Monday, March 30, 2009
Sunday, March 29, 2009
One fine day...
I don't remember the exact instance of finding it, but that summer a mother bluebird had laid a nest of eggs in the bluebird house behind our house we were constantly chasing swallows out of. For weeks the little eggs sat, and i checked them almost everyday for progress. One afternoon, as the yellow bus chugged away down our dirt road i peered into the nest and saw a small crack in one of the eggs, and then, as i was looking as close as my eyes could, it moved. Now this, this was exciting. I tore into the house to tell mom the news, and after the course of the afternoon, one by one tiny, wet pathetic birds emerged from those tiny beautiful eggs. We weren't allowed to look for more than about a minute or so at a time, because we weren't suppose to scare off the bluebird parents, as eager to see their young as we were. Over the next few weeks, each time i opened the lid of the box, the birds grew bigger and more demanding. Aaron showed me how if you whistled they would think it was a parent and instinctively open their beaks for food. Before long they had grown their feathers and chubby and bright-eyed they barely fit in their tiny home. And one fine day, one was gone, and later that afternoon, another. By nightfall, they had all learned to fly.
I can only hope so much for you too.
I can only hope so much for you too.
services at 9 and 10:30
I don't think I believe in god. There. I said it. The last five years of wanderings around the world, and more thoroughly around my head have brought me here. But you saw it right there, I don't think I believe in god, which isn't a no, but it isn't a yes either. I have done what every other person worth their weight does and made my decision. I have taken everything I have seen, and everything i have heard, what I have tasted in my mind and felt with my heart, heard through my fingers and laid them all out. I have picked them up, turned them over and looked for anything that would make them tell me something. I've gone back and forth and back again. I have looked at them sideways and upsidedown. I have rearranged them and hoped to myself that I found them that way.
It seems to me that people who have to deal with adversity and take on more than most usually go one of two directions. I have medical files that will make your head spin. God is a rock and foundation of their lives, assuring their existence and whispering that it will make sense, that every unfair thing will come around...He shall never give you more than you can bear....To me, god is their coping device. Their beer, their pot, their one hit wonder.
I was never into vices.
The other choice feels better to me. Its just you and me kid. We get what we get and we don't throw a fit. Life is so painful and unmanagable it will make you cry hot tears of agony, but before you know it, its summer and you just pulled up on your bike. Its quiet in the woods and noisy in the city. You kisssed that handsome stranger or laughed through the night into your pillow with your best friend. And when it finally comes around to you taking your last breath we all hope you are thinking of the latter set.
As far as I can see, things happen, we make choices and deal with them and as soon as we have it on its way, things happen again. This goes on for a handful of decades and soon we find ourselves with grey hair and failing livers and we eventually decide to go. That's all there is, atleast on the first level. Everyday is another set of time to make those choices in, it will flip and turn and soon become another. If you let it, soon, it can be spinning pretty fast. I'm not telling you there is nothing after someone stops breathing, but I don't know how much that promise enlists the efforts of putting the puzzle and riddle of our lives together. As far as I am concerned, I'm not going to be able to know anyway. If some mythical port of knowledge has some sort of twisted script for my life, I would probably feel a bit resentful at the choices they scribbled in, but laugh at all the fun I have so far gotten away with.
Church is nice though. Seeing the same people each week, styrafoam cups of weak coffee and three year old girls in twirling skirts running past on your way out from the bathroom. The well rehearsed routine of rising with the worship pastor as the guitar begins on those same predictable chords. If I didnt love to sing as much as I do, I wouldnt have made it as far as I did in church to begin with. A well sung harmony to Silent Night, as the candles flicker in the breath of the congragation. That's enough to make anyone feel good. An accapella benediction at the end of the service. I grew up in a household full of hymnals and an out of tune piano. For awhile there were as many guitars as easychairs, and cds spilled off endtables like coffee. The music portion of the service always entised me enough to stay through the sermon, however upset it always made me, because I knew that he was just a man, telling us what he thought, deep down I knew I didnt have to believe him.
Do I miss going to church? Yes. I miss the bustle of the morning. I miss Dad waiting in the car for mom to put on her lipstick. I miss my heals clincking across the hardwood in our kitchen. I miss scurrying inside and making our way to the balcony as the music spills into the foyer. Yes, I miss church. I dont miss theology and religion. I don't miss the guilt, the regulations and rules. I don't miss the confusion and the questions being answered in a half hour sermon that were too large for the entire building. I don't miss people turning a deaf ear to the injustice in the bible, or the questions they didnt have answers for. I don't miss the ignorance, or the silly bliss that when along with it.
I read a book not long ago. It was a light hearted memoir of a girl growing up in a small town, but it had one more reflective chapter. Every Sunday her family went through the bases and off to church, except her father who would tinker in the garage instead. One week, the ecentric child asked her dad "why he wasnt a christian?" He answered, cooly, "who had told her that?" "He didnt go to church", she said. Within minutes they were in the truck, flying down a dirt road, until he pulled up to an old campsite outside town.
"Where-ever two or more are gathered".....he began. "Two or more what? Trees?" he suggested. "Bugs?" "That's silly", she told him. But he didnt hear her...because his eyes were on the heavens.
I could maybe be that dad someday. I could maybe figure out enough of god to understand what he needs from me, and what i need from him. I want something less epic. Something that can make sense and still leave me time to blaze down a trail on my bike, or chase camels in the East. I want something wider and more neutral. Since god is so hard to understand i can not participate with one that condemns people for something that isnt understandable in the first place. As counterintuitive as it seems with the need for an absolute truth part of me still believes that i can be right, and so can you. But i won't ever find him behind those stained glass doors, no matter how pretty they are. Its not as though someone in the church ever really did me wrong, but im not sure anyone really did me right either. I took classes in college to learn things I believe i should have known when i was 8. History, society, politics of the bible, they really would have done me more good than giraffes smilling as they stuck their heads out the top of the ark.
I want to know that its ok that i pressed pause. I am unwilling to smile along in church if i don't understand it. I am not comfortabe with communion, and revivals when i don't agree. I am many things i never was suppose to be, I party, I drink, I curse like a salior. I lost track of the number of people I have madeout with. I hit it pretty hard some nights. But I am not a liar. I am not a faker. And I am not going to go until my insides and outsides agree. If i ever go at all.
It seems to me that people who have to deal with adversity and take on more than most usually go one of two directions. I have medical files that will make your head spin. God is a rock and foundation of their lives, assuring their existence and whispering that it will make sense, that every unfair thing will come around...He shall never give you more than you can bear....To me, god is their coping device. Their beer, their pot, their one hit wonder.
I was never into vices.
The other choice feels better to me. Its just you and me kid. We get what we get and we don't throw a fit. Life is so painful and unmanagable it will make you cry hot tears of agony, but before you know it, its summer and you just pulled up on your bike. Its quiet in the woods and noisy in the city. You kisssed that handsome stranger or laughed through the night into your pillow with your best friend. And when it finally comes around to you taking your last breath we all hope you are thinking of the latter set.
As far as I can see, things happen, we make choices and deal with them and as soon as we have it on its way, things happen again. This goes on for a handful of decades and soon we find ourselves with grey hair and failing livers and we eventually decide to go. That's all there is, atleast on the first level. Everyday is another set of time to make those choices in, it will flip and turn and soon become another. If you let it, soon, it can be spinning pretty fast. I'm not telling you there is nothing after someone stops breathing, but I don't know how much that promise enlists the efforts of putting the puzzle and riddle of our lives together. As far as I am concerned, I'm not going to be able to know anyway. If some mythical port of knowledge has some sort of twisted script for my life, I would probably feel a bit resentful at the choices they scribbled in, but laugh at all the fun I have so far gotten away with.
Church is nice though. Seeing the same people each week, styrafoam cups of weak coffee and three year old girls in twirling skirts running past on your way out from the bathroom. The well rehearsed routine of rising with the worship pastor as the guitar begins on those same predictable chords. If I didnt love to sing as much as I do, I wouldnt have made it as far as I did in church to begin with. A well sung harmony to Silent Night, as the candles flicker in the breath of the congragation. That's enough to make anyone feel good. An accapella benediction at the end of the service. I grew up in a household full of hymnals and an out of tune piano. For awhile there were as many guitars as easychairs, and cds spilled off endtables like coffee. The music portion of the service always entised me enough to stay through the sermon, however upset it always made me, because I knew that he was just a man, telling us what he thought, deep down I knew I didnt have to believe him.
Do I miss going to church? Yes. I miss the bustle of the morning. I miss Dad waiting in the car for mom to put on her lipstick. I miss my heals clincking across the hardwood in our kitchen. I miss scurrying inside and making our way to the balcony as the music spills into the foyer. Yes, I miss church. I dont miss theology and religion. I don't miss the guilt, the regulations and rules. I don't miss the confusion and the questions being answered in a half hour sermon that were too large for the entire building. I don't miss people turning a deaf ear to the injustice in the bible, or the questions they didnt have answers for. I don't miss the ignorance, or the silly bliss that when along with it.
I read a book not long ago. It was a light hearted memoir of a girl growing up in a small town, but it had one more reflective chapter. Every Sunday her family went through the bases and off to church, except her father who would tinker in the garage instead. One week, the ecentric child asked her dad "why he wasnt a christian?" He answered, cooly, "who had told her that?" "He didnt go to church", she said. Within minutes they were in the truck, flying down a dirt road, until he pulled up to an old campsite outside town.
"Where-ever two or more are gathered".....he began. "Two or more what? Trees?" he suggested. "Bugs?" "That's silly", she told him. But he didnt hear her...because his eyes were on the heavens.
I could maybe be that dad someday. I could maybe figure out enough of god to understand what he needs from me, and what i need from him. I want something less epic. Something that can make sense and still leave me time to blaze down a trail on my bike, or chase camels in the East. I want something wider and more neutral. Since god is so hard to understand i can not participate with one that condemns people for something that isnt understandable in the first place. As counterintuitive as it seems with the need for an absolute truth part of me still believes that i can be right, and so can you. But i won't ever find him behind those stained glass doors, no matter how pretty they are. Its not as though someone in the church ever really did me wrong, but im not sure anyone really did me right either. I took classes in college to learn things I believe i should have known when i was 8. History, society, politics of the bible, they really would have done me more good than giraffes smilling as they stuck their heads out the top of the ark.
I want to know that its ok that i pressed pause. I am unwilling to smile along in church if i don't understand it. I am not comfortabe with communion, and revivals when i don't agree. I am many things i never was suppose to be, I party, I drink, I curse like a salior. I lost track of the number of people I have madeout with. I hit it pretty hard some nights. But I am not a liar. I am not a faker. And I am not going to go until my insides and outsides agree. If i ever go at all.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Monday, March 9, 2009
the president elect (11.04.08) 1:58am
There were squeals of joy when the Midwest section of the country’s polls closed. The colors swept across the map on the screen like a fan, or the sun from morning to night. We searched the screen, looking for Minnesota like an old friend until finally James called out. It was there. We had done it. Minnesota had turned blue, and much to our joyous surprise so had its neighboring states, clustered together whispering with a secret. Soon we were all on our feet, clapping and screaming, a rush of excitement and proud achievement evident on the TV screen. The door burst open, the downstairs neighbor Jackie had heard our commotion and come up to yell along too. Phone’s rang, Claire and James began jumping on the couch and I found myself yelling into the phone to my roommate Steph whose congratulating words were drown out by the cheers behind her all the way in Pennsylvania.
And all of this just because things had gone well in the Midwest. It wasn’t long before our conversation drifted to stories and side subjects though. As we kept an eye on the TV eventually we realized that it wouldn’t be long until the polls in the West would be closing and once scanning the screen we realized that those were the only states whose land had stayed grey so far, that we were almost there. It wouldn’t be long until we knew who would be the next President of the United States. As the timer on the TV clicked down I scooted closer to Claire on the couch and grabbed her hand. James yelled our remaining seconds. Like a whirlwind the remaining states’ results slammed into the glass of the TV. Blue blue blue….. Another round of yells and hollers met the ceiling and we shook with excitement. Through the open window the neighbor’s joyous sentiments mixed with our yells and met in the air outside the window. Through the jumping we didn’t realize what the TV said right away, but at one point I saw the words we had dreamed about for months, even years.
BREAKING NEWS: BARACK OBAMA PRESIDENT ELECT – CNN PROJECTION
Once we saw this, the celebration of Midwest’s victory seemed as mild as a passive high-five. Tears were shed, yells went out like confetti and I made incoherent phone calls to friends who met my yells with ones of their own. Whiskey was shot. The TV screen scanned the crown gathered at Grant Park in Chicago, where Obama would be speaking and the thousands and thousands of supports gathered danced in the street. Some shock with excitement and others hollered with the zeal of a child. The look in the eyes of the citizens gathered in that park held joy so pure you only see it a few times in your life. A blurry image of a town in Kenya, where Obama’s father lived showed supports celebrating kicking up dust with the news. When the newscast broke to the church Martin Luther King Jr.’s daughter ministers at her joyful reaction to the news was indiscernible over the singing that was going on in the background.
We sat through John Mccain’s speech politely and dismissed it as soon as if was over. Gushing to one another we waited for the unbelievable moment in which Obama would take the stage and address the crowd. We all cuddled in on the couch and I grasped Jame’s knees across my lap to listen. And on he walked, proud and true. Everything we wanted. And everything we needed. Michelle and their girls held his hands and waved at the camera looking beautiful. The crowd was exploding. When he finally hushed the crowd he gave us a speech of a new kind. It was strong and beautiful. Elegant but sobering. This was it. We did it. We got what we wanted, and now was our time. Our time to take our problems and fix them, find a new angle and make a new way. With focus we listened and agreed. Once we finally turned the TV off we gushed to one another our excitement and disbelief. After parting for the evening I set off on my bike to make my way back home. Watching the skyline was exciting, the renewal of hope that good things can and do happen. When I got to my room back at the K-house I began settling in for the evening, I had just grabbed my towels and was headed to the bathroom to shower when I heard the unmistakable uprising of a crowd. Decided this was something I needed to see I threw my slippers on and was expecting to wave and watch a few drunken supporters who were drumming up excitement out on the streets. It was instead however a few hundred students chanting their joyful glee at our new president elect. I waved them on, yelling my support until a few beckoned me across the street. The delight was contagious apparently because someone told me that the crowd had just gathered spontaniously. We took our eagerness around Dinky town and down University until we finally, with found farewells dispersed at the dorms, about a mile away. I was offered a ride home by the group who had motioned me across the street in the first place and we swapped stories and gleefully cooed our good fortune. Wished each other well I jumped out of their car and re entered my building.
The next morning I learned from a coworker that there had been dancing in the streets in the Cedar Riverside neighborhood, one known for Somali immigrants, and in good form she had joined in. The news told me Harlem had taken to the streets as well. Time Square was awake with light and noise and crowds of cheering. Across the nation we had decided that staying inside wasn’t good enough. That our joy had been a bit too large for that.
A few days later two men ready to give their lives to kill Barack Obama had been attained. I heard from my mom that students at my younger sisters school had flung racial slurs onto their facebook status’ and that Barack Obama was considered the anti-Christ by much more than a few of people reported by a vicious email that floated through cyberspace.
Yet as serious and frightening as these threats are, I told my mom a few days later in the kitchen, after she reported the way some of my more conservative relatives felt about him with a heavy heart that we had time on our side. This next administration will not bring rainbows, butterflies and perfect world peace. Puppies will not skip through meadows of daisies. Give it time. I believe that (President) Obama will do a great job. I believe that it was more than a young man with a handsome face and a good speaking voice that light the nation on fire. There was a real and un-dismissible reason that so many millions of people marched to the polls. It wasn’t just a fad that so many hard working people donated their hard earned money to his campaign. It was certainly more than media excitement that brought thousands of regular people to become team leaders, precinct captains and give up their Saturdays to sit and make calls. We are smarted than that, we can’t be fooled just by bandwagon politics and platitudes like HOPE.
These things are real, and I am confident that when January rolls around this will be something we will proudly tell our grandchildren about.
And all of this just because things had gone well in the Midwest. It wasn’t long before our conversation drifted to stories and side subjects though. As we kept an eye on the TV eventually we realized that it wouldn’t be long until the polls in the West would be closing and once scanning the screen we realized that those were the only states whose land had stayed grey so far, that we were almost there. It wouldn’t be long until we knew who would be the next President of the United States. As the timer on the TV clicked down I scooted closer to Claire on the couch and grabbed her hand. James yelled our remaining seconds. Like a whirlwind the remaining states’ results slammed into the glass of the TV. Blue blue blue….. Another round of yells and hollers met the ceiling and we shook with excitement. Through the open window the neighbor’s joyous sentiments mixed with our yells and met in the air outside the window. Through the jumping we didn’t realize what the TV said right away, but at one point I saw the words we had dreamed about for months, even years.
BREAKING NEWS: BARACK OBAMA PRESIDENT ELECT – CNN PROJECTION
Once we saw this, the celebration of Midwest’s victory seemed as mild as a passive high-five. Tears were shed, yells went out like confetti and I made incoherent phone calls to friends who met my yells with ones of their own. Whiskey was shot. The TV screen scanned the crown gathered at Grant Park in Chicago, where Obama would be speaking and the thousands and thousands of supports gathered danced in the street. Some shock with excitement and others hollered with the zeal of a child. The look in the eyes of the citizens gathered in that park held joy so pure you only see it a few times in your life. A blurry image of a town in Kenya, where Obama’s father lived showed supports celebrating kicking up dust with the news. When the newscast broke to the church Martin Luther King Jr.’s daughter ministers at her joyful reaction to the news was indiscernible over the singing that was going on in the background.
