I'm not even going to attempt to catch up. Here's the brief summary: went to Cinque Terre, made friends with an Australian, ran into Paul at the train station, broke more pots in Ceramics, finished classes, and here we are.
Yesterday, I brought home all of my pieces from Ceramics, but there are more than I thought there were, so I didn't really prepare that much room for them... I am packing my roller carry-on inside of my suitcase for my days of independent travel so that I don't have to worry about carry two suitcase-like bags. However, it's super difficult, but I am convinced to make it work somehow! I'm a little bit nervous about how baggage will work on the train, but we'll see. Actually, I haven't even looked up train times yet. Whoops.
We went out last night, but we only went to the same places as usual--Eby's and Slowly. I feel silly for going to Slowly because I was trying to save that 10 euro to go today and have appertivo, but we went last night, and they didn't have appertivo, but we had already eaten anyways. I think the issue is that I just don't want to miss anything with my friends, but it's difficult not to with such a tight budget. Anyways, at Eby's Lily and I tried a shot called "The Illumination." I wish that my mom could have taken that because it tasted like her favorite treat--chocolate covered cherries! Excellent!
So...here's the game plan. Today- go to Pitti Palace and watch the sunset from Piazza Michelangelo if it's not raining, eat leftovers for dinner, go to Secret Bakery later. Tomorrow- pack up and catch a train to Pisa, drop my bags off at my hotel, go see the leaning tower and sight-see a little, go to the beach. Sunday- pack up and catch a train to Venice, drop my bags of at the hotel, go sight-see, possibly visiting some of the islands, maybe meeting up with Jessica for a little bit. Monday- Venice tour! Walking tour in the morning, boat tour in the evening. Tuesday- Get up to catch the shuttle to the airport! Ahhhh! I really am not ready to go home.
I have gotten to know Florence as a "small town" especially compared to Rome, but when I first got here, I thought that Florence was huge and impossible to navigate. I'm trying to mentally prepare myself for reverse culture-shock. How am I going to handle going back to fields and forest? Having to drive everywhere? NO MARKET?! I hate thinking about it all, but I have to accept it because I obviously have to go back eventually. It will be nice to see family again, but I'm dreading the long flight and the fact of knowing that it will be a long time before I ever get the opportunity to return to such a beautiful place.
It's not over yet! I've still got a few days! I'm going to hang out to them as much as I can.
Blessings.
Friday, July 29, 2011
Monday, July 18, 2011
A Gelato a Day or Broken Pots or Random Roman or AMALFI COAST or Don't Go a Week without Blogging...
I eat gelato almost everyday here. It's pretty much a must-have, and how could it not be when they have a flavor for every mood or desire? Gelato shops are everywhere, and the frozen treat is a wonderful break from the heat of summer, but it makes me wonder: what do they do in the winter? I would still eat it.
Another big one here is olive oil. I don't think a meal goes by without olive oil (minus breakfast cereal). It's not just a flavor or a grease or anything like that--it's a vitamin here, an essential nutrient. Breads, pastas, eggs, sandwiches--it's all cooked with olive oil, dipped in olive oil; what a simple garnish! Paige and I bought a large bottle at the market for 6 euro. I am going to miss things like that when I return to America, but I'm certainly enjoying the heck out of them now while I can. Sometimes I wonder if such eating habits will follow me.
Throwing pots is the most beautiful act of material creation. The act is so reminiscent of man's creation and makes me very grateful to know God. When starting a pot, you have to stretch the clay up into a tall, thin ant-hill to get out any air bubbles or imperfections with the clay. After smashing it back into a round blob, you have to center it on the platform by using your whole body to lean into it, cupping the clay in your hands, eyes closed, until you can feel it coming into place. Then comes the hard part. After giving the pot a center, a heart, the sides must be gently but firmly pulled upward to give the piece some height. This takes a while and is pretty rough work, but after that comes the art of shaping it, manipulating soft clay as it quickly passes between your fingers to give the dish a form--a distinct shape of its own. Sometimes, no matter how well you can try to plan it, the pot/vase/whatever becomes its own dish--it works against the potter to do its own thing. Sometimes it can even completely flop, folding in on itself, but all is not lost. These imperfections help to make the pot more beautiful, adding character and room for improvement. Other times, the clay becomes so broken that the imperfections must be flattened and re-shaped, a new creation at the hands of the potter. Thrown, spun, pulled & re-shaped in the most intimate way, I am beautifully and wonderfully made.
I eavesdropped on pigeons the other day. Typical Italians: boys chasing girls. Sometimes, I honestly think that I am crazy. They provided amusing entertainment, though.
I met my first Italian outside of school the other day. I was walking to meet friends, and he stopped me on the street and asked me (in Italian) how to find some street that I had never heard of. He had just moved to Florence from Rome and said that it was in Roman tradition to treat a friend to a glass of nice wine. Feeling adventurous after a long day of breaking all of my decent pots in Ceramics, I agreed. We had a glass along with some small talk. It was great practice for Italian because our conversation was probably 50/50 Italian and English. My lack of knowledge for the Italian language should be an indicator here of how small the talk was. I learned that Italians have a very different view of friendship--he wanted to hold my hand while we walked down the street! I said, "No, no. Friends don't do that in America." Maybe they do, but definitely not after they just met! His name was Marco, and he sent me a message over the weekend. I didn't respond because I am simply too busy this week, and I kind of don't want to hang out with him again. I thought that I wanted to make Italian friends, but it felt weird.
Speaking of keeping busy, a part of my plans for this week is to have a jam session with Paul. He e-mailed me at the tail-end of last week, so we are going to try to make some music this week. Hopefully it will work out. More music for the week: we are going to a ballet tomorrow. It's Don Quixote (except spelled in Russian?), and it's taking place at the Boboli Gardens, which are supposed to be beautiful! I haven't been there yet, but I bought a Friends of the Uffizi pass for the museums and am hoping to start hitting some up tomorrow!
