I am sitting in my spotless living room, watching MTV and drinking coffee that Ingrid made by boiling water in a pot, adding coffee grounds, and then moving the brewing coffee back and forth between two pots until it was brewed and all the coffee grounds were in the other pot. This is an ingenius plan, born of desperation when Ingrid thought we didn't have napkins (we usually use a napkin as a filter over a handheld strainer, and pour boiling water over the coffee grounds in our 'filter' into a pot). The Jonas Brothers are on MTV right now. It upsets me, but not as much as seeing that not only does Italian MTV have The Hills, but they paid money to Italian men and women to DUB THEIR VOICES. I'm not saying they paid a lot of money, God knows that show mostly consists of them vacantly staring at each other while some horrendous pop/mock alternative song plays in the background to smother the silence of stupidity.
Let me give you a little run down of Italian MTV. We watch MTV all the time here. It's the only chance we have at seeing television in English. We rejoice when "Made" or "Room Raiders" comes on, because they don't dub the voices, they do subtitles, thus being both a learning tool as well as pure (albeit pathetic and cringe-worthy) entertainment. Stef and I found South Park (in Italian) on late at night. I think we find it frustrating to watch television here in Italian because it's alllll American shows (CSI, The Reaper, Will and Grace, Friends, the Simpsons, etc.) but in Italian. It's getting thisclose to something that reminds us of home, only to have it masked in a language we have only a beginner's grasp of. So, MTV is our saving grace. Sort of.
We spend hours dissecting their music video lineup (yes, in Italy MTV, or Music Television, plays actual music videos!) and laughing at the Italian songs and artists that make it into the mix. They have a list of about 10 songs that get played over and over and over, every hour. This includes 'Hot and Cold' by Katy Perry, 'If I Were A Boy' by Beyonce, 'Primavery Anticipo' by James Blunt and an Italian artist, whose name I am forgetting, and some Hilary Duff song that makes me want to slit the throat of whoever told her she had a future in the entertainment industry. The Italian music videos that are lucky enough to make the cut usually if not always feature the band, clad in black or white, on the roof of some building in a city that is either in northern Italy or not in Italy at all, as they sing their song, arms spread, eyes closed. They are very serious when they're singing, and the same sepia-like tone masks the video.
I never thought I would appreciate American music videos until I spent a month here watching Italian MTV. American music videos, despite the generally substance-free song lyrics, usually present well-choreographed, intricate two and a half minute stories.
The best song we've heard so far here? Is from the Adidas commercial. It's 'Beggin' by Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, remixed by Madcon. Stef downloaded it, and we listen to it on repeat.
I feel guilty that I don't write in here more often. And that when I do, I give the lowdown on Italian MTV. This week was midterms. they went fine. Jen and I are desperately trying to find a way to Zurich that costs less than 200 euro, so we can visit Michael and his family before he goes to Hamburg, but it's not looking good right now. It's frustrating, since he was able to visit us from Colombia, and we're now on the same continent and we can't find a way to see him.
In other news, Micah visits in less than two weeks! I'm so unbelievably excited for this, it's hard to even focus on the fact that it's spring break right now, and we're going to Ibiza, Spain tomorrow.
mmm. Well, I'm mildly hungover after last night's debauchery - finally got a hold of some vodka (not wine!) and that was a bad idea. We went to a club called 21 - very American. But the dancing was fun.
Good day friends,
Sara
Friday, February 27, 2009
Monday, February 16, 2009
Or we could simply pack our bags and catch a plane to Barcelona cuz this city's a drag.
I never know how to begin these entries. Especially this one, about Barcelona. Well, I suppose first it's necessary to understand my deep love for cities. I love all cities, I love neighborhoods in cities, I love cafés in cities, I love the initial feeling of anonymity, and the ensuing grasp of identity once you have found your niche, your stores, your coffee shop, your friends. I love cities. I want to live in a city for as long as possible. Until someone pulls me away from them, kicking and screaming to a nursing home.
When we arrived in Girona, exhausted, we climbed onto a bus to the city, and something in me woke up. We drove through the countryside and eyes locked on our windows, Jen and I again marveled at the fact that at night, everything looks the same, looks like home, looks like familiar places and things. That building could be the law offices off of I-94 by Brookfield, that neighborhood could be in San Francisco. As we got closer, I ached to hear 'Holiday in Spain' by the Counting Crows, to understand the pull of the city that we were staying in for only 2 days. When we finally got to the bus station in Barcelona, everyone seemed to be cranky, hungry, and altogether done for the day.