We sat through John Mccain’s speech politely and dismissed it as soon as if was over. Gushing to one another we waited for the unbelievable moment in which Obama would take the stage and address the crowd. We all cuddled in on the couch and I grasped Jame’s knees across my lap to listen. And on he walked, proud and true. Everything we wanted. And everything we needed. Michelle and their girls held his hands and waved at the camera looking beautiful. The crowd was exploding. When he finally hushed the crowd he gave us a speech of a new kind. It was strong and beautiful. Elegant but sobering. This was it. We did it. We got what we wanted, and now was our time. Our time to take our problems and fix them, find a new angle and make a new way. With focus we listened and agreed. Once we finally turned the TV off we gushed to one another our excitement and disbelief. After parting for the evening I set off on my bike to make my way back home. Watching the skyline was exciting, the renewal of hope that good things can and do happen. When I got to my room back at the K-house I began settling in for the evening, I had just grabbed my towels and was headed to the bathroom to shower when I heard the unmistakable uprising of a crowd. Decided this was something I needed to see I threw my slippers on and was expecting to wave and watch a few drunken supporters who were drumming up excitement out on the streets. It was instead however a few hundred students chanting their joyful glee at our new president elect. I waved them on, yelling my support until a few beckoned me across the street. The delight was contagious apparently because someone told me that the crowd had just gathered spontaniously. We took our eagerness around Dinky town and down University until we finally, with found farewells dispersed at the dorms, about a mile away. I was offered a ride home by the group who had motioned me across the street in the first place and we swapped stories and gleefully cooed our good fortune. Wished each other well I jumped out of their car and re entered my building.
The next morning I learned from a coworker that there had been dancing in the streets in the Cedar Riverside neighborhood, one known for Somali immigrants, and in good form she had joined in. The news told me Harlem had taken to the streets as well. Time Square was awake with light and noise and crowds of cheering. Across the nation we had decided that staying inside wasn’t good enough. That our joy had been a bit too large for that.
A few days later two men ready to give their lives to kill Barack Obama had been attained. I heard from my mom that students at my younger sisters school had flung racial slurs onto their facebook status’ and that Barack Obama was considered the anti-Christ by much more than a few of people reported by a vicious email that floated through cyberspace.
Yet as serious and frightening as these threats are, I told my mom a few days later in the kitchen, after she reported the way some of my more conservative relatives felt about him with a heavy heart that we had time on our side. This next administration will not bring rainbows, butterflies and perfect world peace. Puppies will not skip through meadows of daisies. Give it time. I believe that (President) Obama will do a great job. I believe that it was more than a young man with a handsome face and a good speaking voice that light the nation on fire. There was a real and un-dismissible reason that so many millions of people marched to the polls. It wasn’t just a fad that so many hard working people donated their hard earned money to his campaign. It was certainly more than media excitement that brought thousands of regular people to become team leaders, precinct captains and give up their Saturdays to sit and make calls. We are smarted than that, we can’t be fooled just by bandwagon politics and platitudes like HOPE.
These things are real, and I am confident that when January rolls around this will be something we will proudly tell our grandchildren about.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
10 men, 6 oxen, and 8 days (12.06.07)
If the ten powerful men who knocked down the center door, for his height exceded the limits of the building he was created in,began moving the colossal piece this afternoon, if they hitched the oxen and worked throughout the night by the time my feet land on American soil, David, small boy turned ironically into a giant by Michelangelo, would stand proudly arriving in Piazza Signoria glaring towards the South, at Rome. At the Medici family, just daring them to return.
I will be out of the country this time next week, high in the air and on my way back to you.
And while i have paced myself, and i have journaled and been aware of the passing days...I have no idea how this happened. It seemed yesterday i was staring wideyed at the Cathedral and unsure at the busstops. I still stare up at the Duomo when i pass her and smile to myself, but by the time i get to the bustop i usually am swept away with the music of my ipod and end upleaning against 500 year old buildings waiting for my turn to push onto it. I know the cashier at the grocery store, and Giovanni and i exchange smiles and morning greetings when i pass his resturant on the way to school. When i get a sandwhich, my sentence is finished for me, and the ''pomedora e mozzarella panino'' is probably half finished. I shout over the bells that clang each hour instead of stiffling conversations to hear them. I could get anywhere in the city with my eyes closed, save that i would easily trip over loose cobblestone on the way.
It seemed just a bit ago that i swam in the sea and hiked the amalfi coast. That first trip seems lifetimes ago now. I remember the days i saw my classmates and polietly said hello. As i pummeled JP from behind when i meet him at the duomo before the Inter game, it proved our great leaps in familiarity between CAPA members.
The general awe from student to professor has also faded, proved by Ian writting that his professor Frank was the word for ''monkey'' in Italian when he wrote the forgotten trivia on his quiz, taught by Frank's wife. And Frank's echoing laughter in the Galleria Acedamia when he hasseled Ian about it the next morning in art history showed the casual relaxed enviroment of school here.
Sunday i meet JP, Avery and Leah anxiously for the game. I stepped onto the bus with my new Fiorentina scarf loosly wrapped around my neck. Glancing around the bus i noticed other swatches of purple on everyone from young fiesty teens to old men and women. An elderly man on a bus passed with a purple and white fiorentina banner sailing behind him, tied to the end of the bike. Purple flags fell from windows along the way, and holloring and cheers from passing groups of young men expressed out excitment for the match later that afternoon. Game days bring pride out of the woodwork and nods to and from fellow supportes on the bus felt like an acceptance from the city. Both JP and I were atleast twenty minutes early, and insistent on calling the missing members the moment the clock struck noon, our decided time to meet. On the way, we stopped for Kababs..fantastic sandwiches similar to Gyros and through sloppy mouthfuls JP and i gushed over world cup moments, favorite and dispised players and generally exuded excitment. We arrived at the stadio early and paced the vendors, both food and gear, and picked our way through the Viola newspaper for news.
After a moment of silence for the Fiorentine's coach, whose wife had passed away the day before, the whistle blew and the game began. I'd like to point out that during this moment of silence, it truely was silent. You could hear a pindrop. The entire sold out stadio, and i sadly sigh to think of the hollors and jeers that likely would have found the silence back in America. The respect was refresing.
Unfortunatly, we lost, but fought a good battle. We were, after all playing Inter-Milan a powerhouse of a team. In the second half, JP and I excitedly whispered to eachother, trying to hid our urging from the passionate Florence fans, that we really wanted Inter-Milan to put Marco Materazzi in. He is a very aggresive, very skilled player we had seen during the cup, and whats more was the recipient of the headbutt from Zidane. Finally, in held breath we saw him remove his warmup jersey and take a spot near the center line waiting to be gestured on by the ref. While the crowd loudly sneered their displeasure...JP and I were triumphant, happy to see him play in person.
After the game Steph and i wandered the steets back to our apartment, and as Sunday came to an end we both expressed our enormous disbelief that this trip was so soon coming to an end and we were about to face our last week of classes, followed only by one of finals.
This week has been relativly quiet. Monday brough class, and my only unusal diversion of the day was a long walk across the Arno, nothing even that out of the ordinary.
I woke up Tuesday to experience my 22nd birthday. I recieved a great deal of wellwishing by ppl passing in the hallway and my facebook wall swelled with birthday greetings aswell. I was even able to talk to my brother Seth as we found that both were on facebook, and i scurried off to call him early in the morning.
I walked into CAPA tuesday evening for my late afternoon class, and saw that the mail had arrived in my absence from school since that morning. Every last letter in the S-U section had my name scribbled on it. The enormous pile of letters and cards i harvested from the shelf brought raised eyebrows from everyone. Clearly a record! I enjoyed opening each one and savored their kind words and birthday wishes. I returned to my email to find similar posts and felt even more loved. That evening i went out with friends to dinner. I took the delibrate step of being photographed in front of the cathedral to record the beautiful conditions this birthday came to me with.
Wednsday too was full of normality of class and Florecnce life. Art history took me climactically to the Galleria Acedemia to see the famous David, which i have viewed on several other occasions under my own efforts. He did not, as he never will, disapoint.
I have some christmas shopping to finish up and hope to be done before the last week starts as its not something i want to be focused on in my last days here. That will probably take up my afternoon. This evening I will attend the CAPA student organized Christmas party that was advertised with a hand made sign on the bulletinboard, with the skill of a 2nd grader. Its appearence brought laughs as it is tenderly adherded with tape and created with scraps of colored paper and disregarded textbook covers.
I have tomorrow off, where i am sure to complete any shopping i dont this afternoon. The weekend sprawls before me with no real plans. Any loose ends i will tie up and sights unseen with be experienced. I may even -gasp- start to pack, its unbelivable that such efforts are actually now appropriate.
Anyway, this is likely the last i will write. I will be found in that red house in Chisago on December 15th, giving an excruciatingly long slideshow of my thousands of pictures surrounded by family and friends...and probably extremly shellshocked...something that might be lessened by christmas cookies.
I hope this finds you well. This experience is leaving me never better.
Arrividercci, Molto Amore -Corrie
I will be out of the country this time next week, high in the air and on my way back to you.
And while i have paced myself, and i have journaled and been aware of the passing days...I have no idea how this happened. It seemed yesterday i was staring wideyed at the Cathedral and unsure at the busstops. I still stare up at the Duomo when i pass her and smile to myself, but by the time i get to the bustop i usually am swept away with the music of my ipod and end upleaning against 500 year old buildings waiting for my turn to push onto it. I know the cashier at the grocery store, and Giovanni and i exchange smiles and morning greetings when i pass his resturant on the way to school. When i get a sandwhich, my sentence is finished for me, and the ''pomedora e mozzarella panino'' is probably half finished. I shout over the bells that clang each hour instead of stiffling conversations to hear them. I could get anywhere in the city with my eyes closed, save that i would easily trip over loose cobblestone on the way.
It seemed just a bit ago that i swam in the sea and hiked the amalfi coast. That first trip seems lifetimes ago now. I remember the days i saw my classmates and polietly said hello. As i pummeled JP from behind when i meet him at the duomo before the Inter game, it proved our great leaps in familiarity between CAPA members.
The general awe from student to professor has also faded, proved by Ian writting that his professor Frank was the word for ''monkey'' in Italian when he wrote the forgotten trivia on his quiz, taught by Frank's wife. And Frank's echoing laughter in the Galleria Acedamia when he hasseled Ian about it the next morning in art history showed the casual relaxed enviroment of school here.
Sunday i meet JP, Avery and Leah anxiously for the game. I stepped onto the bus with my new Fiorentina scarf loosly wrapped around my neck. Glancing around the bus i noticed other swatches of purple on everyone from young fiesty teens to old men and women. An elderly man on a bus passed with a purple and white fiorentina banner sailing behind him, tied to the end of the bike. Purple flags fell from windows along the way, and holloring and cheers from passing groups of young men expressed out excitment for the match later that afternoon. Game days bring pride out of the woodwork and nods to and from fellow supportes on the bus felt like an acceptance from the city. Both JP and I were atleast twenty minutes early, and insistent on calling the missing members the moment the clock struck noon, our decided time to meet. On the way, we stopped for Kababs..fantastic sandwiches similar to Gyros and through sloppy mouthfuls JP and i gushed over world cup moments, favorite and dispised players and generally exuded excitment. We arrived at the stadio early and paced the vendors, both food and gear, and picked our way through the Viola newspaper for news.
After a moment of silence for the Fiorentine's coach, whose wife had passed away the day before, the whistle blew and the game began. I'd like to point out that during this moment of silence, it truely was silent. You could hear a pindrop. The entire sold out stadio, and i sadly sigh to think of the hollors and jeers that likely would have found the silence back in America. The respect was refresing.
Unfortunatly, we lost, but fought a good battle. We were, after all playing Inter-Milan a powerhouse of a team. In the second half, JP and I excitedly whispered to eachother, trying to hid our urging from the passionate Florence fans, that we really wanted Inter-Milan to put Marco Materazzi in. He is a very aggresive, very skilled player we had seen during the cup, and whats more was the recipient of the headbutt from Zidane. Finally, in held breath we saw him remove his warmup jersey and take a spot near the center line waiting to be gestured on by the ref. While the crowd loudly sneered their displeasure...JP and I were triumphant, happy to see him play in person.
After the game Steph and i wandered the steets back to our apartment, and as Sunday came to an end we both expressed our enormous disbelief that this trip was so soon coming to an end and we were about to face our last week of classes, followed only by one of finals.
This week has been relativly quiet. Monday brough class, and my only unusal diversion of the day was a long walk across the Arno, nothing even that out of the ordinary.
I woke up Tuesday to experience my 22nd birthday. I recieved a great deal of wellwishing by ppl passing in the hallway and my facebook wall swelled with birthday greetings aswell. I was even able to talk to my brother Seth as we found that both were on facebook, and i scurried off to call him early in the morning.
I walked into CAPA tuesday evening for my late afternoon class, and saw that the mail had arrived in my absence from school since that morning. Every last letter in the S-U section had my name scribbled on it. The enormous pile of letters and cards i harvested from the shelf brought raised eyebrows from everyone. Clearly a record! I enjoyed opening each one and savored their kind words and birthday wishes. I returned to my email to find similar posts and felt even more loved. That evening i went out with friends to dinner. I took the delibrate step of being photographed in front of the cathedral to record the beautiful conditions this birthday came to me with.
Wednsday too was full of normality of class and Florecnce life. Art history took me climactically to the Galleria Acedemia to see the famous David, which i have viewed on several other occasions under my own efforts. He did not, as he never will, disapoint.
I have some christmas shopping to finish up and hope to be done before the last week starts as its not something i want to be focused on in my last days here. That will probably take up my afternoon. This evening I will attend the CAPA student organized Christmas party that was advertised with a hand made sign on the bulletinboard, with the skill of a 2nd grader. Its appearence brought laughs as it is tenderly adherded with tape and created with scraps of colored paper and disregarded textbook covers.
I have tomorrow off, where i am sure to complete any shopping i dont this afternoon. The weekend sprawls before me with no real plans. Any loose ends i will tie up and sights unseen with be experienced. I may even -gasp- start to pack, its unbelivable that such efforts are actually now appropriate.
Anyway, this is likely the last i will write. I will be found in that red house in Chisago on December 15th, giving an excruciatingly long slideshow of my thousands of pictures surrounded by family and friends...and probably extremly shellshocked...something that might be lessened by christmas cookies.
I hope this finds you well. This experience is leaving me never better.
Arrividercci, Molto Amore -Corrie
distressed over pizza (11.29.07)
well what do you know? here i am, writting on thursday...wonders never cease. The perks i suppose to doing this more often is that i dont have to strain my brain so much in remembering what i did in the days before, because of course there are less of them.
On monday my roomate Leah's mom flew in and we spent the evening out at a small resturant just to the side of the Duomo, and because of my meal there, i have started to have a very unique but very real concern. how can i eat pizza again back home? quite frankly, the average pizza in america is nearly terrible when i compare it to the stuff i have eaten here, and especially monday night. The crust is firebaked and the cheese is incredible. its not really the same food even. so, this brings me to the concerning issue of finding somewhere...ANYwhere in the states in which i can find something akin to the delight...and how i am going to avoid eating the american mockery of such a dish. i guess the fact that i have written an entire paragraph on it...should if it doesnt...show you the severity of this issue. mmmmmmmmmm. i think i will dream of that pizza for months. for my 22nd birthday this coming tuesday i have decided to make that the resturant of my choice for the evening.
Before any of that nonsese however, i spent the evening in the fine art studio at the (drumroll please) CAPA art show! Everyone's portfolios and final projects were displayed all around the building. and let me tell you....it was inspirational! ok. it was not. it was amusing and i think that the chocolate covered cookies someone brought was the highlight of my artistic experience there. it did however display how far we as CAPA students have all come. While during the first weeks we didnt know what to make of one another...now, as we begin to close the trip, everyone knows everyone and goodnatured hasseling and jokes echoed through the building. that i suppose however is to be expected.
On tuesday night Holly, Steph and i strolled off down the river in search of the xmas market we were adviced to visit. (that is after i attained my ticket to the Inter-Milan vs. Florence futbol game on Suday...yes. You read that right...INTER!) We meandered the city until we found the old train station illiminated with strings and strings of xmas lights ablaze. We paid the enterance fee to the dark building and upon opening the doors were welcomed to nothingless than a winter wonderland. Holly was nothing less than squealing with delight. It was more or less a glorified craft fair with vendors from all over. I failed to buy anything, as most of the decor stubbornly insisted on saying ''merry christmas'' instead of my desired ''buon natale'', but it was a good diversion. We even tried to sing along to jinglebells in italian..which by the way, didnt go very well and we conceeded back to english soon.
Wednsday for art history we meet at Pza. Signoria in front of the copy of Mich.'s David and proceeded to enter the Uffizi. Frank explained the strange adn complex concepts behind the famous ''Primavera'' by Botticelli, which (as it would be) was on the wall in front of us. The birth of Venus slightly to our left. Yup. this is Italy.
That evening i treaked to the Opera house once again to view an Opera. ''La Forza del Destino''. The lights dimed and the arms of the violinists raised in unison. Watching the pit from above was extremly impressive, the way the bows of the instruments dance together and the violent spuratic waving of the aged conductor. After the overturn the velvet curtain opened. For the next 3hours i have scarcly any clue what was going on...and at intermission i was the only person of our group of nearly 20 who stayed to watch the concluding half. Dispite my ignorance, i had a fantastic time. Giggling to myself at one point even as i watched the large overweight dark haired man dressed in elebortate costume bealting his part to the full house. An Opera in Florence, Italy. An there i was, stumbling over the words and eyes dancing back and forth over the action of the performers. I would like to watch another back home in America sometime...perhaps find one even in English. When the house let out i followed the crowds out the doors and down the staircase to the chandelier light lobby, and walked all the way across town back to my apartment. It was past midnight when i arrived, and after making dinner i fell into bed.
This wkend will be a quiet one. Steph and LIbby have packed their bags and once their last class lets out this evening they will board a bus to Interlochen. Leah and her mom are leaving for Rome in the morning, and then the apartment will be mine, something i am actualy very much looking forward to. I have shopping to do this wkend, xmas is on its way of course, and apparantly the dismal exchange rate just switched slightly to my favor and i must capitalize on it. Sunday, i will meet JP and a few tagalongs for the Inter game. We have been hasseling eachother all week in anticipation for such a big game. it will be great, and i am considering attending the event a birthday gift to myself....that along with those gorgeous italian leather boots in the shop window i keep passing.
ciao! -corrie
On monday my roomate Leah's mom flew in and we spent the evening out at a small resturant just to the side of the Duomo, and because of my meal there, i have started to have a very unique but very real concern. how can i eat pizza again back home? quite frankly, the average pizza in america is nearly terrible when i compare it to the stuff i have eaten here, and especially monday night. The crust is firebaked and the cheese is incredible. its not really the same food even. so, this brings me to the concerning issue of finding somewhere...ANYwhere in the states in which i can find something akin to the delight...and how i am going to avoid eating the american mockery of such a dish. i guess the fact that i have written an entire paragraph on it...should if it doesnt...show you the severity of this issue. mmmmmmmmmm. i think i will dream of that pizza for months. for my 22nd birthday this coming tuesday i have decided to make that the resturant of my choice for the evening.