I have realized recently that we are learning Italian in such a peculiar way. We learned terms and grammar and everything, but it's not compared to English. It's not so much ____ means _____. It's more of "this is how we do things in Italian; don't ask why; just do it." I think it has made me very confused while helping me to pick up on it quickly. What a wonderful contradiction!
Hmm. I have some catching up to do. On Thursday, I went to volunteer at the Museo Stibbert gardens. They were beautiful! It was great to get to help clean them up a bit for the public. We did simple tasks like sweeping the stairs or pulling weeds.
In the evening, we went to the jazz concert--Raphael Gualazza. It was great, but a few of his songs were pretty weird where he did this Louis Armstrong-like grumbling thing. Most of the songs were in English, which was surprising, although, I have to admit: the first song was in Italian,and I had momentarily forgotten where we were and was surprised when I couldn't understand him. Speaking of where we were, the concert was at a historical Roman garden in Fiesole where we could see the entire city of Florence (in a much smaller perspective than from Piazelle Michelangelo). During the show, the musician did one cover, and it was "Don't Stop" by Fleetwood Mac. I was so excited and sang every word. The API kids around me turned and gawked, "You know one of his songs?!" I was shocked, "Nooooo...it's Fleetwood Mac!" What a shame!
Ugh. Where do I even begin with this weekend?! It was absolute paradise. I fear that I may have to settle for a brief overview. On Friday, we made the 7, turned 8, hour bus ride to Sorrento. Upon arriving, we went to a "pizza tasting" where we thought that we would get a bite or two of a few different kinds of pizza. No. Not even close. They gave us these huge pieces of four different kinds of pizza! Granted, they were delicious, and we ate all of it, but we were so full! But that's not all. After filling us to the brim with pizza, they served us a lemoncello cake with dark dark espresso. I'm not a coffee person, but it's a Sorrentino specialty, to I chugged it down anyways. Sometimes I am amazed by how good everything tastes here. This was a nice stop because we got to try all of the southern specialties in one stop: pizza, lemoncello, espresso. Check.
After checking into our hotel, a group of us took a bus to Positano. Located on a huge hill with literally zig-zagged roads along a high cliff, the bus ride was exhilarating. The bus driver had to drop us off because the streets become very narrow, and some of them stop being streets and simply turn into stairs. After trekking probably a mile down stairs (literally), all of our legs were shaking. I don't think that we were expecting that many steps! For some reason, it seemed better on the walk up though. Nevertheless, we went down and enjoyed the beach and the shops. I could not believe how clear the water was! I have never seen anything like it in a body of water before; I'm so used to our dirty lakes in America. While waiting for the bus, we watched the moon rise over the hill-country. Illuminating the colorful homes and glowing gold over the water, the sight felt unreal, like we were sitting in a postcard.
But that wasn't the end of it. The next day in Capri was the same way: one surrealistic view after another. We took a boat tour around the island before going out on our own to venture the island. Yes, island! What a new and wonderful experience for me. We hiked up the island some until we found a restaurant with a beautiful view of the ocean. I had gnocchi alla sorrentino which was the specialty gnocchi for the area. I'm pretty sure that gnocchi is my new favorite food. On the way back down the hill, we stopped at a little shop where I had the best popsicle of my life. That sounds insane, but it was AMAZING. It was lemon with cream inside, and the stick was a piece of licorice! Mmmm!
After lunch, a group of us went back down to the dock where we rented a boat with a driver who took us out to the White Grotto to swim. This was probably the most surreal part of Capri--swimming by these beautiful white rocks in the clear Gulf of Naples. We all took fun pictures jumping off the boat. On the way back, the boat driver let each of us a drive the boat for a bit!
Sunday was my childhood dream come-true: Pompeii. We did a two-hour walking tour of the city. Walking through and knowing that the town has been still since 79 A.D. is so difficult to put into perspective. Seeing Vesuvius lurk over the town is awe-inspiring, especially knowing that the mountain is so much smaller than it was before the eruption, but it's still huge! The town was surprisingly large (at least of what has been uncovered), but most of it still lies underground.
The tour itself was actually a little disappointing because the guide focused on the sexual side of the city. We toured a brothel with fresco "menus" painted on the walls. There were also a lot of penis sculptures on the streets and sides of buildings serving as arrows to the brothels. Even though it was weird, it was still interesting, especially when put into perspective with the time period. The other students were pretty immature about it though, which was frustrating. Even the souvenir shops make a joke out of it, selling little penis sculptures and what not. Maybe I was just grumpy from the heat, but I was definitely more interested in the fact that these things were articles of art from nearly 2,000 years ago.
Nevertheless, it was all amazing to finally see in-person after years of dreaming about this once lost city. The temple there was amazing with a beautiful bronze statue. Sure, the city is in shambles, especially after the earthquake in 62 A.D. that they were still rebuilding from when Vesuvius erupted, but for 2,000 years old, it's so well-preserved! I was in awe.
At the site, there was a storehouse of artifacts that we got to see. Inside were hundreds of pots, many very well intact. Also, there were some bodies, plaster-cast with the real bones inside. I cried upon the sight of them--frozen in time from the moment of their last breath. It wasn't like anything I have ever seen. You go to museums and you see mummies, and they're a wonder to view, but to see these people, stuck in motion, going about life, is unbelievable. The one body was sitting up with his knees to his chest, cover is hands over his face and mouth, trying to breath amongst the debris. It was very intense. Also in the storehouse were statues, boxes (like literal treasure chests), and an anchor. I am slightly in love with anchors recently, and this one was so simply beautiful. We really did get to see a lot, but two hours just wasn't enough. Someday, I will go back.