But I wasn't. I saw wide streets (!!), I saw big buildings, new and old, I saw the hustle and bustle of a big city, a big city, the skyline that I had seen from the road from Girona was up close and literally felt personal, and I loved it. Not warm, but not as cold as Florence, it felt like the world was at my feet. It was my first European adventure by plane, and though it hadn't gone off without a hitch (ie: late plane, turbulence, an unexpected €21 for a bus ride, and then no idea where our hostal was or where we were), I was too excited to care.
Ultimately we found Hostal Central - a fantastic hostal, where Mandy, Nathan and I shared a room with bunk beds, a double bed, a shower, and an indoor sitting area that overlooked the city (pictures to come, once i figure out how to do such fancy things). Our first meal makes my mouth water just thinking about it. We got 2 pitchers of Sangria, 2 appetizers and our own meals - for about €10 each.
Friday morning we ate in our hostal - free breakfast of 3 pastries, and all-you-can drink coffee - REAL coffee, in CUPS. Needless to say, we did drink all we could throughout our stay. Walking outside into the bright Barcelona sunshine, walking down the busy streets, in a city that felt so incredibly international - everyone spoke catalana and spanish, with buildings old and new, with architecture that took my breath away, parks where old spanish men and women fed pigeons, I felt immediately at home.
It's how I felt after I visited Boston the first time. I could picture myself there. And it was, and now is again, a picture that is vivid, hopeful, and full of the limitless of potential of the life I still have to live. Park Guell was beautiful, La Sagrada Familia cathedral, began by Goya who died in 1936 (i think?) too enormous in size and intricacies to describe well, even the graffitti was amazing. The city was clean, the streets alive with markets and the Mediterranean Sea settled peacefully on the other end of Las Ramblas. All of which could be seen from the tip top of Park Guell. A view that I would not mind being able to see every day.
The food was exquisite. Sad to recall that guacamole is mexican cuisine, but happy to eat paella, fruit, and tapas. Actually, one of the best meals I had was a falafel pita. And I secretly was ecstatic to see Starbucks (yes, even in Barcelona, on almost every corner) and Subway. Jen and I, after discovering we could do Barcelona really cheap, quickly realized that it was better to spend a little bit more to eat more frequently (the food was way too good to not want to eat constantly), and thoroughly enjoy our time in a place that I could probably accurately claim is my favorite city in Europe right now, and still not be mistaken later on in this semester.
Friday night we went to Opium - Barcelona's most popular dance club in a city that is known for its clubs. We danced all night, we talked all night, we laughed all night, making it to our hostal no earlier than 6am, and staying up no later than 7am. It was the perfect ending to a trip that defied my expectations, and completely swept me off my feet.
I realize how silly it sounds to say that I fell in love with a city. To say that I found a place that could potentially be my home on the other side of the world. But that's how it felt. It felt like falling in love, like finding home.
I was sad to come back to Florence. I feel like a traitor saying that I like Barcelona more than Florence. But it's a very different love, and they are such different cities that it seems impossible to even begin to compare them. Florence, a place I love with all my heart. Florence is an old city though. It is ancient, and that is why I love it, for an entirely different reason than my love for Barcelona. But it was Valentine's Day without Micah, it was cold when we got home, there had been some drama the last few days, and I was extremely sick. An appropriate bodily response to the deep ache I felt missing Micah especially in Barcelona, and then the sadness I felt upon leaving my new favorite city.
So our spring break plans have changed. We are going to Ibiza, Spain. Back to Spain. Smaller than Barcelona, an island south of the mainland, with clubs and white sand beaches and a price thats a helluva lot lower than our Greece spring break would have been.
I have to go home now. My afternoon class was cancelled, and I want to cook a good meal and get some rest, so I'm not sick for very long.
Here's to traveling though. To experiencing an entirely new and different culture every week. To acclamating yourself to that change. To not being exhausted by it, but energized. Here's to the world as one grand culture, one grand community. Here's to finally understanding that.