Before any of that nonsese however, i spent the evening in the fine art studio at the (drumroll please) CAPA art show! Everyone's portfolios and final projects were displayed all around the building. and let me tell you....it was inspirational! ok. it was not. it was amusing and i think that the chocolate covered cookies someone brought was the highlight of my artistic experience there. it did however display how far we as CAPA students have all come. While during the first weeks we didnt know what to make of one another...now, as we begin to close the trip, everyone knows everyone and goodnatured hasseling and jokes echoed through the building. that i suppose however is to be expected.
On tuesday night Holly, Steph and i strolled off down the river in search of the xmas market we were adviced to visit. (that is after i attained my ticket to the Inter-Milan vs. Florence futbol game on Suday...yes. You read that right...INTER!) We meandered the city until we found the old train station illiminated with strings and strings of xmas lights ablaze. We paid the enterance fee to the dark building and upon opening the doors were welcomed to nothingless than a winter wonderland. Holly was nothing less than squealing with delight. It was more or less a glorified craft fair with vendors from all over. I failed to buy anything, as most of the decor stubbornly insisted on saying ''merry christmas'' instead of my desired ''buon natale'', but it was a good diversion. We even tried to sing along to jinglebells in italian..which by the way, didnt go very well and we conceeded back to english soon.
Wednsday for art history we meet at Pza. Signoria in front of the copy of Mich.'s David and proceeded to enter the Uffizi. Frank explained the strange adn complex concepts behind the famous ''Primavera'' by Botticelli, which (as it would be) was on the wall in front of us. The birth of Venus slightly to our left. Yup. this is Italy.
That evening i treaked to the Opera house once again to view an Opera. ''La Forza del Destino''. The lights dimed and the arms of the violinists raised in unison. Watching the pit from above was extremly impressive, the way the bows of the instruments dance together and the violent spuratic waving of the aged conductor. After the overturn the velvet curtain opened. For the next 3hours i have scarcly any clue what was going on...and at intermission i was the only person of our group of nearly 20 who stayed to watch the concluding half. Dispite my ignorance, i had a fantastic time. Giggling to myself at one point even as i watched the large overweight dark haired man dressed in elebortate costume bealting his part to the full house. An Opera in Florence, Italy. An there i was, stumbling over the words and eyes dancing back and forth over the action of the performers. I would like to watch another back home in America sometime...perhaps find one even in English. When the house let out i followed the crowds out the doors and down the staircase to the chandelier light lobby, and walked all the way across town back to my apartment. It was past midnight when i arrived, and after making dinner i fell into bed.
This wkend will be a quiet one. Steph and LIbby have packed their bags and once their last class lets out this evening they will board a bus to Interlochen. Leah and her mom are leaving for Rome in the morning, and then the apartment will be mine, something i am actualy very much looking forward to. I have shopping to do this wkend, xmas is on its way of course, and apparantly the dismal exchange rate just switched slightly to my favor and i must capitalize on it. Sunday, i will meet JP and a few tagalongs for the Inter game. We have been hasseling eachother all week in anticipation for such a big game. it will be great, and i am considering attending the event a birthday gift to myself....that along with those gorgeous italian leather boots in the shop window i keep passing.
ciao! -corrie
olive branches in the beak of a dove (11.25.07)
Its been awhile, and unfortunatly...i just keep saying that. But time moves fast, and i have had to run along with her.
I left you last on Nov. 12, here we are on Nov. 25 and tomorrow the number on my countdown to the days until i re-enter the United States will begin with a 1, no longer even in the twenties. As you may imagine so much has happened since last i wrote and so i will hesitate no longer. ehh ummm *clear throat*
On the evening of the 12th i could be found sprinting to the grocery store with Steph in a last ditch effort to complete a project the following morning for my Italian life and culture class. We were required to bring a italian dish to the potluck the following morning at 10:30am. Once we flung through the doors, we discovered the inevitable problem that, well, we have learned some Italian while here, things like ''baking soda'' and ''almond extract'' were not exactly on our vocab list...so we decided to succumb to the problem and wake the following morning. Bright and early we were in the kitchen clanging away making biscotti. Since we never did find many of the ingrediants they ended up turing out like any typical cookie. That is after the entire batch slide off the cooking sheet while in the oven because it didnt fit. By any means however, they were good, and since we are in Italy and the classes are more relaxed that i have ever experiened we took the warning of our instructor ''just try, unless you poison me i usually give everyone A's'' to heart and continued to class.
The next afternoon for class we hiked to the oldest theatre in Florence and I was pleasantly suprised at how little of the translation I needed from our instructor as the women showing us around explained the history. We viewed the old visiting royals boxes and explored the bowels of teh building and the large crank that would elevate the ballroom floor for dances.
That evening Steph's mom ''Momma Misko'' flew in. I spent the evening being treating to dinner at a resturant, laughing and hearing stories about Steph that had her trying to hid behind the bread basket in embarrassment. Oh moms. To think that i had heard it all over Steph and I's late night discussions. Unfortunatly, Momma Miskos luggage was lost and she had more than her fair share of troubles attaining it again, which she didnt do so until the day before she left. Poor thing left Italy a little less then impressed, but had a admirable good attitude about the entire thing.
I returned to the Uffizi the next afternoon after my lone class of the day was over. She is quite a treasure, and held paintings that even i had forgotten she contained. Caravaggios and Durers especially. I wandered the halls for hours and returned to the city streets around dinner time. Walking through the doorway back home i suddenly remembered that John was coming over soon. Upon arrival we he unwrapped his guitar from its black case and the proceeding hours melted away as he and i gave our best shots to song after song. While i sing because i enjoy it, not necassarily because i am accomplished at it...John's case is very different. Not only very profficint on the guitar but i am pretty sure i could have continued to hear him sing for days without tiring. His enthusiasm and knowledge of music reminded me dearly of nights back home doing the same, gathered around a guitar or piano with friends. He left with my roomates for drinks that evening, and i awoke in the wee hours of the morning to the sound of pancakes cooking and John's voice wafting into the hallway. Peeking in the door i was greeted by warm smiles from all, a little abashed at waking me, but spent the next hour singing along, between bites of pancake and we all eventually departed for the evening comically and sterotypically depressed about love...the inevitable topic of all songs sung at such a time.
On Friday afternoon i meet up with some students from my art history class to view Masoccios famous frescos in the Branccuci chapel for extra credit. As they were on my ''must see'' list anyway i was more than happy to recieve credit for them. Miraculious surving after a fire that swept the entire church they encapsule many energizing and revolutionary tactics and changes in art, and i was quite impressed.
The next morning, Saturday, i trekked to the train station to meet most everyone in my drawing class, and our beloved professor, for our trip to Venice.
She is amazing!
Imagine flooding the streets of a local city, and then pretending that it is suppose to be taht way. The first thingi was struck with was the size the city. She is a fullfledged metropolis, and has vast boundaries. Upon arrival, after checking into the hotel we boarded the bus, which was a boat, that pulls up to various docks along the grand canal instead of street curbs for stops until we arrived at the Biennale of Art, a show that takes place every few years. Held in a large park, each pavillion holds different countires, and by and large i was very impressed with this modern exhibit. I wandered the vastness of it with a friend, and eventually everyone met up to ferry back into the heart of the city for dinner. We took an appertivo with Raph and her favorite place andthen slpit into groups pending on what ethnic dish one wanted to eat for dinner. I choose Mexican for a change and helped navagate the extremly confusing streets, over bridges and around turns, making sure not to misjudge the streets and fall into the water, a very real possiblity. We arrived finally. As it would happen in Italy, i never actually recievd my food...which ended up being fine becasue Italian Mexican is not actually very good and eating off the plates of friends left me not having to pay for it. We wandered back, caught a bus....err boat..back to the hotel next and I went to bed after dishing with the girls i was sharing a room with late into the night.
The next morning, we took the same bus back the the art show, and Holly and I took a more rushed approach because the shops of Venice were calling our names. Leaving after a few hours we spent the rest of the day ducking into almost every conceiveable store (seemed that way atleast). We (impressivly) made it back to the meeting place in time, after stopping for crepese, through the very strange streets of the city. You cant ever look around, because there are not open places and feel very much like you are in a large maze, broken up by streams of water...which yes, do have gondalas floating down at almost every occassion.
Venice is an increadibly beautiful city. Bizzare and unique and if any of you ever find yourself in Italy, please stop and see her.
Back in Florence for the next week of classes was a little stressful as i actually had academic work to do. My final project for art was due and aswell as an art history test to be typed. That class, by the way, continues to delight me, as we either meet at various places through the city and listen as Frank enthusiastically give lectures or we meet at CAPA for a short introduction and wait until he stops, smiles, his eyes twinke and abruptly claps his hands and instructs us to ''grap your coats...lets go'' and we literally have to nearly run and chase him to the site. And as a bonus...he is quite handsome (heeeheehee), as well, actually every member of the CAPA staff seems to be. That afternoon, for our last drawing class we toured a lithography school and shop. Raph had attended it for training years before and after meeting at the office of the school in a gorgeous room, wall to wall with built in book shelfs barely able to hold their namesake and a sparkling chandiler in the center of the room, along with prints and art covering all concevable space along the walls, we recieved and introdction to the hsitory of the art of lithography and the first of its kind school we were now in. Those such as Picasso had been through its doors. Next we followed Raph through ever winding streets to a small family run lithography printing shop. We were welcomed by artists hands covered in ink, and strong acidic fumes of the medium. That along with smiles of course. The giant machines that create the art take up half the room or more and look as if from another time. That however is not the case, as plate were being run through them even as we stood around touring the place. Leaving, we progressed to one last stop, another section of the school, were we found students intensly bent over their work. Raph, leaned over and whispered to us..''finals'' and we smiled..knowing the feeling. We watched them work for a few minutes, and listened to Raph joke with old professors.
I spent the following evening decidedly at home working on my art final. I had decided to do a three part seris on David...one of Michelangeos, one of Dontellos and one of Berninis. I was quite pleased with the results, especially my detail of DOnetellos, the one of which i completed listening to John play, as he came over once again that evening.
The next night, i meet about 2-3rds of the CAPA group at a resturant that Raph descibes as her second home. ''eating here is like eating at home'' she says. We had previously arranged (during a classtime, i believe, that we went there to eat brunch instead of work..of course) to have thanksgiving dinner cooked for us. We gave the chef (who cooks also at one of the most renouned places in the city) an American Thanksgiving menu earlier and were all gathering to count our blessings and primarily to devour some incredible food. The cuisine, as it rarily does, did not disapoint. He abosoluty nailed the dishes..our turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans, stuffing, roasted potatos and pumpkin pie were better than anything i've had at home. (sorry mom!) We had blueberry sauce instead as cranberries are rather hard (near impossible) to come by in italy, but i rather enjoyed the new idea. Stuffed with food and warm with wine, after hours around the table we all departed ways, bid farewll, gushed our praises to the chef and headed home.
The day of thanksgiving was just another however for me. I woke early to finish my art history test, and spent the afternoon shoe shopping (reminder...i am in italy after all). The store we found was having an incredible sale..no really..they were...and i am not going to admit as to how many shoes i have added to my collection. I even returned the next day to purchase more. oh dear.
On Saturday i awoke at 4:30am to meet Avery at the train station where we were going back to Rome. unfinished business. I felt it would be silly to leave the country before finding myself under the sistine chapel and through a seris of unfortunate events the last trip did not allow me to enter the Borghese museum which contains my favorite pieces of art i have yet found. We took the MET to the Vatican and stood in the evergrowing line of people who gather to get in a see this chapel we have all heard so much about. In order to see her, you travel through the Vatican museums and end under the famous ceiling. On the way there is much to see. Egyptian mummys and ancient treasures. In the courtyrad there are sculptures that are not only very impressive but also very esteemed in the art world. The memory card on my camera will prove as evidence that i was impressed. Still, there is an air in the museums...we are all there for one thing. Obligatorily we travel from room to room and glance the pieces up and down, but are waiting for that one place. On the way however, I was happy to remember that the museum contains Rapheals ''school of Athens'' a large fresco ripe in symbolism and competed at the height of the Ren. But like pilgrams on a journey, the sway of the crowds continue to the Sistien chapel with determination and intent. We are lead like a flock through hallways and up and down stairs, a maze to the treasure. I paused only once to examine some Dali paintings hanging, ignored, to the side of the pathway. Rejoining the moving crowd however, there was only one thing i wanted to see. Curling around a bend, i finally did. Through a plain and low doorway. Walking into the room, it was everything and nothing i expected. The ceiling is high, and the room is plain. A large cavernous space, with nothing around. A large rectangular space, with hundreds of people looking up. Mouths gaping.
Let me tell you. She is gorgous.
The last judgment screaming from one side. The prophets warning from each side. The creation of the earth calm at one end. The expulsion from paradise. and in the center of it all, i managed my way through them all to stand right there, at the very middle of the room and stared at those fingers...from god to man. And i will admit to you that i got a little chocked up. Coming to Italy was not easy and a lot of bad things happened when i was trying to leave and i have given things up because of it. But there i was. In the Sistine Chapel..and its all worth it.
I meet Avery outside, and we both just sorta nodded and sat down on the curb, fishing food from our bags for lunch.
As if it wasnt enough we trekked next to the Borghese museum, a famous place of Boroque art, and a high conncentration of Bernini pieces. I had to prebook our tickets and after waiting for the time slot, i stood in line waiting to be let up to the top floor to see paintings such as Rapheal's Desposition. After hovering the canvasses for about a halfhour i made my way down the stars to large part of the museum. The marble sculptures of Berninis that meet me were stunning. The Rape of the women (of which place i dont remember) was complete with the mans fingers on the thigh of the women he is grabbing and carrying away intenting her fleshy body, her angry hands pulling at his face pull his eye askew and all in marble. The realism is stunning. I however charged around the rooms, unwilling to examine any of them until i found David. And finally, i did. I approched his body from the right side and walked slowly until i was directly in front of him. His eyes looked much past me, his mouth tense as he flings his arm around to project the sling. The armour of Sauls, lies disrearded behind him. For quite a long time i circled him, eating every curve and finding every angle. And finally i bid him farwell and left.
And as the joke we have aquired, John no longer has to pick me up and carry me onto the plane, kicking and screaming...beacuse i saw David. And now its okay for me to go home.
We went briefly to the Trevi fountain and Pantheon again in our left over time until the train home, and arrived back in Florence around 11pm Sat. night.
Today, i went grocery shopping, and ran into the fleamarket i had gone to a month ago, as its held only on the last Sunday of the month. A whole month ago i bough that dangly necklace. Its pretty mindblowing how long ago that was, and how little i feel it. There was a marathon today throughout the city. I watched the runners on my way home from the store, most of them holloring to the spectators, laughter bounding up to the sky with their passing jokes and good natured ribbing from fans and loved ones in the crowed. A pirate ran by. And a man wearing a mask.
Oh the Italians. -Corrie
I left you last on Nov. 12, here we are on Nov. 25 and tomorrow the number on my countdown to the days until i re-enter the United States will begin with a 1, no longer even in the twenties. As you may imagine so much has happened since last i wrote and so i will hesitate no longer. ehh ummm *clear throat*
On the evening of the 12th i could be found sprinting to the grocery store with Steph in a last ditch effort to complete a project the following morning for my Italian life and culture class. We were required to bring a italian dish to the potluck the following morning at 10:30am. Once we flung through the doors, we discovered the inevitable problem that, well, we have learned some Italian while here, things like ''baking soda'' and ''almond extract'' were not exactly on our vocab list...so we decided to succumb to the problem and wake the following morning. Bright and early we were in the kitchen clanging away making biscotti. Since we never did find many of the ingrediants they ended up turing out like any typical cookie. That is after the entire batch slide off the cooking sheet while in the oven because it didnt fit. By any means however, they were good, and since we are in Italy and the classes are more relaxed that i have ever experiened we took the warning of our instructor ''just try, unless you poison me i usually give everyone A's'' to heart and continued to class.
The next afternoon for class we hiked to the oldest theatre in Florence and I was pleasantly suprised at how little of the translation I needed from our instructor as the women showing us around explained the history. We viewed the old visiting royals boxes and explored the bowels of teh building and the large crank that would elevate the ballroom floor for dances.
That evening Steph's mom ''Momma Misko'' flew in. I spent the evening being treating to dinner at a resturant, laughing and hearing stories about Steph that had her trying to hid behind the bread basket in embarrassment. Oh moms. To think that i had heard it all over Steph and I's late night discussions. Unfortunatly, Momma Miskos luggage was lost and she had more than her fair share of troubles attaining it again, which she didnt do so until the day before she left. Poor thing left Italy a little less then impressed, but had a admirable good attitude about the entire thing.
I returned to the Uffizi the next afternoon after my lone class of the day was over. She is quite a treasure, and held paintings that even i had forgotten she contained. Caravaggios and Durers especially. I wandered the halls for hours and returned to the city streets around dinner time. Walking through the doorway back home i suddenly remembered that John was coming over soon. Upon arrival we he unwrapped his guitar from its black case and the proceeding hours melted away as he and i gave our best shots to song after song. While i sing because i enjoy it, not necassarily because i am accomplished at it...John's case is very different. Not only very profficint on the guitar but i am pretty sure i could have continued to hear him sing for days without tiring. His enthusiasm and knowledge of music reminded me dearly of nights back home doing the same, gathered around a guitar or piano with friends. He left with my roomates for drinks that evening, and i awoke in the wee hours of the morning to the sound of pancakes cooking and John's voice wafting into the hallway. Peeking in the door i was greeted by warm smiles from all, a little abashed at waking me, but spent the next hour singing along, between bites of pancake and we all eventually departed for the evening comically and sterotypically depressed about love...the inevitable topic of all songs sung at such a time.