This morning, I went to a local school to volunteer at a summer camp teaching English. I guess there was a mis-communication somewhere because I went, thinking that I would be helping out with lessons and games and what not like at a Vacation Bible School sort of thing. No. They expected me to come prepared with an hour's worth of a literal English lesson. I had nothing! The ages of the children ranged from 6 to 12, and their knowledge of English varied greatly. In 40 minutes, I threw together a half-hour lesson on the alphabet, numbers, colors, days of the week and the months. The older ones already knew most of this and looked bored, but it seemed like the younger ones were interested to learn and were picking up on it. For the days the days of the week and the months, I taught them the songs that we do at the daycare at home. The caught on quickly which was nice. Even though it was very difficult and frustrating because I am not fluent in Italian, it was a good experience. Next week, the director asked me to add a storybook reading and some children's music to my lesson in addition to the things that we did this week. I felt like they didn't want me there, though, especially since I am not fluent in Italian. We'll see what happens. I think that I will talk to Monica about it and decide from there if I will actually go back; it just seemed like I was more in the way.
As I enter this busy week, I am overwhelmed with schoolwork, activities, and everything that Italy has to offer. Nevertheless, I am doing my best that I can and enjoying every minute of being here. Yet, I have a favor to ask. My cousin (more like brother), Derek, is in the hospital at home. It's been hard for me to be here and not with him, and I'm just asking for prayers over the entire situation--prayers that he can come home soon, prayers that we can stay sane being away from each other, prayers that the situation can remain calm until I come home. Much appreciated.
Blessings.
Another big one here is olive oil. I don't think a meal goes by without olive oil (minus breakfast cereal). It's not just a flavor or a grease or anything like that--it's a vitamin here, an essential nutrient. Breads, pastas, eggs, sandwiches--it's all cooked with olive oil, dipped in olive oil; what a simple garnish! Paige and I bought a large bottle at the market for 6 euro. I am going to miss things like that when I return to America, but I'm certainly enjoying the heck out of them now while I can. Sometimes I wonder if such eating habits will follow me.
Throwing pots is the most beautiful act of material creation. The act is so reminiscent of man's creation and makes me very grateful to know God. When starting a pot, you have to stretch the clay up into a tall, thin ant-hill to get out any air bubbles or imperfections with the clay. After smashing it back into a round blob, you have to center it on the platform by using your whole body to lean into it, cupping the clay in your hands, eyes closed, until you can feel it coming into place. Then comes the hard part. After giving the pot a center, a heart, the sides must be gently but firmly pulled upward to give the piece some height. This takes a while and is pretty rough work, but after that comes the art of shaping it, manipulating soft clay as it quickly passes between your fingers to give the dish a form--a distinct shape of its own. Sometimes, no matter how well you can try to plan it, the pot/vase/whatever becomes its own dish--it works against the potter to do its own thing. Sometimes it can even completely flop, folding in on itself, but all is not lost. These imperfections help to make the pot more beautiful, adding character and room for improvement. Other times, the clay becomes so broken that the imperfections must be flattened and re-shaped, a new creation at the hands of the potter. Thrown, spun, pulled & re-shaped in the most intimate way, I am beautifully and wonderfully made.
I eavesdropped on pigeons the other day. Typical Italians: boys chasing girls. Sometimes, I honestly think that I am crazy. They provided amusing entertainment, though.
I met my first Italian outside of school the other day. I was walking to meet friends, and he stopped me on the street and asked me (in Italian) how to find some street that I had never heard of. He had just moved to Florence from Rome and said that it was in Roman tradition to treat a friend to a glass of nice wine. Feeling adventurous after a long day of breaking all of my decent pots in Ceramics, I agreed. We had a glass along with some small talk. It was great practice for Italian because our conversation was probably 50/50 Italian and English. My lack of knowledge for the Italian language should be an indicator here of how small the talk was. I learned that Italians have a very different view of friendship--he wanted to hold my hand while we walked down the street! I said, "No, no. Friends don't do that in America." Maybe they do, but definitely not after they just met! His name was Marco, and he sent me a message over the weekend. I didn't respond because I am simply too busy this week, and I kind of don't want to hang out with him again. I thought that I wanted to make Italian friends, but it felt weird.
Speaking of keeping busy, a part of my plans for this week is to have a jam session with Paul. He e-mailed me at the tail-end of last week, so we are going to try to make some music this week. Hopefully it will work out. More music for the week: we are going to a ballet tomorrow. It's Don Quixote (except spelled in Russian?), and it's taking place at the Boboli Gardens, which are supposed to be beautiful! I haven't been there yet, but I bought a Friends of the Uffizi pass for the museums and am hoping to start hitting some up tomorrow!
I have realized recently that we are learning Italian in such a peculiar way. We learned terms and grammar and everything, but it's not compared to English. It's not so much ____ means _____. It's more of "this is how we do things in Italian; don't ask why; just do it." I think it has made me very confused while helping me to pick up on it quickly. What a wonderful contradiction!
Hmm. I have some catching up to do. On Thursday, I went to volunteer at the Museo Stibbert gardens. They were beautiful! It was great to get to help clean them up a bit for the public. We did simple tasks like sweeping the stairs or pulling weeds.
In the evening, we went to the jazz concert--Raphael Gualazza. It was great, but a few of his songs were pretty weird where he did this Louis Armstrong-like grumbling thing. Most of the songs were in English, which was surprising, although, I have to admit: the first song was in Italian,and I had momentarily forgotten where we were and was surprised when I couldn't understand him. Speaking of where we were, the concert was at a historical Roman garden in Fiesole where we could see the entire city of Florence (in a much smaller perspective than from Piazelle Michelangelo). During the show, the musician did one cover, and it was "Don't Stop" by Fleetwood Mac. I was so excited and sang every word. The API kids around me turned and gawked, "You know one of his songs?!" I was shocked, "Nooooo...it's Fleetwood Mac!" What a shame!