Cheers
Sara
When we arrived in Girona, exhausted, we climbed onto a bus to the city, and something in me woke up. We drove through the countryside and eyes locked on our windows, Jen and I again marveled at the fact that at night, everything looks the same, looks like home, looks like familiar places and things. That building could be the law offices off of I-94 by Brookfield, that neighborhood could be in San Francisco. As we got closer, I ached to hear 'Holiday in Spain' by the Counting Crows, to understand the pull of the city that we were staying in for only 2 days. When we finally got to the bus station in Barcelona, everyone seemed to be cranky, hungry, and altogether done for the day.
But I wasn't. I saw wide streets (!!), I saw big buildings, new and old, I saw the hustle and bustle of a big city, a big city, the skyline that I had seen from the road from Girona was up close and literally felt personal, and I loved it. Not warm, but not as cold as Florence, it felt like the world was at my feet. It was my first European adventure by plane, and though it hadn't gone off without a hitch (ie: late plane, turbulence, an unexpected €21 for a bus ride, and then no idea where our hostal was or where we were), I was too excited to care.
Ultimately we found Hostal Central - a fantastic hostal, where Mandy, Nathan and I shared a room with bunk beds, a double bed, a shower, and an indoor sitting area that overlooked the city (pictures to come, once i figure out how to do such fancy things). Our first meal makes my mouth water just thinking about it. We got 2 pitchers of Sangria, 2 appetizers and our own meals - for about €10 each.
Friday morning we ate in our hostal - free breakfast of 3 pastries, and all-you-can drink coffee - REAL coffee, in CUPS. Needless to say, we did drink all we could throughout our stay. Walking outside into the bright Barcelona sunshine, walking down the busy streets, in a city that felt so incredibly international - everyone spoke catalana and spanish, with buildings old and new, with architecture that took my breath away, parks where old spanish men and women fed pigeons, I felt immediately at home.
It's how I felt after I visited Boston the first time. I could picture myself there. And it was, and now is again, a picture that is vivid, hopeful, and full of the limitless of potential of the life I still have to live. Park Guell was beautiful, La Sagrada Familia cathedral, began by Goya who died in 1936 (i think?) too enormous in size and intricacies to describe well, even the graffitti was amazing. The city was clean, the streets alive with markets and the Mediterranean Sea settled peacefully on the other end of Las Ramblas. All of which could be seen from the tip top of Park Guell. A view that I would not mind being able to see every day.
The food was exquisite. Sad to recall that guacamole is mexican cuisine, but happy to eat paella, fruit, and tapas. Actually, one of the best meals I had was a falafel pita. And I secretly was ecstatic to see Starbucks (yes, even in Barcelona, on almost every corner) and Subway. Jen and I, after discovering we could do Barcelona really cheap, quickly realized that it was better to spend a little bit more to eat more frequently (the food was way too good to not want to eat constantly), and thoroughly enjoy our time in a place that I could probably accurately claim is my favorite city in Europe right now, and still not be mistaken later on in this semester.
Friday night we went to Opium - Barcelona's most popular dance club in a city that is known for its clubs. We danced all night, we talked all night, we laughed all night, making it to our hostal no earlier than 6am, and staying up no later than 7am. It was the perfect ending to a trip that defied my expectations, and completely swept me off my feet.
I realize how silly it sounds to say that I fell in love with a city. To say that I found a place that could potentially be my home on the other side of the world. But that's how it felt. It felt like falling in love, like finding home.
I was sad to come back to Florence. I feel like a traitor saying that I like Barcelona more than Florence. But it's a very different love, and they are such different cities that it seems impossible to even begin to compare them. Florence, a place I love with all my heart. Florence is an old city though. It is ancient, and that is why I love it, for an entirely different reason than my love for Barcelona. But it was Valentine's Day without Micah, it was cold when we got home, there had been some drama the last few days, and I was extremely sick. An appropriate bodily response to the deep ache I felt missing Micah especially in Barcelona, and then the sadness I felt upon leaving my new favorite city.
So our spring break plans have changed. We are going to Ibiza, Spain. Back to Spain. Smaller than Barcelona, an island south of the mainland, with clubs and white sand beaches and a price thats a helluva lot lower than our Greece spring break would have been.