On Friday afternoon i meet up with some students from my art history class to view Masoccios famous frescos in the Branccuci chapel for extra credit. As they were on my ''must see'' list anyway i was more than happy to recieve credit for them. Miraculious surving after a fire that swept the entire church they encapsule many energizing and revolutionary tactics and changes in art, and i was quite impressed.
The next morning, Saturday, i trekked to the train station to meet most everyone in my drawing class, and our beloved professor, for our trip to Venice.
She is amazing!
Imagine flooding the streets of a local city, and then pretending that it is suppose to be taht way. The first thingi was struck with was the size the city. She is a fullfledged metropolis, and has vast boundaries. Upon arrival, after checking into the hotel we boarded the bus, which was a boat, that pulls up to various docks along the grand canal instead of street curbs for stops until we arrived at the Biennale of Art, a show that takes place every few years. Held in a large park, each pavillion holds different countires, and by and large i was very impressed with this modern exhibit. I wandered the vastness of it with a friend, and eventually everyone met up to ferry back into the heart of the city for dinner. We took an appertivo with Raph and her favorite place andthen slpit into groups pending on what ethnic dish one wanted to eat for dinner. I choose Mexican for a change and helped navagate the extremly confusing streets, over bridges and around turns, making sure not to misjudge the streets and fall into the water, a very real possiblity. We arrived finally. As it would happen in Italy, i never actually recievd my food...which ended up being fine becasue Italian Mexican is not actually very good and eating off the plates of friends left me not having to pay for it. We wandered back, caught a bus....err boat..back to the hotel next and I went to bed after dishing with the girls i was sharing a room with late into the night.
The next morning, we took the same bus back the the art show, and Holly and I took a more rushed approach because the shops of Venice were calling our names. Leaving after a few hours we spent the rest of the day ducking into almost every conceiveable store (seemed that way atleast). We (impressivly) made it back to the meeting place in time, after stopping for crepese, through the very strange streets of the city. You cant ever look around, because there are not open places and feel very much like you are in a large maze, broken up by streams of water...which yes, do have gondalas floating down at almost every occassion.
Venice is an increadibly beautiful city. Bizzare and unique and if any of you ever find yourself in Italy, please stop and see her.
Back in Florence for the next week of classes was a little stressful as i actually had academic work to do. My final project for art was due and aswell as an art history test to be typed. That class, by the way, continues to delight me, as we either meet at various places through the city and listen as Frank enthusiastically give lectures or we meet at CAPA for a short introduction and wait until he stops, smiles, his eyes twinke and abruptly claps his hands and instructs us to ''grap your coats...lets go'' and we literally have to nearly run and chase him to the site. And as a bonus...he is quite handsome (heeeheehee), as well, actually every member of the CAPA staff seems to be. That afternoon, for our last drawing class we toured a lithography school and shop. Raph had attended it for training years before and after meeting at the office of the school in a gorgeous room, wall to wall with built in book shelfs barely able to hold their namesake and a sparkling chandiler in the center of the room, along with prints and art covering all concevable space along the walls, we recieved and introdction to the hsitory of the art of lithography and the first of its kind school we were now in. Those such as Picasso had been through its doors. Next we followed Raph through ever winding streets to a small family run lithography printing shop. We were welcomed by artists hands covered in ink, and strong acidic fumes of the medium. That along with smiles of course. The giant machines that create the art take up half the room or more and look as if from another time. That however is not the case, as plate were being run through them even as we stood around touring the place. Leaving, we progressed to one last stop, another section of the school, were we found students intensly bent over their work. Raph, leaned over and whispered to us..''finals'' and we smiled..knowing the feeling. We watched them work for a few minutes, and listened to Raph joke with old professors.
I spent the following evening decidedly at home working on my art final. I had decided to do a three part seris on David...one of Michelangeos, one of Dontellos and one of Berninis. I was quite pleased with the results, especially my detail of DOnetellos, the one of which i completed listening to John play, as he came over once again that evening.
The next night, i meet about 2-3rds of the CAPA group at a resturant that Raph descibes as her second home. ''eating here is like eating at home'' she says. We had previously arranged (during a classtime, i believe, that we went there to eat brunch instead of work..of course) to have thanksgiving dinner cooked for us. We gave the chef (who cooks also at one of the most renouned places in the city) an American Thanksgiving menu earlier and were all gathering to count our blessings and primarily to devour some incredible food. The cuisine, as it rarily does, did not disapoint. He abosoluty nailed the dishes..our turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans, stuffing, roasted potatos and pumpkin pie were better than anything i've had at home. (sorry mom!) We had blueberry sauce instead as cranberries are rather hard (near impossible) to come by in italy, but i rather enjoyed the new idea. Stuffed with food and warm with wine, after hours around the table we all departed ways, bid farewll, gushed our praises to the chef and headed home.
The day of thanksgiving was just another however for me. I woke early to finish my art history test, and spent the afternoon shoe shopping (reminder...i am in italy after all). The store we found was having an incredible sale..no really..they were...and i am not going to admit as to how many shoes i have added to my collection. I even returned the next day to purchase more. oh dear.
On Saturday i awoke at 4:30am to meet Avery at the train station where we were going back to Rome. unfinished business. I felt it would be silly to leave the country before finding myself under the sistine chapel and through a seris of unfortunate events the last trip did not allow me to enter the Borghese museum which contains my favorite pieces of art i have yet found. We took the MET to the Vatican and stood in the evergrowing line of people who gather to get in a see this chapel we have all heard so much about. In order to see her, you travel through the Vatican museums and end under the famous ceiling. On the way there is much to see. Egyptian mummys and ancient treasures. In the courtyrad there are sculptures that are not only very impressive but also very esteemed in the art world. The memory card on my camera will prove as evidence that i was impressed. Still, there is an air in the museums...we are all there for one thing. Obligatorily we travel from room to room and glance the pieces up and down, but are waiting for that one place. On the way however, I was happy to remember that the museum contains Rapheals ''school of Athens'' a large fresco ripe in symbolism and competed at the height of the Ren. But like pilgrams on a journey, the sway of the crowds continue to the Sistien chapel with determination and intent. We are lead like a flock through hallways and up and down stairs, a maze to the treasure. I paused only once to examine some Dali paintings hanging, ignored, to the side of the pathway. Rejoining the moving crowd however, there was only one thing i wanted to see. Curling around a bend, i finally did. Through a plain and low doorway. Walking into the room, it was everything and nothing i expected. The ceiling is high, and the room is plain. A large cavernous space, with nothing around. A large rectangular space, with hundreds of people looking up. Mouths gaping.
Let me tell you. She is gorgous.
The last judgment screaming from one side. The prophets warning from each side. The creation of the earth calm at one end. The expulsion from paradise. and in the center of it all, i managed my way through them all to stand right there, at the very middle of the room and stared at those fingers...from god to man. And i will admit to you that i got a little chocked up. Coming to Italy was not easy and a lot of bad things happened when i was trying to leave and i have given things up because of it. But there i was. In the Sistine Chapel..and its all worth it.
I meet Avery outside, and we both just sorta nodded and sat down on the curb, fishing food from our bags for lunch.
As if it wasnt enough we trekked next to the Borghese museum, a famous place of Boroque art, and a high conncentration of Bernini pieces. I had to prebook our tickets and after waiting for the time slot, i stood in line waiting to be let up to the top floor to see paintings such as Rapheal's Desposition. After hovering the canvasses for about a halfhour i made my way down the stars to large part of the museum. The marble sculptures of Berninis that meet me were stunning. The Rape of the women (of which place i dont remember) was complete with the mans fingers on the thigh of the women he is grabbing and carrying away intenting her fleshy body, her angry hands pulling at his face pull his eye askew and all in marble. The realism is stunning. I however charged around the rooms, unwilling to examine any of them until i found David. And finally, i did. I approched his body from the right side and walked slowly until i was directly in front of him. His eyes looked much past me, his mouth tense as he flings his arm around to project the sling. The armour of Sauls, lies disrearded behind him. For quite a long time i circled him, eating every curve and finding every angle. And finally i bid him farwell and left.
And as the joke we have aquired, John no longer has to pick me up and carry me onto the plane, kicking and screaming...beacuse i saw David. And now its okay for me to go home.
We went briefly to the Trevi fountain and Pantheon again in our left over time until the train home, and arrived back in Florence around 11pm Sat. night.
Today, i went grocery shopping, and ran into the fleamarket i had gone to a month ago, as its held only on the last Sunday of the month. A whole month ago i bough that dangly necklace. Its pretty mindblowing how long ago that was, and how little i feel it. There was a marathon today throughout the city. I watched the runners on my way home from the store, most of them holloring to the spectators, laughter bounding up to the sky with their passing jokes and good natured ribbing from fans and loved ones in the crowed. A pirate ran by. And a man wearing a mask.
Oh the Italians. -Corrie
Romulus (11.12.07)
Well, i might as well face the facts. It seems that these are not going to be able to be produce in a organized and steady fashion. My plans are no more solid than water, and as i commented to Steph one afternoon...-you know, i thought to myself as i crawled out of bed this morning, i have no idea what will have happened by the time i get back-. This last week and a half have been no exception, and perhaps the rule.
I told you last i was going to Bologna and the Uffizi. Neither of those things happened that weekend. Because of the gorgeous fall weather, Avery and I postponed Bologna and returned to San Gimignano a small midieval town that we visited early this semester. I know i have professed this about many things already but the view was breathtaking. We found a path that circled the town on a well worn walking path. Along the way we saw Italian countryside, quiltlike and in colors varing each section of the rainbow as the foliage of the grapes and other matter of harvest turned in the autumn season. Flocks of grazing birds flew up from bushes periodically and roosters crowed their approval. Occasionally the banter of villiagers rose too into the air. We could see clear to Rome it seemed, if not for the hills that wrapped around us in a protective barrier and near affectionate embrace. Leaving was almost physically painful. In my mind i know i will return to sitting in the dirt overlooking the fields showered in sunshine and seeing the view, littered with modest homes, hundreds of times. There is no camera on earth equipped or photographer skilled to capture and bring home that part of the world that i saw and that i have stored in my mind. Smelling the golden leaves and feeling the cool fall breeze as the birds chirped and the wind whistled by are all things, even if an artist could, that would be left out.
The week began as it always does with me grumpy and irritated. Mondays are not my thing here is Italy. They are hard enough back home when memories of sleeping in, relaxing with friends and having some time for yourself bring you back to the weekend, but are found to be only worse when experiences as i described above have been occuping your previous days. However, assurance from Steph and far too many espressos and hot chocolate than i am willing to admit brought me through.
I arrived to drawing class on Wed. and my teacher was found with an undeniable twinkle in her eyes. We were, apparently, going somewhere magical. We followed Raphella through the winding streets we have grown so accustom until we found a door. It was not unlike the thousand others that close off rooms here in Florence. Oversized, ornate and atleast 10 feet tall. With a quiet knock, we entered. Magical was indeed the perfect descriptor. We entered a large studio, its cavernous room broken only by scattered Roman pillars. On the walls hung paintings, with only inches in between covering the whole of the vast walls. Room after room. Tables shoved to sides of the buildings were covered with paints, jars of murky water and brushes scattered around like confetti. A jester hat was flung over shelf. Canon in D wafted through the building. Butterfly wings were pitched on a hook like a disreguarded coat, soon to be returned to. Myself, along witht the other students stepped slowling, in awe around the room, necks cranned, mouths gapping as Raphella watched knowingly. Soon, an old women, distinquished and wearing a large fur wrap swung around the corned, greating us with warm smiles. We bid her hello and she and my professor flung into conversation. Within a few moments, appeared the master of the studio. An old man, dressed in a coat over a sweatervest came around the corned with a smile comparable to the sun. Over the past few years he had been battling throat cancer which has left him with a failed voice. His smile and bright eyes however did their share of communication, with the aid of his loyal wife who could, as only couples who have been together for decades can, understand the little of his voice that was left. His outstreached arms beckond that we follow him around as he explained some of his paintings. Some he has been working on for years that he takes out only on certain days each year to continue, others that he completes in a matter of a few hours. We were lead into his study to see photos of him years ago, revealing a handsome young artist at shows and galleries. He warmly encouraged us to sign his guest book, and write a message. To our absolute delight he invited all of us back to watch how him in action after we asked so many questions about his creation process. Our gushing thanks only made him blush and warmly shake our hands as we left the studio. It is worthy to note also that the original owner of the studio was a famous Renissance artist Giambologna whose work, the Rape of the Sabine Woman dating 1538 resides in the crowning Piazza Signoria here in Florence under guard. His presence is engraved on the archway to a room in the building.
By friday some delightful and unexpected plans had materialized and a friend of mine, Zil, from my freshman year of college who had been backpacking Eastern Europe for two months swung through Florence. We meet with a long embrace in the train station and showing her around the city brought the pride i have accumulated from the city to the surface. We saw David, and hit all of the major Plazzas. Hearing of her adventures were facinating and having a familar face was refreshing. We reminiced and laughed late into the night about the nonsense that went on freshman year. Before she left we also went to the world famous Uffizi Gallery. The superbowl of arthistory. The mecca of it all. Walking through the first seris of rooms alone, i kid you not, brought me past atleast 10 foundational pieces that each and every art history student know like the back of their hands. Each worth millions of dollars. Its our Elvis and the Beatles. Mozart and Beethovan. These are works i have been learning about from the moment i first sat down in an art history class, pieces that have been reference by artists countless times since their creation. We then continued to weaved our way through Botticellis, Carivaggios. Durers, Michelangelos, Rapheals. It was incredible.
By Saturday, I was on a train to Rome. The eternal city. The Cupulti Mundi...capital of the world. Like Michelangelos David...lore and myths creep out of every crack in the streets. Pagan stories. Biblical stories. Each convinced of its own truth and own validity, and each vouching for its place. We headed first to St. Peters Basillica and i meanderd my way through the tombs of the popes, including the first Pope, the apostle Peter and famous in present day, the late John Paul. In the church, i was nothing short of speechless. Michelangelos Pieta held the attention of the spectators as firmly as Modonna in the piece holds her dead sons body across her lap. Michelangelos pride in signing it, the only piece he ever did inscripe his name on, is understandable. The piece is gorgeous. I felt a bit like a dumbstruck child as i made my way through the enormous cathedral, which can hold i learned over 60,000 people. Each wall, each corner, everywhere is covered with decor as if someone splashed the walls and instead of dripping water, majestic sculptors and stunning paintings remained. There is nothing like Rome i have found. nothing. The Pantheon holds Rapheal, and at night i was dwarfted by its size and spendor. I tossed a coin over my shoulder at the Trevi fountain amonst the tumbling water. By Sunday when we made it to the Colosseum, *began in 72 BC*! i was exhausted from walking through the city and its enormous boundaries, but taking her in refreshed my vigor. If you have never been to Rome, imagine this. The ruins lie right within the city. Across the street is a met station. A busy highway, stoplights and crosswalks pass no more than 50yards from its historic walls. It was the center of the city, so it makes sense that Rome herself would have to work around here. You could see Corinthian pillars, abandoned by their corresponding walls from right outside a car window. They force you to remember. Dispite the modernity of the city and its noisy distractions you can not help but be transported back to the rich past. Its ingenious inventions and progress. Its oppresion. Its power. Gladiators. The arch of Titus, built as a trubute to overpowering the Hebrews. These are both bible stories and pagan myths brought to life. I hiked up a hill and found a church, with chains below rumored to have held the apostoles Peter and Paul.
Earlier that day Avery and I had trekked to the St. Domitilla catacombs. They sprawl 11 miles and contain over 150000 graves! They served as cheap burial grounds for the first christains that dispite the culture of cremation didnt want to abandon their bodies as they were convinced the second coming could be as close as the next day. To explain the concept better consider this...the word translates into *sleeping place*. These people were convinced that their bodys placment there was very temporary, but they have laid there now for over 1600 years. Tunneling through we found shelves where bodies were places, now removed by graverobbers and the like. If you look closly and walk slowly you will find christain icons such as the ichthus or simple doves holding olive leaves in their beaks. Olive leaves such as the trees that thrive along the countryside right outdoors. It is however somewhat of a myth that these places were secret and to avoid persecution. They are vast, and holding the bodies of thousands of nonembolmbed bodies simply wrapped in cloth can not be well veiled. Seeing such sights and being in such a place in history was mindblowing and an essential part of examing myself and my place in it all.
The other evening i walked to the Duomo, here in Florence to quickly visit a shop. Night had fallen and i was accompanied by only my ipod. I tredged the familar path without much thought, until i reached the portion of the route in which i pass The Galleria Acedemia, holding so greedily Michelangelos David. And amongst shouting Coke ads from shop windows and gadgets for sale from vendors on the street, from the corner of my eye, in my peripheral vision i saw him standing there. Quietly. Like he has been for over the past 500 years. Usually the doors to the exit are closed, but that night, in an effort perhaps on rushing the visitors from the gallery, they remained open. And i couldnt help but smile to myself. I just saw David. On my way to the store. Life is pretty incredible.
I have had some streaching moments in the past weeks. It has been a long time. Yet eachday i feel more at home here and my normal life fades further, and ironically, each day brings me closer to America. The tugging from both sides is exhausting. Still, i make an effort to take each day here to the fullest. When i return i will find a way of making peace with it all. This weekend I am traveling to Venice to see an art show and take in the city. Perhaps one day in the weekend after that i will return to Rome as there are things i didnt have time to get to, and refuse to leave Italy without. I hope this finds you all well!
Corrie
I told you last i was going to Bologna and the Uffizi. Neither of those things happened that weekend. Because of the gorgeous fall weather, Avery and I postponed Bologna and returned to San Gimignano a small midieval town that we visited early this semester. I know i have professed this about many things already but the view was breathtaking. We found a path that circled the town on a well worn walking path. Along the way we saw Italian countryside, quiltlike and in colors varing each section of the rainbow as the foliage of the grapes and other matter of harvest turned in the autumn season. Flocks of grazing birds flew up from bushes periodically and roosters crowed their approval. Occasionally the banter of villiagers rose too into the air. We could see clear to Rome it seemed, if not for the hills that wrapped around us in a protective barrier and near affectionate embrace. Leaving was almost physically painful. In my mind i know i will return to sitting in the dirt overlooking the fields showered in sunshine and seeing the view, littered with modest homes, hundreds of times. There is no camera on earth equipped or photographer skilled to capture and bring home that part of the world that i saw and that i have stored in my mind. Smelling the golden leaves and feeling the cool fall breeze as the birds chirped and the wind whistled by are all things, even if an artist could, that would be left out.