Ugh. Where do I even begin with this weekend?! It was absolute paradise. I fear that I may have to settle for a brief overview. On Friday, we made the 7, turned 8, hour bus ride to Sorrento. Upon arriving, we went to a "pizza tasting" where we thought that we would get a bite or two of a few different kinds of pizza. No. Not even close. They gave us these huge pieces of four different kinds of pizza! Granted, they were delicious, and we ate all of it, but we were so full! But that's not all. After filling us to the brim with pizza, they served us a lemoncello cake with dark dark espresso. I'm not a coffee person, but it's a Sorrentino specialty, to I chugged it down anyways. Sometimes I am amazed by how good everything tastes here. This was a nice stop because we got to try all of the southern specialties in one stop: pizza, lemoncello, espresso. Check.
After checking into our hotel, a group of us took a bus to Positano. Located on a huge hill with literally zig-zagged roads along a high cliff, the bus ride was exhilarating. The bus driver had to drop us off because the streets become very narrow, and some of them stop being streets and simply turn into stairs. After trekking probably a mile down stairs (literally), all of our legs were shaking. I don't think that we were expecting that many steps! For some reason, it seemed better on the walk up though. Nevertheless, we went down and enjoyed the beach and the shops. I could not believe how clear the water was! I have never seen anything like it in a body of water before; I'm so used to our dirty lakes in America. While waiting for the bus, we watched the moon rise over the hill-country. Illuminating the colorful homes and glowing gold over the water, the sight felt unreal, like we were sitting in a postcard.
But that wasn't the end of it. The next day in Capri was the same way: one surrealistic view after another. We took a boat tour around the island before going out on our own to venture the island. Yes, island! What a new and wonderful experience for me. We hiked up the island some until we found a restaurant with a beautiful view of the ocean. I had gnocchi alla sorrentino which was the specialty gnocchi for the area. I'm pretty sure that gnocchi is my new favorite food. On the way back down the hill, we stopped at a little shop where I had the best popsicle of my life. That sounds insane, but it was AMAZING. It was lemon with cream inside, and the stick was a piece of licorice! Mmmm!
After lunch, a group of us went back down to the dock where we rented a boat with a driver who took us out to the White Grotto to swim. This was probably the most surreal part of Capri--swimming by these beautiful white rocks in the clear Gulf of Naples. We all took fun pictures jumping off the boat. On the way back, the boat driver let each of us a drive the boat for a bit!
Sunday was my childhood dream come-true: Pompeii. We did a two-hour walking tour of the city. Walking through and knowing that the town has been still since 79 A.D. is so difficult to put into perspective. Seeing Vesuvius lurk over the town is awe-inspiring, especially knowing that the mountain is so much smaller than it was before the eruption, but it's still huge! The town was surprisingly large (at least of what has been uncovered), but most of it still lies underground.
The tour itself was actually a little disappointing because the guide focused on the sexual side of the city. We toured a brothel with fresco "menus" painted on the walls. There were also a lot of penis sculptures on the streets and sides of buildings serving as arrows to the brothels. Even though it was weird, it was still interesting, especially when put into perspective with the time period. The other students were pretty immature about it though, which was frustrating. Even the souvenir shops make a joke out of it, selling little penis sculptures and what not. Maybe I was just grumpy from the heat, but I was definitely more interested in the fact that these things were articles of art from nearly 2,000 years ago.
Nevertheless, it was all amazing to finally see in-person after years of dreaming about this once lost city. The temple there was amazing with a beautiful bronze statue. Sure, the city is in shambles, especially after the earthquake in 62 A.D. that they were still rebuilding from when Vesuvius erupted, but for 2,000 years old, it's so well-preserved! I was in awe.
At the site, there was a storehouse of artifacts that we got to see. Inside were hundreds of pots, many very well intact. Also, there were some bodies, plaster-cast with the real bones inside. I cried upon the sight of them--frozen in time from the moment of their last breath. It wasn't like anything I have ever seen. You go to museums and you see mummies, and they're a wonder to view, but to see these people, stuck in motion, going about life, is unbelievable. The one body was sitting up with his knees to his chest, cover is hands over his face and mouth, trying to breath amongst the debris. It was very intense. Also in the storehouse were statues, boxes (like literal treasure chests), and an anchor. I am slightly in love with anchors recently, and this one was so simply beautiful. We really did get to see a lot, but two hours just wasn't enough. Someday, I will go back.
This morning, I went to a local school to volunteer at a summer camp teaching English. I guess there was a mis-communication somewhere because I went, thinking that I would be helping out with lessons and games and what not like at a Vacation Bible School sort of thing. No. They expected me to come prepared with an hour's worth of a literal English lesson. I had nothing! The ages of the children ranged from 6 to 12, and their knowledge of English varied greatly. In 40 minutes, I threw together a half-hour lesson on the alphabet, numbers, colors, days of the week and the months. The older ones already knew most of this and looked bored, but it seemed like the younger ones were interested to learn and were picking up on it. For the days the days of the week and the months, I taught them the songs that we do at the daycare at home. The caught on quickly which was nice. Even though it was very difficult and frustrating because I am not fluent in Italian, it was a good experience. Next week, the director asked me to add a storybook reading and some children's music to my lesson in addition to the things that we did this week. I felt like they didn't want me there, though, especially since I am not fluent in Italian. We'll see what happens. I think that I will talk to Monica about it and decide from there if I will actually go back; it just seemed like I was more in the way.