I have to go home now. My afternoon class was cancelled, and I want to cook a good meal and get some rest, so I'm not sick for very long.
Here's to traveling though. To experiencing an entirely new and different culture every week. To acclamating yourself to that change. To not being exhausted by it, but energized. Here's to the world as one grand culture, one grand community. Here's to finally understanding that.
Cheers
Sara
Friday, February 6, 2009
I feel Jesus in the clumsiness of young and awkward lovers
Today was Siena.
I think that's how I'm supposed to write these types of goal-oriented, themed blogs...I'm not really sure. I just know how to journal. Gah. Fuck it.
Today was Siena. Today I sat in my corner of the bus, head against the window, the busdriver's all too Italian driving jerking me up and down, and listened to my current On-The-Go playlist. I was in my own world entirely. I had muted the sound of the 20 other students on the bus, and as we got closer and closer to Siena, I realized I didn't want the bus to stop, because when the bus stopped, I had to turn off my music and re-enter the real world. And I had a flashback, to my 6th grade Europe trip, and I remembered never wanting to get off the bus because it meant I would have to stop listening to my cd player, stop reading, stop writing. It was sort of a weird memory. It had been buried really deep, and it was something I never would have thought about again, if that feeling hadn't overwhelmed me again. And then I was awed to realize that music has been my saving grace since a fairly young age.
The bus ride wasn't bad, and I love being in my own little world far too much to be upset about listening to music for an hour and a half. Siena is so much quieter than Florence. I knew more about Siena going into this experience - about the Palio, le constrade, La Piazza del Campo, il Duomo, and it was really cool to see what I'd read about up close.
But when we were in the Duomo, looking at its unbelievable interior, and the 54 handcarved marble floor pieces, our tour guide mentioned something about Peter being on one side, and Paul being on the other (yes, I know. Four hours later, my memory is already lacking), and I immediately flashed back to the song that has been playing on repeat since I got here. "Girl in the War" by Josh Ritter. (Paul said to Peter, "you've got to rock yourself a little bit harder/pretend the dove from above is a dragon/and your feet are on fire") and I had a musical realization.
I'm going to sidestep for a second and say that yes, this might be dumb and long, but you don't have to read it, and yes, I know I'm in Italy, and I'm writing about my music. But a revelation is a revelation, and maybe there's a reason I realized this in Italy.
It started with the realization that the vast majority of my favorite songs have literary, historical, and most often, biblical references (Romeo and Juliet by Dire Straits, Oedipus by Regina Spektor, Citrus by the Hold Steady). And as we toured the rest of the Duomo, and we stood in awe in front of intricate frescoes, statues of saints, and stained glass that, despite the dreary day, managed to absolutely glow, I realized that this was most likely due to the fact that music is the closest thing I have to a true religion. I didn't grow up with any diety forced down my throat, and I've always believed in God, but the closest I've felt to any sort of higher power is when I'm listening to music, especially live. When a song gets in your chest and fills your heart, your lungs, and completely intoxicates you. Hearing Coldplay at Alpine Valley made me reach a new plane of serenity, that was literally awe-some.
I feel like this is a sensible place to end this entry, but it was a long day, and I had a lot of time to just think, and so, unluckily for you, this is going to be longer.
At lunch, Mandy, Jen, Ingrid and I sat down at a little restaurant a few streets down from the Piazza and as we were eating, we were giggling at a little boy that was overjoyed with a fish in the fishtank. The dad turned around and started talking to us. It started off being about his children (both of whom speak Hebrew, French and Russian), and it's funny to me that no language barrier in the world could keep the pride out of a parent's voice when talking about their children. But the conversation quickly turned to us, and where in the U.S. we were from. The man had done his residency at University Hospital in Cincinnati, even though he was French, and lived in Israel. Mandy looked dumbstruck. She had been born in University Hospital, the same year he was there doing his residency in the maternity wing.
"Well, I'm sorry to say, I don't remember you" the man chuckled.
"Yeah, well I don't remember either" Mandy responded, also laughing.
I love small world stories, and moments like that make me appreciate that all the way across the world, in a tiny tiny restaurant, in Siena, we have something in common with the Israeli man sitting at the table next to us. There are always commonalities, it's just a matter of taking the time to learn them.