The week began as it always does with me grumpy and irritated. Mondays are not my thing here is Italy. They are hard enough back home when memories of sleeping in, relaxing with friends and having some time for yourself bring you back to the weekend, but are found to be only worse when experiences as i described above have been occuping your previous days. However, assurance from Steph and far too many espressos and hot chocolate than i am willing to admit brought me through.
I arrived to drawing class on Wed. and my teacher was found with an undeniable twinkle in her eyes. We were, apparently, going somewhere magical. We followed Raphella through the winding streets we have grown so accustom until we found a door. It was not unlike the thousand others that close off rooms here in Florence. Oversized, ornate and atleast 10 feet tall. With a quiet knock, we entered. Magical was indeed the perfect descriptor. We entered a large studio, its cavernous room broken only by scattered Roman pillars. On the walls hung paintings, with only inches in between covering the whole of the vast walls. Room after room. Tables shoved to sides of the buildings were covered with paints, jars of murky water and brushes scattered around like confetti. A jester hat was flung over shelf. Canon in D wafted through the building. Butterfly wings were pitched on a hook like a disreguarded coat, soon to be returned to. Myself, along witht the other students stepped slowling, in awe around the room, necks cranned, mouths gapping as Raphella watched knowingly. Soon, an old women, distinquished and wearing a large fur wrap swung around the corned, greating us with warm smiles. We bid her hello and she and my professor flung into conversation. Within a few moments, appeared the master of the studio. An old man, dressed in a coat over a sweatervest came around the corned with a smile comparable to the sun. Over the past few years he had been battling throat cancer which has left him with a failed voice. His smile and bright eyes however did their share of communication, with the aid of his loyal wife who could, as only couples who have been together for decades can, understand the little of his voice that was left. His outstreached arms beckond that we follow him around as he explained some of his paintings. Some he has been working on for years that he takes out only on certain days each year to continue, others that he completes in a matter of a few hours. We were lead into his study to see photos of him years ago, revealing a handsome young artist at shows and galleries. He warmly encouraged us to sign his guest book, and write a message. To our absolute delight he invited all of us back to watch how him in action after we asked so many questions about his creation process. Our gushing thanks only made him blush and warmly shake our hands as we left the studio. It is worthy to note also that the original owner of the studio was a famous Renissance artist Giambologna whose work, the Rape of the Sabine Woman dating 1538 resides in the crowning Piazza Signoria here in Florence under guard. His presence is engraved on the archway to a room in the building.
By friday some delightful and unexpected plans had materialized and a friend of mine, Zil, from my freshman year of college who had been backpacking Eastern Europe for two months swung through Florence. We meet with a long embrace in the train station and showing her around the city brought the pride i have accumulated from the city to the surface. We saw David, and hit all of the major Plazzas. Hearing of her adventures were facinating and having a familar face was refreshing. We reminiced and laughed late into the night about the nonsense that went on freshman year. Before she left we also went to the world famous Uffizi Gallery. The superbowl of arthistory. The mecca of it all. Walking through the first seris of rooms alone, i kid you not, brought me past atleast 10 foundational pieces that each and every art history student know like the back of their hands. Each worth millions of dollars. Its our Elvis and the Beatles. Mozart and Beethovan. These are works i have been learning about from the moment i first sat down in an art history class, pieces that have been reference by artists countless times since their creation. We then continued to weaved our way through Botticellis, Carivaggios. Durers, Michelangelos, Rapheals. It was incredible.
By Saturday, I was on a train to Rome. The eternal city. The Cupulti Mundi...capital of the world. Like Michelangelos David...lore and myths creep out of every crack in the streets. Pagan stories. Biblical stories. Each convinced of its own truth and own validity, and each vouching for its place. We headed first to St. Peters Basillica and i meanderd my way through the tombs of the popes, including the first Pope, the apostle Peter and famous in present day, the late John Paul. In the church, i was nothing short of speechless. Michelangelos Pieta held the attention of the spectators as firmly as Modonna in the piece holds her dead sons body across her lap. Michelangelos pride in signing it, the only piece he ever did inscripe his name on, is understandable. The piece is gorgeous. I felt a bit like a dumbstruck child as i made my way through the enormous cathedral, which can hold i learned over 60,000 people. Each wall, each corner, everywhere is covered with decor as if someone splashed the walls and instead of dripping water, majestic sculptors and stunning paintings remained. There is nothing like Rome i have found. nothing. The Pantheon holds Rapheal, and at night i was dwarfted by its size and spendor. I tossed a coin over my shoulder at the Trevi fountain amonst the tumbling water. By Sunday when we made it to the Colosseum, *began in 72 BC*! i was exhausted from walking through the city and its enormous boundaries, but taking her in refreshed my vigor. If you have never been to Rome, imagine this. The ruins lie right within the city. Across the street is a met station. A busy highway, stoplights and crosswalks pass no more than 50yards from its historic walls. It was the center of the city, so it makes sense that Rome herself would have to work around here. You could see Corinthian pillars, abandoned by their corresponding walls from right outside a car window. They force you to remember. Dispite the modernity of the city and its noisy distractions you can not help but be transported back to the rich past. Its ingenious inventions and progress. Its oppresion. Its power. Gladiators. The arch of Titus, built as a trubute to overpowering the Hebrews. These are both bible stories and pagan myths brought to life. I hiked up a hill and found a church, with chains below rumored to have held the apostoles Peter and Paul.
Earlier that day Avery and I had trekked to the St. Domitilla catacombs. They sprawl 11 miles and contain over 150000 graves! They served as cheap burial grounds for the first christains that dispite the culture of cremation didnt want to abandon their bodies as they were convinced the second coming could be as close as the next day. To explain the concept better consider this...the word translates into *sleeping place*. These people were convinced that their bodys placment there was very temporary, but they have laid there now for over 1600 years. Tunneling through we found shelves where bodies were places, now removed by graverobbers and the like. If you look closly and walk slowly you will find christain icons such as the ichthus or simple doves holding olive leaves in their beaks. Olive leaves such as the trees that thrive along the countryside right outdoors. It is however somewhat of a myth that these places were secret and to avoid persecution. They are vast, and holding the bodies of thousands of nonembolmbed bodies simply wrapped in cloth can not be well veiled. Seeing such sights and being in such a place in history was mindblowing and an essential part of examing myself and my place in it all.
The other evening i walked to the Duomo, here in Florence to quickly visit a shop. Night had fallen and i was accompanied by only my ipod. I tredged the familar path without much thought, until i reached the portion of the route in which i pass The Galleria Acedemia, holding so greedily Michelangelos David. And amongst shouting Coke ads from shop windows and gadgets for sale from vendors on the street, from the corner of my eye, in my peripheral vision i saw him standing there. Quietly. Like he has been for over the past 500 years. Usually the doors to the exit are closed, but that night, in an effort perhaps on rushing the visitors from the gallery, they remained open. And i couldnt help but smile to myself. I just saw David. On my way to the store. Life is pretty incredible.
I have had some streaching moments in the past weeks. It has been a long time. Yet eachday i feel more at home here and my normal life fades further, and ironically, each day brings me closer to America. The tugging from both sides is exhausting. Still, i make an effort to take each day here to the fullest. When i return i will find a way of making peace with it all. This weekend I am traveling to Venice to see an art show and take in the city. Perhaps one day in the weekend after that i will return to Rome as there are things i didnt have time to get to, and refuse to leave Italy without. I hope this finds you all well!
Corrie
on the house (11.02.07)
i understand it has only been a few days since my last letter, but since i have time, and the energy i will write this to prove i can indeed get back on track with writing these.
Not much has happened since Monday. relativly of course. This was a short week of classes since we had Thursday off because of All Saints Day, and as always, i dont have class on fridays. By Wed. the wkend had come back around for me. I would like to take this moment to do some slight bragging and rub your nose in the dirt a little. forgive me. For drawing class last week we spent the first 40 minutes having a lively discussion on the social changes that have occured in America and how it effects the behavior of men toward women (and other various non related subjects). Mid conversation we heard Lorenzo's booming voice echo through the hall and with an eye roll my professor cringed...grr...lorenzo is here, we'd better do something. so we migrated to the nearby Van Gogh room and had a very short theory lecture on facial proportions. Once it was completed, Raphella, the teacher asked what time it was. Realizing how much remained, she urged us all to sneak out and we went to a caffe and drank thick, rich hot chocolate and ate flaky delighful pastries all a treat from the professor. And all during class time. As the class dispersed off into the city, Raph and Avery and I sat, becoming ever more comfortable in our corner as Avery gave us tarot card readings and read our palms. And later talked, cried and laughed over our lives. That evening myself and a friend and my roomate meet her again for dinner at a small family owned resturand that treated us like family. We then headed to a nearby club for drinks and spent halloween together laughing, arguing and talking the night away.
Yesterday i boarded a bus and road up the hills to Fiesole, a small town that looks down on Florence. There, i explored the streets, found Etruscan tombs and a old monestary. It was a beautiful fall days and leaves chased me to and from down the streets, brilliantly colored.
This brings me to today, I have it all open, and my roomates left for Austria on Thursday morning. I may finally go to the Uffizi or end up shopping the afternoon away in botiques. Tomorrow i am going to Bologna and potentially some of its surround towns as a day trip. IF nothing else this afternoon i will probably flash my Uffizi card at the security guard and take in another look at Michelangelo's David. Never disapoints.
Not much has happened since Monday. relativly of course. This was a short week of classes since we had Thursday off because of All Saints Day, and as always, i dont have class on fridays. By Wed. the wkend had come back around for me. I would like to take this moment to do some slight bragging and rub your nose in the dirt a little. forgive me. For drawing class last week we spent the first 40 minutes having a lively discussion on the social changes that have occured in America and how it effects the behavior of men toward women (and other various non related subjects). Mid conversation we heard Lorenzo's booming voice echo through the hall and with an eye roll my professor cringed...grr...lorenzo is here, we'd better do something. so we migrated to the nearby Van Gogh room and had a very short theory lecture on facial proportions. Once it was completed, Raphella, the teacher asked what time it was. Realizing how much remained, she urged us all to sneak out and we went to a caffe and drank thick, rich hot chocolate and ate flaky delighful pastries all a treat from the professor. And all during class time. As the class dispersed off into the city, Raph and Avery and I sat, becoming ever more comfortable in our corner as Avery gave us tarot card readings and read our palms. And later talked, cried and laughed over our lives. That evening myself and a friend and my roomate meet her again for dinner at a small family owned resturand that treated us like family. We then headed to a nearby club for drinks and spent halloween together laughing, arguing and talking the night away.
Yesterday i boarded a bus and road up the hills to Fiesole, a small town that looks down on Florence. There, i explored the streets, found Etruscan tombs and a old monestary. It was a beautiful fall days and leaves chased me to and from down the streets, brilliantly colored.
This brings me to today, I have it all open, and my roomates left for Austria on Thursday morning. I may finally go to the Uffizi or end up shopping the afternoon away in botiques. Tomorrow i am going to Bologna and potentially some of its surround towns as a day trip. IF nothing else this afternoon i will probably flash my Uffizi card at the security guard and take in another look at Michelangelo's David. Never disapoints.
''To the four elements of earth, water, air, and fire,'' he declared, he added a fifth one, ''the Florentines'' -Pope Boniface VIII (10.28.07)
I am not trying to make a habit of being late with this, as it may appear. As of last Thursday, i was walking home, dazed after a 12hour train ride from the island of Sicily.
From where i left you, I was on the other side of midterms and on the other side of the halfway mark of my trip. Both lines have now been crossed, and while i am eager for things ahead, i wish i had the ability to press pause and stop for a moment. I feel sometimes as though i am chasing the days, trying to catch them all at once in a jar. As of today, i have less than half of my time left and if that isnt shocking to you, it sure is to me.
I left for Sicily on the evening of the 23 and spent 12 hours not sleeping on the train. Once arrivng in Catania, we manuvered busy unrelenting streets of traffic and after asking as many sources as possible to find a bus to our B&B, many of which were contradictory, we eventually were on a bus, up Mt. Etna. I would like to especially point out that about halfway there the bus slowed and evetually came to an unexpected stop. Instictly i leaned forward in my seat to see what was the reason. A herd of about sixty old world sheep, long haired and horned were being guided across the street by a shepard and a pair of snippy slinking dogs. Once they had passed and even the stubborn noncomplying members of the flock had been convinced across the street, the busdriver causually put the bus back into drice and continued on his way. Our trip was further detoured when he decided on several occassion to stop in various towns for espresso or a sandwhich and left his passangers in the quarters of the vechical like waiting dogs. We realized a stop too late we had passed our destination and jumped off the bus at the next stop, alone on the side of a mountain. We laughed at the mistake and headed down the road, being narrowly missed by passing vechicals on the sharp edges of the road, dropping into the hills. We found our B&B and very pleased with its adorable rooms and view of ioanic sea from the balcony, unpacked and cleaned up standing on the heated floors of the bathroom and dried off with towels off the heated towel rack. These measure were true royalties after cold hostel floors and crispy bleached sheets taht are often supplied by board on other excursions. We spent the evening out to eat in the small town and i feel asleep easily after my 24 hours awake.
Awaking to the sound of clattering dishes, I dressed and wandered out in the hall meet by a cheerful room full of food for breakfast. It would be a lie to deny that the pastry i had may have changed my life forever. With help from Patrica the women who owns the BB with her husband we made phone calls to the top of Mt. Etna to decide if it was advisable to mount the climb that day. We were discouraged to do in the poor weather and decided to see Catania instead that day. In the city we found a food market like nothing i have ever seen. Fresh fish flew back and forth, vendors yelled at the top of their lungs to one another and to customers of their low prices. Live canaries, octupus, fruit in every conceivable variety, pig faces and the esteemed heads of swardfish were avalibale for purchase. Old women pushed their way to the best fruit and the noise and clamor of the comerce could be heard a full five blocks away. We were tolerated by the locals, but just barely. Sicilians are Sicilians, and they know it. The guy who took a liking to me on the ferryboat the train must board to advacne over the water that seperates Sicily from the rest of Italy told me, as we gazed over the water that Sicilians can live in Northern Italy, but the rest of Italy can not dwell in Sicily. They do not understand the mafioso, and are not at ease with its existance as the Sicilians are.
After the market, we strolled the streets to the elephant fountain, up the hill to a monastery. Avery eventually sat and painted in the square as i spent the rest of the time wandering myself. I made a very humerous exchange in a electronic shop when my ipod headphones shorted out, full of hand gestures wild and enthused enough to keep up with the locals.
We made our way back to Nicolosi and headed back to the resturant for some more Sicilian pizza. While it was wonderful it did not compete with the aranche that i had devoured at lunch. This dish of rice and meat fried into a pearsized ball, Salvo, the guy from the ferry boat, noted with a smile and a twinke of pride you will only find it there.
The next morning with determination we insisted that we wanted to go up Etna to our hosts who looked at us with wonder but non the less dropped us off at the bus stop in town, the first i have been in a car since i left America, and the 2 minute drive barely counts. In mockery to our hurry to be there on time, as there is only a lone bus that goes up each morning, it arrived 45 minutes late. Eventually it arrived and climbing the slope, Etna continued to amaze us with gorgeous panaramic views asnd her lava remained, slopped onto the slopes, now dark and deserted of any life. The fields of lava went as far as one could see, broken only by slashes of trees that were not initailly covered. Once we arrived on the summit, we boarded jeeps that headed up further. In the mist and fog and blowing wind we followed a guide to several craters. While it was freezing cold, digging only a few feet into the rock would find stones almost too hot to hold. We eventually went back down to a resturant and spent the day clammering around and dogging in and out of shops that have been built on the hub of the bus stop to keep warm.. There was only one bus up and one bus down, and we could not miss it. Thankfully, this one came at its scheduled time. After 2hours we were dropped at the train station and Avery and I felt the relief of a trip done successfully. That is until we found ourselves at the designated platform, full of yelling Italians. Through strained listening and the help of Sicilains who endulged us with broken English we learned that we needed to catch a bus to a different station, 2 hours away to get on a train to Florence, on the other side of Italy. We had made our assertive moves of finding out just in time and grabbed our bags and ran to the bus, encouraged by handsome train station workers. A large flood and mudslide had caused the rails to not work, and this bus was used to shuttle us to a workable port. Finally arriving at the next station, something we hadnt even imagined we would have to do, we waited and waited for the train to board. We stood for an hour as it was prepared, and ourselves and the other passangers grew quite restless and irritated at the delay. Eventually amongst the yelling and grumbling of the rest of the passangers we finally collasped in a cabin of the train. It wasnt the sleeper we had paid for but at that point memories of Florence were making us more than ready to reach her again. Salvo showed us how the seats reclined, and after taking in the glistening sea with him and making pained exchanges, his english bad and my italian worse I fell asleep as the train chugged its way across the countryside. I awoke to a full morning moon looking down on Roman ruins out the window.
Finally the train slowed, its breaks squeaked and we stopped in sweet Florence. My bag flung over my shoulder i walked home in the early morning light, the shops opening slowly and sleepily, the thick doors opening like a yawn. I got home, but too antsy to sleep i decided to check out a flea market that occurs only on the last Sunday of each month i had joted down questioning on my calendar. It was fantastic. I gazed over gasmasks and helmets from WWI, along with oilpaintings and old Venician vases all cluttering tables. Sparkling necklaces hung from hooks, catching the morning light and Florentines dug through piles of sweaters and scarves. Antique photographs littered countertops and books, some looking like manuscripts blew open in the wind. I made one well picked purchase, a unique silver necklace, with tearshaped pearl beads from an old man and women who wrapped it delicatly and handed it to me with a "thank you" in an thick italian accent, returned by my ''prego'' delivered with american dialect.
I searched out a painted fresco afterwards in one of our many churches here and the experience was one of a loud reminder that i am indeed in Italy. Ducking into the church, the deafening noise of the street was deadened. The ceilings were high, and the walls thick, and the echoing noise of my footsteps were all that could be heard. Candles light in front of each chapel danced in the wake of my passing. Glancing out the open door of the church i could see bustling shoppers, and i knew that just down the road are shops of such designers as Prada and Gucci. A mix of old and new. An acceptance of both. Bikes swerved in and out of buses and teenagers walked past the door clutching McDonalds bags.