As I enter this busy week, I am overwhelmed with schoolwork, activities, and everything that Italy has to offer. Nevertheless, I am doing my best that I can and enjoying every minute of being here. Yet, I have a favor to ask. My cousin (more like brother), Derek, is in the hospital at home. It's been hard for me to be here and not with him, and I'm just asking for prayers over the entire situation--prayers that he can come home soon, prayers that we can stay sane being away from each other, prayers that the situation can remain calm until I come home. Much appreciated.
Blessings.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Musica!
When I came to Italy, I had no idea how this would truly become my life. I thought that I would come here, and it would be a long vacation. Now that I'm here, I'm well past settled in, and I'm just living. This is my life now, and that reality hit me in the face this weekend.
Here, I will do ALL of the things that I do in Pennsylvania. That's definitely a note-to-self for my next big adventure. I'm going crazy without my music. No iPod, no iTunes, no guitar...nothing. What a crazy thing to do! I considered these things before leaving, and I thought, 'No, I don't want to be in this amazing country all hung-up on my music, in my own world.' Now I realize that world has followed me here. I've been relying on Youtube for all of my music listening needs, and let me just say, it's not very satisfying.
I've been really jones-ing for my guitar. Every day, I walk down the street, and there are street musicians everywhere playing and singing. It's beautiful. To have the nerve to just set up a PA and play, I will never understand, but I wish that I could. I watch them, and I dream of being that person someday. Paige has been telling me since Rome that I should get a guitar here. They really are cheap. Seriously, like a decent guitar for forty euro. That's beside the point.
Tonight, Paige, Lily and I were walking around after getting one of the tastiest gelato yet. (I feel like I say that everytime that I get gelato!) While walking past the Uffizi, there was a street musician at the piazza there. On a whim, we stopped and listened. We sat behind him, and it was a great decision. There was a man sitting next to us, and when I said, "This area has great acoustics!" he turned and nodded. A musician, obviously. There was a guitar case next to him, but I thought that it was the performer's. After talking, I learned that this man is a songwriter from Boston. I was in awe. After the street musician was done, Paul (the man next to me) got out his guitar and asked me to play something. Slightly in shock, but super excited, I played my usual go-to song, "Colorblind" by Counting Crows. Naturally, I was super nervous and shakey and quiet and, well, I sucked, but it was great to play. Then, he played a song that he wrote the other day. It was pretty good, very sing-able. I caught on pretty quick and started singing harmonies. It feels so great to sing and play and just get some music going in Italy. I've missed it so much, even if it is just a personal thing for me.
Anyways, I'm hoping that we run into each other again for some more jam-time. I need to play (yes, music is a need), and even just singing along would tickle my musical bones. Plus, I have to remind myself, I have a question with his lyrics: how does Van Gogh relate to Chinque Terre? I'm a technical gal.
So I came home to the apartment with notes floating in my blood. My goal this year is to kill my nerves of playing guitar with people around so that my music can be true and my love and knowledge of it can seem more legit and believe-able because right now, I feel like a doofus when I play because I get so damn nervous.
I believe in signs.
Tonight, we went up to the Piazelle Michelangiolo to watch the sunset. There were guys there playing guitar, and Paige kept saying that I should ask them if I could borrow one. Shy as I can be, I was content with allowing them to provide a soundtrack to my surrealistic surroundings. I got some great shots to paint when I get back to the States. If I can ever bring myself to leave...
Blessings.
Here, I will do ALL of the things that I do in Pennsylvania. That's definitely a note-to-self for my next big adventure. I'm going crazy without my music. No iPod, no iTunes, no guitar...nothing. What a crazy thing to do! I considered these things before leaving, and I thought, 'No, I don't want to be in this amazing country all hung-up on my music, in my own world.' Now I realize that world has followed me here. I've been relying on Youtube for all of my music listening needs, and let me just say, it's not very satisfying.
I've been really jones-ing for my guitar. Every day, I walk down the street, and there are street musicians everywhere playing and singing. It's beautiful. To have the nerve to just set up a PA and play, I will never understand, but I wish that I could. I watch them, and I dream of being that person someday. Paige has been telling me since Rome that I should get a guitar here. They really are cheap. Seriously, like a decent guitar for forty euro. That's beside the point.
Tonight, Paige, Lily and I were walking around after getting one of the tastiest gelato yet. (I feel like I say that everytime that I get gelato!) While walking past the Uffizi, there was a street musician at the piazza there. On a whim, we stopped and listened. We sat behind him, and it was a great decision. There was a man sitting next to us, and when I said, "This area has great acoustics!" he turned and nodded. A musician, obviously. There was a guitar case next to him, but I thought that it was the performer's. After talking, I learned that this man is a songwriter from Boston. I was in awe. After the street musician was done, Paul (the man next to me) got out his guitar and asked me to play something. Slightly in shock, but super excited, I played my usual go-to song, "Colorblind" by Counting Crows. Naturally, I was super nervous and shakey and quiet and, well, I sucked, but it was great to play. Then, he played a song that he wrote the other day. It was pretty good, very sing-able. I caught on pretty quick and started singing harmonies. It feels so great to sing and play and just get some music going in Italy. I've missed it so much, even if it is just a personal thing for me.
Anyways, I'm hoping that we run into each other again for some more jam-time. I need to play (yes, music is a need), and even just singing along would tickle my musical bones. Plus, I have to remind myself, I have a question with his lyrics: how does Van Gogh relate to Chinque Terre? I'm a technical gal.
So I came home to the apartment with notes floating in my blood. My goal this year is to kill my nerves of playing guitar with people around so that my music can be true and my love and knowledge of it can seem more legit and believe-able because right now, I feel like a doofus when I play because I get so damn nervous.
I believe in signs.
Tonight, we went up to the Piazelle Michelangiolo to watch the sunset. There were guys there playing guitar, and Paige kept saying that I should ask them if I could borrow one. Shy as I can be, I was content with allowing them to provide a soundtrack to my surrealistic surroundings. I got some great shots to paint when I get back to the States. If I can ever bring myself to leave...