By the time we all returned to the bus to head to San Gimignano, everyone was a little bit whiny, a lot bit wet, and even more downtrodden about the fact that one of our two buses had broke down. We piled ourselves into the first bus and suggested to Danny and Valentina, our CAPA guides, that we leave a little early from San Gimignano, to which they quickly agreed.
But Italy surprised us. San Gimignano was beautiful, in the classic Tuscan way. The sun was low in the sky already at 4:00 when we arrived, but at least the sun was visible, creating a hazy glow over the Tuscan countryside. Climbing to a Scenic Point, Ingrid, Mandy, Jen, Nathan and I got two bottles of wine, some bread and some cheese, and enjoyed the view perched on a stone wall. It was a perfect moment. I breathed in deeply, and I could smell the faint scent of someone burning brush, and somewhere close by bread was being baked. I felt completely care free.
The bus ride back was peaceful. The second bus had been fixed, and everyone's spirits had been lifted by the beautiful end to the day. I watched the Tuscan countryside go by in the dark, and thought that the little lights of houses along the way didn't look any different from house lights from the highway at home at night.
I guess that's all for now.
sorry this is ridiculously long
-sara
I think that's how I'm supposed to write these types of goal-oriented, themed blogs...I'm not really sure. I just know how to journal. Gah. Fuck it.
Today was Siena. Today I sat in my corner of the bus, head against the window, the busdriver's all too Italian driving jerking me up and down, and listened to my current On-The-Go playlist. I was in my own world entirely. I had muted the sound of the 20 other students on the bus, and as we got closer and closer to Siena, I realized I didn't want the bus to stop, because when the bus stopped, I had to turn off my music and re-enter the real world. And I had a flashback, to my 6th grade Europe trip, and I remembered never wanting to get off the bus because it meant I would have to stop listening to my cd player, stop reading, stop writing. It was sort of a weird memory. It had been buried really deep, and it was something I never would have thought about again, if that feeling hadn't overwhelmed me again. And then I was awed to realize that music has been my saving grace since a fairly young age.
The bus ride wasn't bad, and I love being in my own little world far too much to be upset about listening to music for an hour and a half. Siena is so much quieter than Florence. I knew more about Siena going into this experience - about the Palio, le constrade, La Piazza del Campo, il Duomo, and it was really cool to see what I'd read about up close.
But when we were in the Duomo, looking at its unbelievable interior, and the 54 handcarved marble floor pieces, our tour guide mentioned something about Peter being on one side, and Paul being on the other (yes, I know. Four hours later, my memory is already lacking), and I immediately flashed back to the song that has been playing on repeat since I got here. "Girl in the War" by Josh Ritter. (Paul said to Peter, "you've got to rock yourself a little bit harder/pretend the dove from above is a dragon/and your feet are on fire") and I had a musical realization.
I'm going to sidestep for a second and say that yes, this might be dumb and long, but you don't have to read it, and yes, I know I'm in Italy, and I'm writing about my music. But a revelation is a revelation, and maybe there's a reason I realized this in Italy.
It started with the realization that the vast majority of my favorite songs have literary, historical, and most often, biblical references (Romeo and Juliet by Dire Straits, Oedipus by Regina Spektor, Citrus by the Hold Steady). And as we toured the rest of the Duomo, and we stood in awe in front of intricate frescoes, statues of saints, and stained glass that, despite the dreary day, managed to absolutely glow, I realized that this was most likely due to the fact that music is the closest thing I have to a true religion. I didn't grow up with any diety forced down my throat, and I've always believed in God, but the closest I've felt to any sort of higher power is when I'm listening to music, especially live. When a song gets in your chest and fills your heart, your lungs, and completely intoxicates you. Hearing Coldplay at Alpine Valley made me reach a new plane of serenity, that was literally awe-some.
I feel like this is a sensible place to end this entry, but it was a long day, and I had a lot of time to just think, and so, unluckily for you, this is going to be longer.
At lunch, Mandy, Jen, Ingrid and I sat down at a little restaurant a few streets down from the Piazza and as we were eating, we were giggling at a little boy that was overjoyed with a fish in the fishtank. The dad turned around and started talking to us. It started off being about his children (both of whom speak Hebrew, French and Russian), and it's funny to me that no language barrier in the world could keep the pride out of a parent's voice when talking about their children. But the conversation quickly turned to us, and where in the U.S. we were from. The man had done his residency at University Hospital in Cincinnati, even though he was French, and lived in Israel. Mandy looked dumbstruck. She had been born in University Hospital, the same year he was there doing his residency in the maternity wing.