Florence loves both. Its bustling city, but defends its heroic past as well. The birth of Opera, gelato and the independant mind. Dante was a Florentine. So was the poet Pietro. Americo Vespucci. Galileo Galilei. Leonardo DaVinci. We were the capital of Italy. We defended ourselves from being taken by others, and nearly died because of our beliefs. The Italian language was based off of our dialect. The Renissance of man, his independant mind and the things he could create, the things he could think about and the thoughts that could carry him to the heavens were allowed here for the first time since the Roman empire and we escaped the dark ages and the thumb of the Christian church that oppressed the autarchic mind and a higherarchy of classes. We made the art that the masses marvel at, we supplied the knowledge of medicine to the masses, we thought reading was a good idea and questioned the world. Of course, I am becoming biased, but everytime i leave Florence to see more of Italy i am always anxious for my return, even after just a few days. This does strike me as distressing because in 46 days i will leave. wow. and then...what will i do?
-Corrie
From where i left you, I was on the other side of midterms and on the other side of the halfway mark of my trip. Both lines have now been crossed, and while i am eager for things ahead, i wish i had the ability to press pause and stop for a moment. I feel sometimes as though i am chasing the days, trying to catch them all at once in a jar. As of today, i have less than half of my time left and if that isnt shocking to you, it sure is to me.
I left for Sicily on the evening of the 23 and spent 12 hours not sleeping on the train. Once arrivng in Catania, we manuvered busy unrelenting streets of traffic and after asking as many sources as possible to find a bus to our B&B, many of which were contradictory, we eventually were on a bus, up Mt. Etna. I would like to especially point out that about halfway there the bus slowed and evetually came to an unexpected stop. Instictly i leaned forward in my seat to see what was the reason. A herd of about sixty old world sheep, long haired and horned were being guided across the street by a shepard and a pair of snippy slinking dogs. Once they had passed and even the stubborn noncomplying members of the flock had been convinced across the street, the busdriver causually put the bus back into drice and continued on his way. Our trip was further detoured when he decided on several occassion to stop in various towns for espresso or a sandwhich and left his passangers in the quarters of the vechical like waiting dogs. We realized a stop too late we had passed our destination and jumped off the bus at the next stop, alone on the side of a mountain. We laughed at the mistake and headed down the road, being narrowly missed by passing vechicals on the sharp edges of the road, dropping into the hills. We found our B&B and very pleased with its adorable rooms and view of ioanic sea from the balcony, unpacked and cleaned up standing on the heated floors of the bathroom and dried off with towels off the heated towel rack. These measure were true royalties after cold hostel floors and crispy bleached sheets taht are often supplied by board on other excursions. We spent the evening out to eat in the small town and i feel asleep easily after my 24 hours awake.
Awaking to the sound of clattering dishes, I dressed and wandered out in the hall meet by a cheerful room full of food for breakfast. It would be a lie to deny that the pastry i had may have changed my life forever. With help from Patrica the women who owns the BB with her husband we made phone calls to the top of Mt. Etna to decide if it was advisable to mount the climb that day. We were discouraged to do in the poor weather and decided to see Catania instead that day. In the city we found a food market like nothing i have ever seen. Fresh fish flew back and forth, vendors yelled at the top of their lungs to one another and to customers of their low prices. Live canaries, octupus, fruit in every conceivable variety, pig faces and the esteemed heads of swardfish were avalibale for purchase. Old women pushed their way to the best fruit and the noise and clamor of the comerce could be heard a full five blocks away. We were tolerated by the locals, but just barely. Sicilians are Sicilians, and they know it. The guy who took a liking to me on the ferryboat the train must board to advacne over the water that seperates Sicily from the rest of Italy told me, as we gazed over the water that Sicilians can live in Northern Italy, but the rest of Italy can not dwell in Sicily. They do not understand the mafioso, and are not at ease with its existance as the Sicilians are.
After the market, we strolled the streets to the elephant fountain, up the hill to a monastery. Avery eventually sat and painted in the square as i spent the rest of the time wandering myself. I made a very humerous exchange in a electronic shop when my ipod headphones shorted out, full of hand gestures wild and enthused enough to keep up with the locals.
We made our way back to Nicolosi and headed back to the resturant for some more Sicilian pizza. While it was wonderful it did not compete with the aranche that i had devoured at lunch. This dish of rice and meat fried into a pearsized ball, Salvo, the guy from the ferry boat, noted with a smile and a twinke of pride you will only find it there.
The next morning with determination we insisted that we wanted to go up Etna to our hosts who looked at us with wonder but non the less dropped us off at the bus stop in town, the first i have been in a car since i left America, and the 2 minute drive barely counts. In mockery to our hurry to be there on time, as there is only a lone bus that goes up each morning, it arrived 45 minutes late. Eventually it arrived and climbing the slope, Etna continued to amaze us with gorgeous panaramic views asnd her lava remained, slopped onto the slopes, now dark and deserted of any life. The fields of lava went as far as one could see, broken only by slashes of trees that were not initailly covered. Once we arrived on the summit, we boarded jeeps that headed up further. In the mist and fog and blowing wind we followed a guide to several craters. While it was freezing cold, digging only a few feet into the rock would find stones almost too hot to hold. We eventually went back down to a resturant and spent the day clammering around and dogging in and out of shops that have been built on the hub of the bus stop to keep warm.. There was only one bus up and one bus down, and we could not miss it. Thankfully, this one came at its scheduled time. After 2hours we were dropped at the train station and Avery and I felt the relief of a trip done successfully. That is until we found ourselves at the designated platform, full of yelling Italians. Through strained listening and the help of Sicilains who endulged us with broken English we learned that we needed to catch a bus to a different station, 2 hours away to get on a train to Florence, on the other side of Italy. We had made our assertive moves of finding out just in time and grabbed our bags and ran to the bus, encouraged by handsome train station workers. A large flood and mudslide had caused the rails to not work, and this bus was used to shuttle us to a workable port. Finally arriving at the next station, something we hadnt even imagined we would have to do, we waited and waited for the train to board. We stood for an hour as it was prepared, and ourselves and the other passangers grew quite restless and irritated at the delay. Eventually amongst the yelling and grumbling of the rest of the passangers we finally collasped in a cabin of the train. It wasnt the sleeper we had paid for but at that point memories of Florence were making us more than ready to reach her again. Salvo showed us how the seats reclined, and after taking in the glistening sea with him and making pained exchanges, his english bad and my italian worse I fell asleep as the train chugged its way across the countryside. I awoke to a full morning moon looking down on Roman ruins out the window.
Finally the train slowed, its breaks squeaked and we stopped in sweet Florence. My bag flung over my shoulder i walked home in the early morning light, the shops opening slowly and sleepily, the thick doors opening like a yawn. I got home, but too antsy to sleep i decided to check out a flea market that occurs only on the last Sunday of each month i had joted down questioning on my calendar. It was fantastic. I gazed over gasmasks and helmets from WWI, along with oilpaintings and old Venician vases all cluttering tables. Sparkling necklaces hung from hooks, catching the morning light and Florentines dug through piles of sweaters and scarves. Antique photographs littered countertops and books, some looking like manuscripts blew open in the wind. I made one well picked purchase, a unique silver necklace, with tearshaped pearl beads from an old man and women who wrapped it delicatly and handed it to me with a "thank you" in an thick italian accent, returned by my ''prego'' delivered with american dialect.
I searched out a painted fresco afterwards in one of our many churches here and the experience was one of a loud reminder that i am indeed in Italy. Ducking into the church, the deafening noise of the street was deadened. The ceilings were high, and the walls thick, and the echoing noise of my footsteps were all that could be heard. Candles light in front of each chapel danced in the wake of my passing. Glancing out the open door of the church i could see bustling shoppers, and i knew that just down the road are shops of such designers as Prada and Gucci. A mix of old and new. An acceptance of both. Bikes swerved in and out of buses and teenagers walked past the door clutching McDonalds bags.
Florence loves both. Its bustling city, but defends its heroic past as well. The birth of Opera, gelato and the independant mind. Dante was a Florentine. So was the poet Pietro. Americo Vespucci. Galileo Galilei. Leonardo DaVinci. We were the capital of Italy. We defended ourselves from being taken by others, and nearly died because of our beliefs. The Italian language was based off of our dialect. The Renissance of man, his independant mind and the things he could create, the things he could think about and the thoughts that could carry him to the heavens were allowed here for the first time since the Roman empire and we escaped the dark ages and the thumb of the Christian church that oppressed the autarchic mind and a higherarchy of classes. We made the art that the masses marvel at, we supplied the knowledge of medicine to the masses, we thought reading was a good idea and questioned the world. Of course, I am becoming biased, but everytime i leave Florence to see more of Italy i am always anxious for my return, even after just a few days. This does strike me as distressing because in 46 days i will leave. wow. and then...what will i do?
-Corrie
to prove it can be done (10.18.07)
i thought in an effort of trying to save myself from getting entirely overwhelmed, as i usually am when i write these, i will compose one here on Thursday, my usual day regardless of corresponding already this week. These last couple days, bring astonishment worth reporting anyways.
on tuesday afternoon, after a monday in which neither myself nor my roomates could pull our selves out of a score of lackluster negativity, i found myself seated in an opera house, waiting like a child on a birthday for the red velvet curtians, branded with florence's crest to open revealing a ballet behind. And when it did..... *wow*.
Dance is one of my favorite forms of art for many reasons, but the strongest of which is sense of the fleeting moment. While watching a ballet or other piece for that matter your eyes follow the legs and arms and bodies of the dancers rythmically until you are put into a placid trance. Once this has been achieved, in what often seems to be a coy spite, a breif unrepeatable moment will catch you off guard and shock your visionary senses. An angle, or erratic turn, or composition of lines that jerk you into focus. But as soon as you realize the brilliance... it is gone, and you are abandoned, anxious to be startled again.
My mind danced the whole walk home.
Through the efforts of my much appreciated drawing instructor i now own a membership to this theatre that allows me to get into an forthcoming shows for a dramatically slashed price, and ensuring as soon as this Saturday the euphoria will be repeated.
The rest of the week filled itself with the ever familiar midterm moods. Restlessness and agitated consignment, very much the same as back home. Doing odd jobs that would otherwise be of no interest to put off studying, being one of the most notable. Our bathroom and kitchen sure are clean right now. But i am now finished, and looking forward to this coming week. I have the unimaginable riches of 10 days off from school ahead. While my roomates are taking a cruise to Greece and most of the CAPA students are wandering to Western Europe i will remain her in Italy. A friend of mine are going to travel to Sicily, birthplace of pizza and still under the thumb of the mafia to climb a volcano, Mt. Etna. Our plans are haphazardly composed right now, and this week could bring anything. I will spend some the the supplimentary time when i am back in Florence visiting the unmeet Uffizi, and perhaps straying from the city and taking a few day trips to places such as Lucca or Fiesole.
Frightening enough, when we all reconvene in Florence after the break, the midway point will have come and gone for my time here in Italy. A sobering thought indeed. Prague, Venice and Rome will lead me through November like an animal following a tantalizing trail.
I hope you all are well. Step on some fall leaves for me, as the trees here fail to succumb fully to the season and hold their foliage stubbornly. I will try to avoid falling into the volcano over break, stealing paintings from the Uffizi or making a scene while gorging myself with gelato.
Ciao! -Corrie
on tuesday afternoon, after a monday in which neither myself nor my roomates could pull our selves out of a score of lackluster negativity, i found myself seated in an opera house, waiting like a child on a birthday for the red velvet curtians, branded with florence's crest to open revealing a ballet behind. And when it did..... *wow*.
Dance is one of my favorite forms of art for many reasons, but the strongest of which is sense of the fleeting moment. While watching a ballet or other piece for that matter your eyes follow the legs and arms and bodies of the dancers rythmically until you are put into a placid trance. Once this has been achieved, in what often seems to be a coy spite, a breif unrepeatable moment will catch you off guard and shock your visionary senses. An angle, or erratic turn, or composition of lines that jerk you into focus. But as soon as you realize the brilliance... it is gone, and you are abandoned, anxious to be startled again.
My mind danced the whole walk home.
Through the efforts of my much appreciated drawing instructor i now own a membership to this theatre that allows me to get into an forthcoming shows for a dramatically slashed price, and ensuring as soon as this Saturday the euphoria will be repeated.
The rest of the week filled itself with the ever familiar midterm moods. Restlessness and agitated consignment, very much the same as back home. Doing odd jobs that would otherwise be of no interest to put off studying, being one of the most notable. Our bathroom and kitchen sure are clean right now. But i am now finished, and looking forward to this coming week. I have the unimaginable riches of 10 days off from school ahead. While my roomates are taking a cruise to Greece and most of the CAPA students are wandering to Western Europe i will remain her in Italy. A friend of mine are going to travel to Sicily, birthplace of pizza and still under the thumb of the mafia to climb a volcano, Mt. Etna. Our plans are haphazardly composed right now, and this week could bring anything. I will spend some the the supplimentary time when i am back in Florence visiting the unmeet Uffizi, and perhaps straying from the city and taking a few day trips to places such as Lucca or Fiesole.
Frightening enough, when we all reconvene in Florence after the break, the midway point will have come and gone for my time here in Italy. A sobering thought indeed. Prague, Venice and Rome will lead me through November like an animal following a tantalizing trail.
I hope you all are well. Step on some fall leaves for me, as the trees here fail to succumb fully to the season and hold their foliage stubbornly. I will try to avoid falling into the volcano over break, stealing paintings from the Uffizi or making a scene while gorging myself with gelato.
Ciao! -Corrie
momma mia (10.15.07)
well, then. wow. this is late!
i was exhausted thursday afternoon, and thought that i could do this last friday but thursday brought some unexpected trama in my personal life (dont worry, i wont go into it, but its fine). so, capa as it always does closed early on friday and without internet access over the wkend...well, alora eco me. tutto bene.
so, i have two wkends to brag about about now. and i suppose that is fine too. back track with me...
Two weekends ago i made the essential journay to cinque terre. Hiking from Monterosso to Vernazza left me absolutly exhausted, but clammering over uphill paths on cliffs overlook the medeterranean sea will do that. It was however, entirely breathtaking, and the company was fantastic, some of my capa favorites and i took on the hike and celebrated together our arrival in the second of the five towns, Vernazza. Once arriving amongst the clattering of the bell tower we slipped down the hills and slunk into the jovial town. Once breath was caught, each of us dove into the sea, squealing at the cold waters, and laughing in delight. Seeing the view from above however brought me a sense of dejavour that i couldnt place. That is until i realized my brother Aaron had stood in the very place just years before. The concept was rather mindblowing...
We took the train from the second town and in time constriction forged ahead to last. After taking in the town, we settled into a restaurant. Everything you hear of Italian cusine..its superiority of that of the rest of the world, is entirely true. Leaving the table, our hunger satisfied we returned to train station to catch the train back to Florence, a three hour trip. Caught however in the rain, we sprinted into the subway like tunnel, just as the overhead lights cut out... the lightings spuratic flashing our only illumination until the train pulled through.
Sleepy, we feel asleep on the way home. Back to Florence.
This weekend brought new wonders and some of the best times i have had, a bold statement indeed! The roomates and i took a days journay to neighboring Greve, a town in the heart of Chianti, the land of the wine. Myself, emotionally exhausted and one of the roomates sick, we took a bus and rented bikes upon our arrival in the hidden town. Cruising the streets was in and of itself an adventure, trying it ourself, the defying way the Italians ride, weaving in and out of cars, trucks and bus with hesitation. When Steph and I saw the tattered sign indicating the castle at the top of the hill, we knew what we would spend the afternoon doing. Ditching the bikes in a vineyard on the way, we continued to climb, stopping to take in the olive grove covering the hill and to take grapes warm from the tuscan sun and vicid in juice we slowly made our way up the discouraging steep hill. Arriving however, rewarded our efforts. We stumbled through a nearly abandoned city, quiet and still. Fall leaves swirled around our feet, until they became trapped in the cracks of the old stairs or cornered between buildings, and steping on them released the familiar scent. Steph lead the two of us down a side street she had discovered, and we ended up in the middle of an enormous vineyard, sitting on the dusty ground, covered in the dirts evidence and overlooking the town on one side, rolling hills on the other and splititng the earpieces of my ipod listening to...Micheal Jacksons song..will you be there? and giggling uncontrolably at our fine fortune of being where we were. hiding in the center of a random vineyard in the middle of Italy,overlooking a gorgeous town no one knows about, the turrets of the castle peeking over, on the top of an enormous hill and sharing a bunch of grapes pulled from the vine moments before. Life is an incredible journay and if there is something i have learned..its that there is wonder around each bend (no matter what goes wrong, that you werent ready for). Part of me will always be in the vineyard…sometimes your heart splinters off, and you leave pieces along the way.
Pounding down the hill, we found our other two roomates who had insisted on biking to the town, on one speed street bikes. And 20 mile uphill journay. Now that! Was a good laugh!
Sunday brought the second of my three favorite David sculptures. Donetellos, and yes, incase I didn’t live in an incredible enough place already, I found him one block from school, just as Michelangelos is a quick walk from my apartment. For the first time in Italian history he is under restoration in the museum, and instead of pulling and hiding him away in a lab, they are doing all the work in the gallery, under the watchful and lusting eyes of the visitors. Well done, Bravi, as I wrote in the guest book.
i was exhausted thursday afternoon, and thought that i could do this last friday but thursday brought some unexpected trama in my personal life (dont worry, i wont go into it, but its fine). so, capa as it always does closed early on friday and without internet access over the wkend...well, alora eco me. tutto bene.
so, i have two wkends to brag about about now. and i suppose that is fine too. back track with me...
Two weekends ago i made the essential journay to cinque terre. Hiking from Monterosso to Vernazza left me absolutly exhausted, but clammering over uphill paths on cliffs overlook the medeterranean sea will do that. It was however, entirely breathtaking, and the company was fantastic, some of my capa favorites and i took on the hike and celebrated together our arrival in the second of the five towns, Vernazza. Once arriving amongst the clattering of the bell tower we slipped down the hills and slunk into the jovial town. Once breath was caught, each of us dove into the sea, squealing at the cold waters, and laughing in delight. Seeing the view from above however brought me a sense of dejavour that i couldnt place. That is until i realized my brother Aaron had stood in the very place just years before. The concept was rather mindblowing...