Blessings.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Bug bites & sexy feet
I've been having a difficult time bringing myself to blog again. Last week, I started getting personal with my writing, and by personal, I mean sentimental. It's really hard to walk along that line. I think that by doing so, I got a little frightened. I felt as though I had dipped my toe into freezing water and was afraid to go in for the swim, so here I am, having not blogged in days because I am afraid to share my blessings.
Classes are going better, but I feel like I can only say that because it is the weekend, so I don't have class! My quiz on Thursday went better than I expected (I think), and I felt relieved after it was over. Ceramics has been going better since we refined our pieces. I have felt a little better about them, even though they aren't even or anything. I went into the studio yesterday to finish painting them for their first firing. I can't wait to see how they turn out, though two of them are cracked already and probably won't survive. Our professor already gave us our second assignment, but I haven't even started the first! We have to research designs and styles and ideas first. How much do I have done? Zip. Oops...
Recently, I have been accumulating a ton of mosquito bites. The funny thing about it is that I've really only see around 5 or 12 mosquitoes. I counted my bites yesterday, and I was at 55. I counted them again in the bath this morning, and I am up to 77. At first, they didn't bother me because they didn't itch. Now, the itching has set in, and I have been going crazy. My arms and legs look like I have chicken pox. I have a bite under my chin, and I fear that when I itch it, the Italians may think that I am expressing profane body language.
As I walked into my apartment today, an Italian man on the street said to me, "I like your tattoo. I like your green sandals. I like your sexy feet. I like it all." I rolled my eyes, said "Grazie" and gave a nonchalant wave. Oh, men. Sometimes, I would really just like to know why they try to flatter American girls. What do they expect us to do but laugh and walk away?
I wish that I could live like I never have to leave here, but the reality of the brevity of this trip is constantly weighing over me. Before I left home, these six weeks (almost) seemed like such a long time to be away! Now, they simply aren't enough for me.
I want to remember every detail about being here. I don't want it to fade away when I go home. I never want to forget the feeling of living abroad--the beauty of it. I want to remember going to the store and deciding how many eggs I want to buy since they are sold in cartons carrying 2, 4 or 6 eggs, all for less than one euro. I want to remember drinking warm "milk" out of a carton and buying it for sixty-five euro-cent and feeling like an astronaut during the process. I want to remember the sounds of the "city" and how this term differs greatly from the U.S. I want to remember what it feels like to walk out my front door into a crazy market or to sit on our terrace in great companionship, overlooking the Tuscan landscape of hills. Oh, and of course, buying food in the market with my broken Italian.
The exchange rate doesn't bother me anymore since I am so used to thinking in euro. Sometimes, when things are a little pricey, I will think of them in USD to remind myself of their lasting value to me, but otherwise, I have gotten so used to working with euro, that I'm not so afraid of the currency anymore. The funny thing is that when I go back to the United States, I will feel like I have more money, but I really won't have any more than when I left!
I have two volunteer projects set up for my time here, and I am really excited for both. Starting this upcoming week, I will be gardening at Museo Stibbert. It's huge (or so it looks on the map), and I don't really know what to expect yet. I am very grateful for the opportunity to give back on this trip though. The best part is that I will be able to give back to the environment through the gardening project, as well as the people, through my other project which is volunteering at a summer camp! The summer camp gig is only two days, but the hours are a little longer than the gardening one. While there, I was told that I will be helping to teach children English! I am so excited! I was hoping to do some kind of service, and I just feel like both of these opportunities are perfect for me. I just pray that the plans carry through and that I don't miss the bus and that I can serve as God calls me to.
On Thursday, we went to the exhibit "Angry Young Men: Picasso, Miro, Dali." It was amazing. It featured their earlier works, beginning in the year 1926 and going backwards in time. Learning how their art changed over the years and what influenced it was phenomenal, and seeing their earlier works that aren't shown as much... oh! Words cannot describe! At the exhibit, one of Picasso's notebooks was displayed. This showing was the first time that it had been viewed outside of Spain. To stand there and think of the masters that created them warmed my heart. I felt like I was standing in the same room as them. Dali is my favorite painter that I have encountered yet, and his work "A Moment Before" was my favorite until this exhibit. Here, they displayed his painting called "Bleeding Roses," and it was absolutely fantastic! The colors! The details! The vibrance! Don't even Google-it because you won't understand. I tried to find an image that would do justice to show you, but the color is lost, just so much is lost that it's not even worth it. Just trust me.
Sometimes I feel like I live here for the long-run, like this is home now. It's almost as if I have always been here, as if this is all that I have ever known. Sometimes I forget that I live in a house an ocean away, lost between trees and fields, not an apartment in the middle of a crowded market with busy streets. Sometimes I forget that I go to an American college, not an International Institute. The memory of family and friends becomes fogged and distant; which of these is my life? Can two weeks really feel like this long (in a good way)? I usually get this feeling of the familiarity of life here when I am walking down the street. I get frustrated with the tourists gawking at the monumental structures of my front yard, then I laugh at my hypocrisy in it all. At the exhibit, though, I forgot that I was in Italy. Walking through, everything was in English under the Italian markers, and it didn't feel strange at all. When we left, and I realized where I was, I experienced a momentary shock as if awaking from a dream.
My cousin Derek is in the hospital at home because he had to get his trach put back in, and he has Sepsis which is keeping him there a little longer. I am very worried about him, and I feel guilty for being in Italy instead of by his side, but I keep reminding myself that, even if I were there, I couldn't change anything. I just pray that he gets better, and I ask for your prayers as well.
As I laid in bed last night, I moved the tips of my fingers over the little bumps clustered along my wrist: my bug bite rosary. I am praying for this trip. I am praying for Derek. I am praying for God.