"Well, I'm sorry to say, I don't remember you" the man chuckled.
"Yeah, well I don't remember either" Mandy responded, also laughing.
I love small world stories, and moments like that make me appreciate that all the way across the world, in a tiny tiny restaurant, in Siena, we have something in common with the Israeli man sitting at the table next to us. There are always commonalities, it's just a matter of taking the time to learn them.
By the time we all returned to the bus to head to San Gimignano, everyone was a little bit whiny, a lot bit wet, and even more downtrodden about the fact that one of our two buses had broke down. We piled ourselves into the first bus and suggested to Danny and Valentina, our CAPA guides, that we leave a little early from San Gimignano, to which they quickly agreed.
But Italy surprised us. San Gimignano was beautiful, in the classic Tuscan way. The sun was low in the sky already at 4:00 when we arrived, but at least the sun was visible, creating a hazy glow over the Tuscan countryside. Climbing to a Scenic Point, Ingrid, Mandy, Jen, Nathan and I got two bottles of wine, some bread and some cheese, and enjoyed the view perched on a stone wall. It was a perfect moment. I breathed in deeply, and I could smell the faint scent of someone burning brush, and somewhere close by bread was being baked. I felt completely care free.
The bus ride back was peaceful. The second bus had been fixed, and everyone's spirits had been lifted by the beautiful end to the day. I watched the Tuscan countryside go by in the dark, and thought that the little lights of houses along the way didn't look any different from house lights from the highway at home at night.
I guess that's all for now.
sorry this is ridiculously long
-sara
Monday, February 2, 2009
Unfortunately, I am technologically disabled.
Mi dispiace, I have no idea how to make a fancy shmancy title...thing. I was clearly not granted the gift the rest of my family seemed to have naturally inherited - that of understanding technology/electronics/these fancy gadgets they called computers. So, unfortunamente, all you have is my writing. Unless someone knows how to do pretty things, in which case I will hand over my oh so secret password.
This weekend was laid back. It was comfortable, and it was much slower than last weekend's frantic Rome activities.
Friday night we went to Full Up, which was an actual Italian club, with actual Italians, as opposed to Space Elettronica. Space = trashy American club. It was a blast, but hardly authentic in the sense that the only Italians there were skeazy guys trying to hook up with drunk American girls. And since I heard many of my classmates say (or should I say slur?) on Monday at another club we went to (Yab), 'I just wanna make out with an Italian', it sounds like they are right in assuming its an appropriate place to be for such a venture. Therefore, staying away from trashy clubs. Since of course, I am just so very classy. (please note intense sarcasm)
Stef, Nathan, and I made it into the VIP section of the club, and VIP it was indeed. Point being: if you are sneaky enough and your inhibitions are lowered enough to not consider the risk of being thrown out of said club, you too can get into the VIP section. We danced, and danced...and danced. And at 4am, decided it was an appropriate time to head home. Arm in arm and giddy from the night.
Saturday and Sunday meld together into the kind of days I dream about having on a regular basis. The kind of day where you do nothing. Sit outside and read in the Italian sun outside the city on your terrace, go inside, cook (scrambled eggs with red pepper, red onion, yellow pepper, cream cheese, other cheese...yum), sit in your sunny room and read some more, crawl out of your room to make more food (a salame panino and some pasta), mock MTV and the 20 songs they seem to have on repeat, retreat into your roommates room...watch the new episode of Lost, then resume reading, only to cap off the night by watching The Dark Knight on your roommates computer.
Sunday passed in very much the same fashion. I finished 3 or 4 books this weekend. Random ones left over from previous students - too big and unnecessary to bring home with them. I am sure it's hard to pack 3 months of exploration and experiences into 2 suitcases that already hold a lot of your past.
The glorious revelation we all made on Saturday and Sunday was that to experience the Italian way of life...we should continue doing exactly what we were doing: nothing. Il dolce far niente - the sweet doing nothing. And what a sweet revelation that was. No one was being judged for being 'unproductive', you didn't have to be anywhere, you didn't have to do anything. You could just be.