We took the train from the second town and in time constriction forged ahead to last. After taking in the town, we settled into a restaurant. Everything you hear of Italian cusine..its superiority of that of the rest of the world, is entirely true. Leaving the table, our hunger satisfied we returned to train station to catch the train back to Florence, a three hour trip. Caught however in the rain, we sprinted into the subway like tunnel, just as the overhead lights cut out... the lightings spuratic flashing our only illumination until the train pulled through.
Sleepy, we feel asleep on the way home. Back to Florence.
This weekend brought new wonders and some of the best times i have had, a bold statement indeed! The roomates and i took a days journay to neighboring Greve, a town in the heart of Chianti, the land of the wine. Myself, emotionally exhausted and one of the roomates sick, we took a bus and rented bikes upon our arrival in the hidden town. Cruising the streets was in and of itself an adventure, trying it ourself, the defying way the Italians ride, weaving in and out of cars, trucks and bus with hesitation. When Steph and I saw the tattered sign indicating the castle at the top of the hill, we knew what we would spend the afternoon doing. Ditching the bikes in a vineyard on the way, we continued to climb, stopping to take in the olive grove covering the hill and to take grapes warm from the tuscan sun and vicid in juice we slowly made our way up the discouraging steep hill. Arriving however, rewarded our efforts. We stumbled through a nearly abandoned city, quiet and still. Fall leaves swirled around our feet, until they became trapped in the cracks of the old stairs or cornered between buildings, and steping on them released the familiar scent. Steph lead the two of us down a side street she had discovered, and we ended up in the middle of an enormous vineyard, sitting on the dusty ground, covered in the dirts evidence and overlooking the town on one side, rolling hills on the other and splititng the earpieces of my ipod listening to...Micheal Jacksons song..will you be there? and giggling uncontrolably at our fine fortune of being where we were. hiding in the center of a random vineyard in the middle of Italy,overlooking a gorgeous town no one knows about, the turrets of the castle peeking over, on the top of an enormous hill and sharing a bunch of grapes pulled from the vine moments before. Life is an incredible journay and if there is something i have learned..its that there is wonder around each bend (no matter what goes wrong, that you werent ready for). Part of me will always be in the vineyard…sometimes your heart splinters off, and you leave pieces along the way.
Pounding down the hill, we found our other two roomates who had insisted on biking to the town, on one speed street bikes. And 20 mile uphill journay. Now that! Was a good laugh!
Sunday brought the second of my three favorite David sculptures. Donetellos, and yes, incase I didn’t live in an incredible enough place already, I found him one block from school, just as Michelangelos is a quick walk from my apartment. For the first time in Italian history he is under restoration in the museum, and instead of pulling and hiding him away in a lab, they are doing all the work in the gallery, under the watchful and lusting eyes of the visitors. Well done, Bravi, as I wrote in the guest book.
i have said it before (10.05.07)
here we are again. another week has passed, and my prediction has proved accurate. this past week flew even more rapidly then the last, and i fear that soon it will all escalate into unstopable momentum that will land me in the second week of december before i am ready.
But i can do to remedey that fear by taking each day for what i can and ensuring that i am doing what i want to, regardless of what others spend their time with. I learned strongly the value of this last Sunday, but more on that later.
The CAPA group is close knit. As one that has always attended large schools I am slowing becoming acustom to. Each week there are invitations for everyone to come to varying apt. and to share meals, or met for drinks. Thursday, was particularily fun, as we all gathered in the basment of some of the guys place for "Mexican night" and all devoured the much appreciated break from pasta.
I will also report, i finally drank my first italian espresso. Being late in the mornings kept me from stopping in a shop sooner for some, but eventually i found my way in one. And as much i would like to deny it, after a month from any coffee, the moment the espresso hit my lips was akin to the relief of a swimmer surfacing for air (heheheh)
I would also like to add, that once in awhile on the way to our destination to sketch, my drawing class stops at various famous gelato shops our instructor points out, and we use "class time" to buy and eat ice cream.
This past wkend was very full. On Saturday the whole of capa loaded into a bus and drove to both San Gimignano and our rival town, Siena. We heard the tale of the black cock and his crowing that alerted our knight to claim land for florence, we curved through the countryside and sleepy eyed fell out of the bus into a place meant for other things. other lives, other times. San Gimignano. The black plauge plummeted its population and slashed it in half, leaving the entire town at a near standstill when nearby Florence rose in the high rennasiance. Clattering over the streets and up the hill to the top of the old wall we looked over the countryside. At the end of a few hours we met again at the bus and continued to Siena. Splitting into smaller subgroups we were conjoined with tour guides and found our way through churchs greedily clutching relics of saints past, and humbled under ceilings ornate and thick with the baroque. The dome of Siena was halted when the plauge creeped its way into the city, and the conquring size it had dreampt of over the cathedral of my own city had to be sacrified. None the less, it is a sight to behold. im going to with hold any attept of describing the inside of the cathedral, because i will only fail. Imagine as strongly as you can, as wildly and as free...and you might glimpse it.
The trip was wonderful. The effect of having something planned for you and taken care of can not be underestimated, and when both of those things were the case for the wkend excursion it made the trip that much more relaxing. Despite the raining dreary weather, it was a wonderful time.
That evening upon returning to Florence, my roomates got on a midnight train to Germany to take part in Oktoberfest. With them gone the next morning, I took an oppurtunity that everyone else in the entirety of CAPA ignored. A nearby town, Impruneta was holding a harvest festival. Early that morning i woke, packed my bag for the day and managed my way through a bus station and got a lone ticket to the town. Once arriving i followed the slow and sproatic current of people to the center of town, where in the park vendors of all assortments were gathered. Gapping at the food and wine i meandered through the park for the whole of the morning, and eventually settled down in the shade for a lunch i had packed from my bag, accompanied by a few things i sampled from the vendors.
Later, at 3pm, the reason we all came began. With thundering applause, overpowering the loud music from the speakers, the neighborhood of San Marie, in time followed by 3 others took turns in the square and through the aisle leading to it. Hundreds of performers, in elaborate custums channeled through. More than just parading their attire, the floats that towers above us sung the tale of a plentiful harvest as even their gigantic size was no match for the amount of grapes used to handcover their surfaces. The members of each neighborhood wore different costomes to exclaim their tales through well learned dances. The afternoon was a progression of dance and movement and awe as each costume was more lovely then the last and each story more riviting as it was told through music and movement. Ships towering the people below, men blowing fire, exploding canons, and well rehearsed performers circled the spectators and spun the mind. Each neighborhood took around twenty minutes hypontizing the crowd with their magic, and by the time i left, it all felt like a beautiful, colorful, fanciful dream. The pride in the eys of those performing, along with the bold music and attire left a dramatic yet poetic sting in the air.
I left the crowd as the last of the ending neighborhood took stage. The last bus was leaving for the afternoon and had i stayed, i would have been stuck until much into the night. The entire day was just a few euros and it just goes to show that the world is full of wonder. Your only requirment is to keep your ears and eyes open to it.
On wed. morning, soon after i had written an email to my family proclaiming that while my roomates were sick i was not, i woke with a sore throat. determined to shake it before it got any worse, i spent my time making and eating soup, drinking tons of water and sleeping, along with a steady dose of vitamin c tablets. As of right now, friday night, i am feeling very well, the ghostly traces of the cold lingering just a bit.
Tomorrow morning, (I'm sure) i will be the driving force behind my roommates as we head to the Cinque Terre. (they insist on going out all the time and buying overpriced beers, of what interest i am unable yet to aquire, living in Italy, yet spending money so often on that???). I am looking forward to scampering about and am hoping the force of the tourist has lessend, although the weather is still warm and sunny.
I apologize for this note's tardiness, as Thursday afternoon came and went and i was too exhausted to compose it then. -corrie
But i can do to remedey that fear by taking each day for what i can and ensuring that i am doing what i want to, regardless of what others spend their time with. I learned strongly the value of this last Sunday, but more on that later.
The CAPA group is close knit. As one that has always attended large schools I am slowing becoming acustom to. Each week there are invitations for everyone to come to varying apt. and to share meals, or met for drinks. Thursday, was particularily fun, as we all gathered in the basment of some of the guys place for "Mexican night" and all devoured the much appreciated break from pasta.
I will also report, i finally drank my first italian espresso. Being late in the mornings kept me from stopping in a shop sooner for some, but eventually i found my way in one. And as much i would like to deny it, after a month from any coffee, the moment the espresso hit my lips was akin to the relief of a swimmer surfacing for air (heheheh)
I would also like to add, that once in awhile on the way to our destination to sketch, my drawing class stops at various famous gelato shops our instructor points out, and we use "class time" to buy and eat ice cream.
This past wkend was very full. On Saturday the whole of capa loaded into a bus and drove to both San Gimignano and our rival town, Siena. We heard the tale of the black cock and his crowing that alerted our knight to claim land for florence, we curved through the countryside and sleepy eyed fell out of the bus into a place meant for other things. other lives, other times. San Gimignano. The black plauge plummeted its population and slashed it in half, leaving the entire town at a near standstill when nearby Florence rose in the high rennasiance. Clattering over the streets and up the hill to the top of the old wall we looked over the countryside. At the end of a few hours we met again at the bus and continued to Siena. Splitting into smaller subgroups we were conjoined with tour guides and found our way through churchs greedily clutching relics of saints past, and humbled under ceilings ornate and thick with the baroque. The dome of Siena was halted when the plauge creeped its way into the city, and the conquring size it had dreampt of over the cathedral of my own city had to be sacrified. None the less, it is a sight to behold. im going to with hold any attept of describing the inside of the cathedral, because i will only fail. Imagine as strongly as you can, as wildly and as free...and you might glimpse it.
The trip was wonderful. The effect of having something planned for you and taken care of can not be underestimated, and when both of those things were the case for the wkend excursion it made the trip that much more relaxing. Despite the raining dreary weather, it was a wonderful time.
That evening upon returning to Florence, my roomates got on a midnight train to Germany to take part in Oktoberfest. With them gone the next morning, I took an oppurtunity that everyone else in the entirety of CAPA ignored. A nearby town, Impruneta was holding a harvest festival. Early that morning i woke, packed my bag for the day and managed my way through a bus station and got a lone ticket to the town. Once arriving i followed the slow and sproatic current of people to the center of town, where in the park vendors of all assortments were gathered. Gapping at the food and wine i meandered through the park for the whole of the morning, and eventually settled down in the shade for a lunch i had packed from my bag, accompanied by a few things i sampled from the vendors.
Later, at 3pm, the reason we all came began. With thundering applause, overpowering the loud music from the speakers, the neighborhood of San Marie, in time followed by 3 others took turns in the square and through the aisle leading to it. Hundreds of performers, in elaborate custums channeled through. More than just parading their attire, the floats that towers above us sung the tale of a plentiful harvest as even their gigantic size was no match for the amount of grapes used to handcover their surfaces. The members of each neighborhood wore different costomes to exclaim their tales through well learned dances. The afternoon was a progression of dance and movement and awe as each costume was more lovely then the last and each story more riviting as it was told through music and movement. Ships towering the people below, men blowing fire, exploding canons, and well rehearsed performers circled the spectators and spun the mind. Each neighborhood took around twenty minutes hypontizing the crowd with their magic, and by the time i left, it all felt like a beautiful, colorful, fanciful dream. The pride in the eys of those performing, along with the bold music and attire left a dramatic yet poetic sting in the air.
I left the crowd as the last of the ending neighborhood took stage. The last bus was leaving for the afternoon and had i stayed, i would have been stuck until much into the night. The entire day was just a few euros and it just goes to show that the world is full of wonder. Your only requirment is to keep your ears and eyes open to it.
On wed. morning, soon after i had written an email to my family proclaiming that while my roomates were sick i was not, i woke with a sore throat. determined to shake it before it got any worse, i spent my time making and eating soup, drinking tons of water and sleeping, along with a steady dose of vitamin c tablets. As of right now, friday night, i am feeling very well, the ghostly traces of the cold lingering just a bit.
Tomorrow morning, (I'm sure) i will be the driving force behind my roommates as we head to the Cinque Terre. (they insist on going out all the time and buying overpriced beers, of what interest i am unable yet to aquire, living in Italy, yet spending money so often on that???). I am looking forward to scampering about and am hoping the force of the tourist has lessend, although the weather is still warm and sunny.
I apologize for this note's tardiness, as Thursday afternoon came and went and i was too exhausted to compose it then. -corrie
like a ton of bricks (9.28.07)
it usually hits me like a ton of bricks. how much i absolutly adore you. seriously, when myself and others get to talking, and it vears towards friends and home i just get this smile, that begins slowly until i am beaming in light of thinking of you.
when i read your letter on the plane (that seems soo long ago) i both cried and laughed.
so, just so you know...you are just the best. -corrie
ps. and i am pretty sure that our souls are indeed on the buddy system, because mine is now going to remain in part, here forever.
when i read your letter on the plane (that seems soo long ago) i both cried and laughed.
so, just so you know...you are just the best. -corrie
ps. and i am pretty sure that our souls are indeed on the buddy system, because mine is now going to remain in part, here forever.
another few days (9.27.07)
ciao everyone,
these weekly updates are getting harder and harder to write, mainly because the lapsed time in between is not that long, but the things that have occured during it is tremendous. since last i wrote i have been down to southern italy, the amalfi coast, on the shores of the mediterranian, the island of capri and the ruins of pompei, plus another full week of class and general life here, which always brings surprises.
lets see...where do i begin? last friday i took off from florence on a train to rome, from there we got another train to naples. once in naples (and by the way, naples is a very rundown area..and still in present day controlled greatly by the mafia) we got a subway to sorento, a gorgous town overlooking the coast. as we sailed by on the rail, we would emerge appruptly from grungy dark tunnels only to peek out onto stunning coastal scenes of the sea, and then plummete back into the murk. after tramping around sorento for awhile we got on a citi bus which took us up the cliffs to the hostel where we stayed. the place was up on a hill, a short walk from the edge of the sea, where we spent the evening, carving the coast and looking over the moonlight water, wading in to depths as deep as we dared get our clothes wet.
the following morning, we stood on the edge of the precarious roads, daybags in hand, squinting in the sun awating the bus to take us back down the mountain. its arrival was meet with mixed sentiments. as you can imagine, a full sized bus, on less then full sized roads, full of 180degree switchbacks brings different people to differnet conclusions. i happened to like it. on the way down, locals flagged the bus down as we careened through tiny villages nested in the land, elderly citizens waving the bus past and bickering about fruit prices.
Arriving in sorento we climbed down to the water and found a ferry to capri, where we planned to spend the day. Capri is and island, small and rocky, the building huddle at the bottom, and only the braver of them hang to the sides of the hill. we took a tour around the island on a much smaller ferry boat which brought us around to the famous caves and gave a sense of its history and pride through the broken english of the guide. back on shore, it was irresistable to head straight and determined to the sandy beaches we had seen from our vantage on the water. like postcards of tropical lands, the water was warm and turquois and clear enough to see the bottom of the sea. the rest of the afternoon was spent streached on the beach or the large rocks like lizards, occasionaly dipping into the inviting water.
soon enough the sun began to sink in the sky and we caught a ferry back to sorento, stopped at the a grocery store for pasta to cook for dinner and took the rollarcoaster like journay back to the hostel. the evening was filled with relaxing at the restaurant and bar at the hostel...breaking for walks along the sea.
Sunday morning found us packed up and again waiting for the bus. This time we headed for the rail station and headed toward naples. on the way however we stopped and spend the day at the ruins of pompei. the biggest surprise i felt at the ancient city was just that. it was a city. in my mind, before i went there i pictured it a small village, inconsequental if not for its dramatic demiss. it is however, very large..enough to get lost, tired and confused as you navigate it. we spent about 5 hours scampering over the rocky streets and observing the unique remains. the most stricking element for me were the frescos that continue to decorate the walls, bright, detailed and vivid enough to be painted yesterday. Eventually when fatigue set in, and those with lower attention spans pleads to leave convinced the whole we boarded again the rail back to naples. with our two hour layover we ate a long delayed and highly desired dinner. back on the train, (which for any harry potter fans, was arranged with compartments and a hallway) we settled in and spent the five hour commute home (love the sound of that) to florence. We arrived early in the morning and i was walked home by a gracious capa student who despite living in the opposite direction mercifully volunteered to walk me home.
Stepping back into my apartment, if felt as if i had never left and the wkend soaking in the sun over the mediteranian and taking in famous sites and gorgeous views was some sort of half remembered reverie. Time has been flying. This past week flying by the fastest, and if thats any indication about the progression...im sure the rest of the time here is bound to soar by.
But even with trips such as this, Florence continues, like a faithful friend to surprise and delight me, slowly and surely. Yesterday, my art history class held class in an 11th century church to explore romanesque syling. As we cranned our neck to the ceilings and widened our eyes to the elaborate guilded mosaics our ears were meet, from the belly of the church with harmonious gregorian chanttings of the choir, swelling up like angels. Trips such as this, past the 14th century wall of florence to the old parts are regular commutes for this class, and similarly with another class (italian life and culture) which will bring me to the opera later this semester.
Firenze played Roma last night. i had planned to go, but miscommunication made me believe it was an afternoon game, not at night as it turned out it was. Later, as i laid in bed waiting for sleep i heard the horns of passing vespas and the screeching of satisfied fans. We tied, but roma is a esteemed force and the game was, i learned later, played well. And while my roomates loudly complained of their bellowings i smiled to myself, because while my body was inside my apartment, my sentiments were among the bousterous fans, proud of their home.
these weekly updates are getting harder and harder to write, mainly because the lapsed time in between is not that long, but the things that have occured during it is tremendous. since last i wrote i have been down to southern italy, the amalfi coast, on the shores of the mediterranian, the island of capri and the ruins of pompei, plus another full week of class and general life here, which always brings surprises.
lets see...where do i begin? last friday i took off from florence on a train to rome, from there we got another train to naples. once in naples (and by the way, naples is a very rundown area..and still in present day controlled greatly by the mafia) we got a subway to sorento, a gorgous town overlooking the coast. as we sailed by on the rail, we would emerge appruptly from grungy dark tunnels only to peek out onto stunning coastal scenes of the sea, and then plummete back into the murk. after tramping around sorento for awhile we got on a citi bus which took us up the cliffs to the hostel where we stayed. the place was up on a hill, a short walk from the edge of the sea, where we spent the evening, carving the coast and looking over the moonlight water, wading in to depths as deep as we dared get our clothes wet.
the following morning, we stood on the edge of the precarious roads, daybags in hand, squinting in the sun awating the bus to take us back down the mountain. its arrival was meet with mixed sentiments. as you can imagine, a full sized bus, on less then full sized roads, full of 180degree switchbacks brings different people to differnet conclusions. i happened to like it. on the way down, locals flagged the bus down as we careened through tiny villages nested in the land, elderly citizens waving the bus past and bickering about fruit prices.