Blessings.
Classes are going better, but I feel like I can only say that because it is the weekend, so I don't have class! My quiz on Thursday went better than I expected (I think), and I felt relieved after it was over. Ceramics has been going better since we refined our pieces. I have felt a little better about them, even though they aren't even or anything. I went into the studio yesterday to finish painting them for their first firing. I can't wait to see how they turn out, though two of them are cracked already and probably won't survive. Our professor already gave us our second assignment, but I haven't even started the first! We have to research designs and styles and ideas first. How much do I have done? Zip. Oops...
Recently, I have been accumulating a ton of mosquito bites. The funny thing about it is that I've really only see around 5 or 12 mosquitoes. I counted my bites yesterday, and I was at 55. I counted them again in the bath this morning, and I am up to 77. At first, they didn't bother me because they didn't itch. Now, the itching has set in, and I have been going crazy. My arms and legs look like I have chicken pox. I have a bite under my chin, and I fear that when I itch it, the Italians may think that I am expressing profane body language.
As I walked into my apartment today, an Italian man on the street said to me, "I like your tattoo. I like your green sandals. I like your sexy feet. I like it all." I rolled my eyes, said "Grazie" and gave a nonchalant wave. Oh, men. Sometimes, I would really just like to know why they try to flatter American girls. What do they expect us to do but laugh and walk away?
I wish that I could live like I never have to leave here, but the reality of the brevity of this trip is constantly weighing over me. Before I left home, these six weeks (almost) seemed like such a long time to be away! Now, they simply aren't enough for me.
I want to remember every detail about being here. I don't want it to fade away when I go home. I never want to forget the feeling of living abroad--the beauty of it. I want to remember going to the store and deciding how many eggs I want to buy since they are sold in cartons carrying 2, 4 or 6 eggs, all for less than one euro. I want to remember drinking warm "milk" out of a carton and buying it for sixty-five euro-cent and feeling like an astronaut during the process. I want to remember the sounds of the "city" and how this term differs greatly from the U.S. I want to remember what it feels like to walk out my front door into a crazy market or to sit on our terrace in great companionship, overlooking the Tuscan landscape of hills. Oh, and of course, buying food in the market with my broken Italian.
The exchange rate doesn't bother me anymore since I am so used to thinking in euro. Sometimes, when things are a little pricey, I will think of them in USD to remind myself of their lasting value to me, but otherwise, I have gotten so used to working with euro, that I'm not so afraid of the currency anymore. The funny thing is that when I go back to the United States, I will feel like I have more money, but I really won't have any more than when I left!
I have two volunteer projects set up for my time here, and I am really excited for both. Starting this upcoming week, I will be gardening at Museo Stibbert. It's huge (or so it looks on the map), and I don't really know what to expect yet. I am very grateful for the opportunity to give back on this trip though. The best part is that I will be able to give back to the environment through the gardening project, as well as the people, through my other project which is volunteering at a summer camp! The summer camp gig is only two days, but the hours are a little longer than the gardening one. While there, I was told that I will be helping to teach children English! I am so excited! I was hoping to do some kind of service, and I just feel like both of these opportunities are perfect for me. I just pray that the plans carry through and that I don't miss the bus and that I can serve as God calls me to.
On Thursday, we went to the exhibit "Angry Young Men: Picasso, Miro, Dali." It was amazing. It featured their earlier works, beginning in the year 1926 and going backwards in time. Learning how their art changed over the years and what influenced it was phenomenal, and seeing their earlier works that aren't shown as much... oh! Words cannot describe! At the exhibit, one of Picasso's notebooks was displayed. This showing was the first time that it had been viewed outside of Spain. To stand there and think of the masters that created them warmed my heart. I felt like I was standing in the same room as them. Dali is my favorite painter that I have encountered yet, and his work "A Moment Before" was my favorite until this exhibit. Here, they displayed his painting called "Bleeding Roses," and it was absolutely fantastic! The colors! The details! The vibrance! Don't even Google-it because you won't understand. I tried to find an image that would do justice to show you, but the color is lost, just so much is lost that it's not even worth it. Just trust me.
Sometimes I feel like I live here for the long-run, like this is home now. It's almost as if I have always been here, as if this is all that I have ever known. Sometimes I forget that I live in a house an ocean away, lost between trees and fields, not an apartment in the middle of a crowded market with busy streets. Sometimes I forget that I go to an American college, not an International Institute. The memory of family and friends becomes fogged and distant; which of these is my life? Can two weeks really feel like this long (in a good way)? I usually get this feeling of the familiarity of life here when I am walking down the street. I get frustrated with the tourists gawking at the monumental structures of my front yard, then I laugh at my hypocrisy in it all. At the exhibit, though, I forgot that I was in Italy. Walking through, everything was in English under the Italian markers, and it didn't feel strange at all. When we left, and I realized where I was, I experienced a momentary shock as if awaking from a dream.
My cousin Derek is in the hospital at home because he had to get his trach put back in, and he has Sepsis which is keeping him there a little longer. I am very worried about him, and I feel guilty for being in Italy instead of by his side, but I keep reminding myself that, even if I were there, I couldn't change anything. I just pray that he gets better, and I ask for your prayers as well.
As I laid in bed last night, I moved the tips of my fingers over the little bumps clustered along my wrist: my bug bite rosary. I am praying for this trip. I am praying for Derek. I am praying for God.
Blessings.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Catching up!
So I have survived thus far, and I sometimes wonder how because I feel like I have been running and running and running non-stop since classes started.
I was completely exhausted when I came home from class on Monday. Completely discouraged, I started to wonder if this was the right place for me. Sometimes I feel like a fake artist or something because my creativity tends to come in phases, and it hasn't been with me lately. My first Ceramics class resulted in some lumpy pieces of clay. If a stranger had walked into that room and looked at my pieces, he/she would have thought that it was a kindergarten classroom. For a third year college student, it was pretty discouraging.
