in the luxurious Italian garden of palazzo Pfanner and decided that what we needed was to cool off, to change my shoes, for me to apply more crema doposole and get food for dinner. This whole affair interspersed with shopping (Lucca is some sort of manageable heaven of a shopping town) took perhaps the whole afternoon. But we had fun, we chatted, we found books, we looked for wireless, we failed miserably, we made dinner, we read. I don't think I have sweat so much in my life, I am not able to wear the same shirt two days in a row and I sweat profusely in the night. Man, it's good to be alive. Luckily, today it just may rain. Grazie a dio.
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