Today in between my classes I'm making the short walk over to the Uffizi to sketch some Botticelli (no big), find paninis with Jen and Ingrid, and going to my last class of the day.
I am learning the Italian way. The moving more slowly, taking my time to talk to the man at Cafe Side by Side, where we go every morning, enjoying life as it is in each moment. It's not hectic or fast paced, I don't feel like I'm getting an ulcer all the time, nor am I hyperventilating or having anxiety attacks like I was back home.
When I told my parents how badly I needed this, how badly I wanted this, I don't think even I realized how big that need was.
This is a glorious, golden opportunity. It's an escape. From the stress that I felt in Minneapolis, the pressure I was constantly under. It's my mental leave of absence from the realm of reality that I know I will be ready to re-enter in 2 and a half months.
I miss all of you. You're here with me though. When I laugh at something, I'm thinking of how you would laugh too. When I am appreciating gelato, I know how we would enjoy it together. When I'm doing nothing or a million new things at once, I'm glad that I still have all of you.
Love.
This weekend was laid back. It was comfortable, and it was much slower than last weekend's frantic Rome activities.
Friday night we went to Full Up, which was an actual Italian club, with actual Italians, as opposed to Space Elettronica. Space = trashy American club. It was a blast, but hardly authentic in the sense that the only Italians there were skeazy guys trying to hook up with drunk American girls. And since I heard many of my classmates say (or should I say slur?) on Monday at another club we went to (Yab), 'I just wanna make out with an Italian', it sounds like they are right in assuming its an appropriate place to be for such a venture. Therefore, staying away from trashy clubs. Since of course, I am just so very classy. (please note intense sarcasm)
Stef, Nathan, and I made it into the VIP section of the club, and VIP it was indeed. Point being: if you are sneaky enough and your inhibitions are lowered enough to not consider the risk of being thrown out of said club, you too can get into the VIP section. We danced, and danced...and danced. And at 4am, decided it was an appropriate time to head home. Arm in arm and giddy from the night.
Saturday and Sunday meld together into the kind of days I dream about having on a regular basis. The kind of day where you do nothing. Sit outside and read in the Italian sun outside the city on your terrace, go inside, cook (scrambled eggs with red pepper, red onion, yellow pepper, cream cheese, other cheese...yum), sit in your sunny room and read some more, crawl out of your room to make more food (a salame panino and some pasta), mock MTV and the 20 songs they seem to have on repeat, retreat into your roommates room...watch the new episode of Lost, then resume reading, only to cap off the night by watching The Dark Knight on your roommates computer.
Sunday passed in very much the same fashion. I finished 3 or 4 books this weekend. Random ones left over from previous students - too big and unnecessary to bring home with them. I am sure it's hard to pack 3 months of exploration and experiences into 2 suitcases that already hold a lot of your past.
The glorious revelation we all made on Saturday and Sunday was that to experience the Italian way of life...we should continue doing exactly what we were doing: nothing. Il dolce far niente - the sweet doing nothing. And what a sweet revelation that was. No one was being judged for being 'unproductive', you didn't have to be anywhere, you didn't have to do anything. You could just be.
Today in between my classes I'm making the short walk over to the Uffizi to sketch some Botticelli (no big), find paninis with Jen and Ingrid, and going to my last class of the day.
I am learning the Italian way. The moving more slowly, taking my time to talk to the man at Cafe Side by Side, where we go every morning, enjoying life as it is in each moment. It's not hectic or fast paced, I don't feel like I'm getting an ulcer all the time, nor am I hyperventilating or having anxiety attacks like I was back home.
When I told my parents how badly I needed this, how badly I wanted this, I don't think even I realized how big that need was.
This is a glorious, golden opportunity. It's an escape. From the stress that I felt in Minneapolis, the pressure I was constantly under. It's my mental leave of absence from the realm of reality that I know I will be ready to re-enter in 2 and a half months.
I miss all of you. You're here with me though. When I laugh at something, I'm thinking of how you would laugh too. When I am appreciating gelato, I know how we would enjoy it together. When I'm doing nothing or a million new things at once, I'm glad that I still have all of you.
Love.
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