Oh Italian language: I don't even know where to begin. I was taught more in the first day of class than what I learned in the first half of the year in Spanish 1. Seriously. And I say "I was taught" because that's really what it was. A professor just talking at me. I didn't learn much, but I have a quiz on it all tomorrow. I was freaking out in class today because I didn't understand anything that the professor was saying, and I didn't know what to do. Hopefully, it will be okay after tomorrow since we will have a feel for her quizzes.
You know how people say that English is the hardest language to learn? Yeah, you know. Well, let me tell you. I highly disagree. I mean, come on. In English, our adjectives are adjectives. They do not change if you are a boy or a girl or if there is one of you or twenty of you. Italian sucks in that way. If I want to say "Sarah has a red shirt," I have to say, "Sarah ha una camicia rossa." If I want to say, "Sarah and Marco have red shirts," I have to say, "Sarah e Marco hanno una camicia rosse." I think... I could very well be wrong because I simply don't understand conjugating adjectives!
Much has happened, but I really need to start studying before I get too too tired! I wish that I had more time to write and blog and everything, but hopefully I will be able to truly catch up over the weekend! One more day!
Blessings.
I was completely exhausted when I came home from class on Monday. Completely discouraged, I started to wonder if this was the right place for me. Sometimes I feel like a fake artist or something because my creativity tends to come in phases, and it hasn't been with me lately. My first Ceramics class resulted in some lumpy pieces of clay. If a stranger had walked into that room and looked at my pieces, he/she would have thought that it was a kindergarten classroom. For a third year college student, it was pretty discouraging.
Oh Italian language: I don't even know where to begin. I was taught more in the first day of class than what I learned in the first half of the year in Spanish 1. Seriously. And I say "I was taught" because that's really what it was. A professor just talking at me. I didn't learn much, but I have a quiz on it all tomorrow. I was freaking out in class today because I didn't understand anything that the professor was saying, and I didn't know what to do. Hopefully, it will be okay after tomorrow since we will have a feel for her quizzes.
You know how people say that English is the hardest language to learn? Yeah, you know. Well, let me tell you. I highly disagree. I mean, come on. In English, our adjectives are adjectives. They do not change if you are a boy or a girl or if there is one of you or twenty of you. Italian sucks in that way. If I want to say "Sarah has a red shirt," I have to say, "Sarah ha una camicia rossa." If I want to say, "Sarah and Marco have red shirts," I have to say, "Sarah e Marco hanno una camicia rosse." I think... I could very well be wrong because I simply don't understand conjugating adjectives!
Much has happened, but I really need to start studying before I get too too tired! I wish that I had more time to write and blog and everything, but hopefully I will be able to truly catch up over the weekend! One more day!
Blessings.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
And then I was thinking...
I posted my blog, and it was very introverted and dorky and filled with the kinds of things that I should probably just keep to myself because my writing suffers when I get sentimental. Suddenly, I realized that I started diverting my travel blog into other things: my turtle, my faith, Arizona. It's so funny. She was right all along, "Let your broccoli tell you how to eat it!"
And now I was going to actually write about my day and what I did and how things are going. But that's just it. Things are going. Life is slowing down for now. I was frightened today, though. It felt as though the church bells were chiming every five minutes instead of every hour or half-hour. My heart feared that time might be rushing past me today, then I concluded that the bells must ring more often on Sundays. I hope.
And now I was going to actually write about my day and what I did and how things are going. But that's just it. Things are going. Life is slowing down for now. I was frightened today, though. It felt as though the church bells were chiming every five minutes instead of every hour or half-hour. My heart feared that time might be rushing past me today, then I concluded that the bells must ring more often on Sundays. I hope.
Some things are just meant to be. Corny, but really.
I wasn't going to blog today, but I just have to. I do.
We went out for gelato and to scope out our classes, and after finding out that our classes are apparently behind a garage door (so says the address that we were lead to) and after getting ripped off for the worst tasting gelato ever, I saw a little turtle guy thing sitting on the trash can that I threw my gelato cup into. I am not sure what he is made out of, but he's hard and solid. I got really excited when I saw him, but then I was too afraid to pick him up because I always have irrational fears that random objects that appear to have been purposely placed somewhere may have drugs inside or be made out of something illegal or be explosive. One of my roommates, Tess, picked it up and carried it home for me, and when we got back, I gave it a bath. Now he sits on my bedside stand. My little Elijah reminder. I hope that my tortoise at home is doing well.
I feel very comfortable with being in Italy now. Since it has been a full week of being here, the whole vacation feeling has left, and I have accepted that this is home now. Sometimes, the reality of how far this actually is from home hits me, but I still don't quite miss home yet. It's funny because all of the fears that I have felt towards coming here have melted away. Especially after learning to make simple conversation with the locals and becoming good friends with my roommates and settling into our apartment for a while before starting class. (I am still anxious to start class, but I am certain that that soon will melt away too, especially by the 2nd or 3rd class; they run 2.5 hrs. each, everyday!) Anyways, I feel calm. I feel like this is where I am supposed to be right now. This is my time to do something big. This is right. For me. Here. Now.
I know that it sounds really cheesy and corny, but it's so very true in ways that most readers probably wouldn't understand. I am so thankful for so much right now. Italy is beautiful. There is hope. I'm really in love with God right now for giving me these opportunities and for showing me how great life is. He truly has carried me to a world that I never thought could really exist.
Each day gets closer to the fourth, and once the fourth is over, the days get closer to the next July 4th. I can't believe that it will be three years tomorrow. Really. Why does that number get bigger each time? Even from a world away, I miss you, although I guess we have been this far for a while. <3SEB, TWB
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