Arriving in sorento we climbed down to the water and found a ferry to capri, where we planned to spend the day. Capri is and island, small and rocky, the building huddle at the bottom, and only the braver of them hang to the sides of the hill. we took a tour around the island on a much smaller ferry boat which brought us around to the famous caves and gave a sense of its history and pride through the broken english of the guide. back on shore, it was irresistable to head straight and determined to the sandy beaches we had seen from our vantage on the water. like postcards of tropical lands, the water was warm and turquois and clear enough to see the bottom of the sea. the rest of the afternoon was spent streached on the beach or the large rocks like lizards, occasionaly dipping into the inviting water.
soon enough the sun began to sink in the sky and we caught a ferry back to sorento, stopped at the a grocery store for pasta to cook for dinner and took the rollarcoaster like journay back to the hostel. the evening was filled with relaxing at the restaurant and bar at the hostel...breaking for walks along the sea.
Sunday morning found us packed up and again waiting for the bus. This time we headed for the rail station and headed toward naples. on the way however we stopped and spend the day at the ruins of pompei. the biggest surprise i felt at the ancient city was just that. it was a city. in my mind, before i went there i pictured it a small village, inconsequental if not for its dramatic demiss. it is however, very large..enough to get lost, tired and confused as you navigate it. we spent about 5 hours scampering over the rocky streets and observing the unique remains. the most stricking element for me were the frescos that continue to decorate the walls, bright, detailed and vivid enough to be painted yesterday. Eventually when fatigue set in, and those with lower attention spans pleads to leave convinced the whole we boarded again the rail back to naples. with our two hour layover we ate a long delayed and highly desired dinner. back on the train, (which for any harry potter fans, was arranged with compartments and a hallway) we settled in and spent the five hour commute home (love the sound of that) to florence. We arrived early in the morning and i was walked home by a gracious capa student who despite living in the opposite direction mercifully volunteered to walk me home.
Stepping back into my apartment, if felt as if i had never left and the wkend soaking in the sun over the mediteranian and taking in famous sites and gorgeous views was some sort of half remembered reverie. Time has been flying. This past week flying by the fastest, and if thats any indication about the progression...im sure the rest of the time here is bound to soar by.
But even with trips such as this, Florence continues, like a faithful friend to surprise and delight me, slowly and surely. Yesterday, my art history class held class in an 11th century church to explore romanesque syling. As we cranned our neck to the ceilings and widened our eyes to the elaborate guilded mosaics our ears were meet, from the belly of the church with harmonious gregorian chanttings of the choir, swelling up like angels. Trips such as this, past the 14th century wall of florence to the old parts are regular commutes for this class, and similarly with another class (italian life and culture) which will bring me to the opera later this semester.
Firenze played Roma last night. i had planned to go, but miscommunication made me believe it was an afternoon game, not at night as it turned out it was. Later, as i laid in bed waiting for sleep i heard the horns of passing vespas and the screeching of satisfied fans. We tied, but roma is a esteemed force and the game was, i learned later, played well. And while my roomates loudly complained of their bellowings i smiled to myself, because while my body was inside my apartment, my sentiments were among the bousterous fans, proud of their home.
no where to begin (9.20.07)
ciao.
wow. i have no idea where to begin. ive been two weeks, two long, dragging, slow, rapidly moving, sand slipping, ever escaping weeks. The time is flying by, but all at once, i also feel as if i have been here so much longer than 14 days. i can already feel the pressure from the other end, as strange as that may sound from that side of the ocean. looking at my self constructed calendar i have nearly every wkend filled from here to December. to the amalfi coast, siena, venice, pompeii, rome, fosole, luca..Ireland? ...one thing leads to another and next you know, christmas is coming and i am leaving. and with that said, i am traveling much much less than most of my classmates here at capa. my bank accound cannot afford leaving each wkend, but neither can my mind. there is so much for an art history major to do here, at home in florence. There is 12noon mass at the Duomo each Sunday. Paintings by Massacio, Sandro Botticelli, Carravaggio, and all of the greats to ambush on long afternoons when i am accompanied by nothing but my ipod. i have though perhaps of taking half of our fall break (a week that ends up streaching out to about 10days off from school at the end of October) and going to the Uffizi each day. inside are over 80,000 paitings, the best renaissance and baroque collection in the world, and its a stones throw from my school.
Its hard to remember all i have done since last i wrote. I have been keep a detailed journal each night to the amazment to my roomates and so while these things have record, there is so much i am sure to leave much out.
Last Thursday, with a apprehensive heart i went to see Michelangels David. After years studying art seriously and the rest of my life doing it passively, there is little that lore and hype has left him. Never the less, he is nothing short of unbelievably stunning. Absolutly gorgous. You have to cran your neck to get him entirely in your vision as he towers the curious visitors, with their prodding eyes and echoing calls to one another. His eyes remain fixed, of into the distance...watching for Goliath. During the dates he was created, 1501-1504... plans were engaging to take Florence under seige, and while a nod to the catholic church that has so controlled artists for centuries, he is also an allegorical symbol of Florence. The peaceful underdog who triumphs and leaves quietly. To make you feel a little embarrassed about what you have (or have not) accomplished, Michelangelo was a mere 28 when his masterpiece was placed in the Palazzo del Signoria. (which by the way is where my drawing class walks each day to sketch.) yes. this is my life. The piece additionaly was created in a stone that was deamed impossible and dismissed by those that sold it to him. *i saw an angel in the marble and carved until i set him free.* ..........ideed.
A few nights ago i hiked along a side street with a friend to visit the Boboli gardens, an enormous formal garden. Free (those museum passes are a godsend) we have planned to return often. The shear size of the gardne allows it many themes, feelings and highlights. You can travel through sharply overhanging trees that lead down long paths or hike up the hills and view parts of Florence from above. And scattered about are ancient sculptures, worn and faded from the years, hiding amongst the swelling foliage, waiting for you to pass under their watchful eyes.
Yesterday on a short field trip for my art history class i visited an Etruscan tomb, the etruscans being the people that the Romans used as a foundation (and in many cases, stepping stool) for their nation. The decorative urns, formed into the body they hold, lying on its side, recling with a wine glass in one hand, lucky gesture occupying the other these relics have been here since the 2-3 century, we now, in the 21st gives perspective on life, death, and all of it in between.
This evening Steph (roomate) and I have signed up for a tour of the Arno River. The weather is, and has been beautiful since we got here. Sunny and cloudless each day and clear and cool eachnight, save just once in the middle of the night when it rained. Tomorrow I depart for the Amalfi coast (imagining the country as a boat..this lies mid-shin). I will see Pompei, Sorento and the island of Capri. It will be one of the more expensive trips i will take, but time is of the essence as i want to go when it is still hot and sunny as i soak in the Tuscan sun on the beaches.
Anyway. These are the things that have been filling my time and mind. Ciao -corrie
wow. i have no idea where to begin. ive been two weeks, two long, dragging, slow, rapidly moving, sand slipping, ever escaping weeks. The time is flying by, but all at once, i also feel as if i have been here so much longer than 14 days. i can already feel the pressure from the other end, as strange as that may sound from that side of the ocean. looking at my self constructed calendar i have nearly every wkend filled from here to December. to the amalfi coast, siena, venice, pompeii, rome, fosole, luca..Ireland? ...one thing leads to another and next you know, christmas is coming and i am leaving. and with that said, i am traveling much much less than most of my classmates here at capa. my bank accound cannot afford leaving each wkend, but neither can my mind. there is so much for an art history major to do here, at home in florence. There is 12noon mass at the Duomo each Sunday. Paintings by Massacio, Sandro Botticelli, Carravaggio, and all of the greats to ambush on long afternoons when i am accompanied by nothing but my ipod. i have though perhaps of taking half of our fall break (a week that ends up streaching out to about 10days off from school at the end of October) and going to the Uffizi each day. inside are over 80,000 paitings, the best renaissance and baroque collection in the world, and its a stones throw from my school.
Its hard to remember all i have done since last i wrote. I have been keep a detailed journal each night to the amazment to my roomates and so while these things have record, there is so much i am sure to leave much out.
Last Thursday, with a apprehensive heart i went to see Michelangels David. After years studying art seriously and the rest of my life doing it passively, there is little that lore and hype has left him. Never the less, he is nothing short of unbelievably stunning. Absolutly gorgous. You have to cran your neck to get him entirely in your vision as he towers the curious visitors, with their prodding eyes and echoing calls to one another. His eyes remain fixed, of into the distance...watching for Goliath. During the dates he was created, 1501-1504... plans were engaging to take Florence under seige, and while a nod to the catholic church that has so controlled artists for centuries, he is also an allegorical symbol of Florence. The peaceful underdog who triumphs and leaves quietly. To make you feel a little embarrassed about what you have (or have not) accomplished, Michelangelo was a mere 28 when his masterpiece was placed in the Palazzo del Signoria. (which by the way is where my drawing class walks each day to sketch.) yes. this is my life. The piece additionaly was created in a stone that was deamed impossible and dismissed by those that sold it to him. *i saw an angel in the marble and carved until i set him free.* ..........ideed.
A few nights ago i hiked along a side street with a friend to visit the Boboli gardens, an enormous formal garden. Free (those museum passes are a godsend) we have planned to return often. The shear size of the gardne allows it many themes, feelings and highlights. You can travel through sharply overhanging trees that lead down long paths or hike up the hills and view parts of Florence from above. And scattered about are ancient sculptures, worn and faded from the years, hiding amongst the swelling foliage, waiting for you to pass under their watchful eyes.
Yesterday on a short field trip for my art history class i visited an Etruscan tomb, the etruscans being the people that the Romans used as a foundation (and in many cases, stepping stool) for their nation. The decorative urns, formed into the body they hold, lying on its side, recling with a wine glass in one hand, lucky gesture occupying the other these relics have been here since the 2-3 century, we now, in the 21st gives perspective on life, death, and all of it in between.
This evening Steph (roomate) and I have signed up for a tour of the Arno River. The weather is, and has been beautiful since we got here. Sunny and cloudless each day and clear and cool eachnight, save just once in the middle of the night when it rained. Tomorrow I depart for the Amalfi coast (imagining the country as a boat..this lies mid-shin). I will see Pompei, Sorento and the island of Capri. It will be one of the more expensive trips i will take, but time is of the essence as i want to go when it is still hot and sunny as i soak in the Tuscan sun on the beaches.
Anyway. These are the things that have been filling my time and mind. Ciao -corrie
first tuscan sunshine (9.8.07)
italy is fantastic. my school is the most absurd building, along twisting and narrow streets you turn into a dark and gloomy entryway and soon are meet with a steel gate. through and up the stairs which are wide, sweeping and complete with statues on the banistars and frescos on the ceilings you find youself in a building constructed by a close friend of cosmo de medici in the 1400s. yes, i go to school in a bulding over 600 yrs old. its funny then to be emailing in such a room. in the courtyard between the stairs and the gate is a marble stature of a man and women, a god and goddess. either way, its striking and beautiful.
i have to go grocery shopping after this, which is as interesting as it should be in italy. the produce is best off the old men who run the open air markets and even the stuff in the standas is more real then in the states. i have eaten, since i arrived bread, cheese, fruit, vegtables and wine...as it should be here in firenze. all of the above is plentiful, cheap and of good quality even at the prices. my walk to and from school passes the most historic and central parts of town...and if you dont have an image pop into your head when you hear the *florence cathedral* or *duomo*...you may want to google it. that folks is where i go to school, about 4 blocks down the road. the plazza della reppubblica which holds the copy of micheangelos david is another four blocks through the cobblestone streets, and the building that houses the original 14ft marble masterpiece is on my way home, i walk next to the gates of the building at least twice a day. my roomates and i are planning on taking a short citybus ride to the top of the city, to watch the sunset over our new home tomorrow evening. tonight we have a welcome dinner put on by CAPA (my school).
everyday is like out of story book, be it a comedy or romance. the streets are breathtaking and exactly how american movies protray the country. the florentines hang out of their windowsills in the evening and watch the people go by. the vespars tear down the road at tremendous speeds. old men bicker about soccer and drink espresso. a little politeness gets you far with the language barrier, but even i, speaking only a handfull of phrases of italian have been able to carry on normal business such as shopping and navigating the streets. for the record, i have yet to be lost. good job me!
my roomates are nice and while they have more of the nightlife on their minds than i ( i am an art history major who definatly came here for that!) we get along. we have already had a lot of fun staying up late talking and laughing at night when they go out and dont want to i usually navigate my way around another part of the neighboorhood or city alone,. whcih is exactly what i want to do anyway...non touristy, just quietly taking it all in.
it feels like weeks since i got here, i have seen so much! i am looking forward to getting into a routine, but one that is still full of surprises and amazment. a group of us are visiting the amalfi coast and the cinque terre over the next two wkends. clearly, as anyone else would be, i am excited! there is another wkend trip to venice that is not until november but i am additionally excited for. we are going the wkend there is a famous art show that only comes around every 2 yrs. the studio art teachers light up when they talk about it, so i am sure it holds much wonder.
also, through a class i am taking i will have an oppurtunity to go to the opera (which i am definatly taking!).
my everyday life is pretty ordinary and yet extraordinary at once. i wake up, get ready, go to class, have lunch, go to more class and then return home, possibly stopping at a store for something i need on the way. the thing is, i wake up and strech in the tuscan morning light, hear the man across the steet open his fruit stand and know that men and women are rushing in and out of the bakery next door, quietly eat breakfast on one of my two balconies off the apt. walk down narrow, cobblestone streets that weave in and out of historical buildings and beautiful shops full of friendly florentines, stroll past the duomo and baptistry, and go to class in a ancient building. then when i stop for food, i navigate new languages and buy food fresh from the countryside. so then, in that way...its always exciting!
the CAPA staff is friendly and the classes, although they have only just begun seem intersting and i have tons of oppurtunities between my art history class and my historical cultural class to go on many field trips in and aroudn the city, and special oppurtunities. for example, yesterday afternoon, the drawing instructor lead the way down the steet to see the best shop for supplies. as we approched the keeper was just getting back from lunch (at 3pm :) and we waited while she opened. as we stood around, men from the next shop over came back too. these men have a very unique and prestigious job. when sculptures from famous buildings such as the duomo begin to deteriate they and they alone in all of italy are entrusted to replace them perfectly. knowing we were students and with an itailan speaking instructor we go to look inside the building. a very once in a lifetime moment. also, as an art history student (or storia della arte) i recieved a card better than christmas-birthday and everything wrapped into one. through the program we got unlimited passes to all of the state museums in the city. the uffizi, acedemica etc are all at my disposal. one could want no more ;)
so, so far this trip is everything i wanted it to be, and quite a bit more. ciaò! -corrie
i have to go grocery shopping after this, which is as interesting as it should be in italy. the produce is best off the old men who run the open air markets and even the stuff in the standas is more real then in the states. i have eaten, since i arrived bread, cheese, fruit, vegtables and wine...as it should be here in firenze. all of the above is plentiful, cheap and of good quality even at the prices. my walk to and from school passes the most historic and central parts of town...and if you dont have an image pop into your head when you hear the *florence cathedral* or *duomo*...you may want to google it. that folks is where i go to school, about 4 blocks down the road. the plazza della reppubblica which holds the copy of micheangelos david is another four blocks through the cobblestone streets, and the building that houses the original 14ft marble masterpiece is on my way home, i walk next to the gates of the building at least twice a day. my roomates and i are planning on taking a short citybus ride to the top of the city, to watch the sunset over our new home tomorrow evening. tonight we have a welcome dinner put on by CAPA (my school).
everyday is like out of story book, be it a comedy or romance. the streets are breathtaking and exactly how american movies protray the country. the florentines hang out of their windowsills in the evening and watch the people go by. the vespars tear down the road at tremendous speeds. old men bicker about soccer and drink espresso. a little politeness gets you far with the language barrier, but even i, speaking only a handfull of phrases of italian have been able to carry on normal business such as shopping and navigating the streets. for the record, i have yet to be lost. good job me!
my roomates are nice and while they have more of the nightlife on their minds than i ( i am an art history major who definatly came here for that!) we get along. we have already had a lot of fun staying up late talking and laughing at night when they go out and dont want to i usually navigate my way around another part of the neighboorhood or city alone,. whcih is exactly what i want to do anyway...non touristy, just quietly taking it all in.
it feels like weeks since i got here, i have seen so much! i am looking forward to getting into a routine, but one that is still full of surprises and amazment. a group of us are visiting the amalfi coast and the cinque terre over the next two wkends. clearly, as anyone else would be, i am excited! there is another wkend trip to venice that is not until november but i am additionally excited for. we are going the wkend there is a famous art show that only comes around every 2 yrs. the studio art teachers light up when they talk about it, so i am sure it holds much wonder.
also, through a class i am taking i will have an oppurtunity to go to the opera (which i am definatly taking!).
my everyday life is pretty ordinary and yet extraordinary at once. i wake up, get ready, go to class, have lunch, go to more class and then return home, possibly stopping at a store for something i need on the way. the thing is, i wake up and strech in the tuscan morning light, hear the man across the steet open his fruit stand and know that men and women are rushing in and out of the bakery next door, quietly eat breakfast on one of my two balconies off the apt. walk down narrow, cobblestone streets that weave in and out of historical buildings and beautiful shops full of friendly florentines, stroll past the duomo and baptistry, and go to class in a ancient building. then when i stop for food, i navigate new languages and buy food fresh from the countryside. so then, in that way...its always exciting!
the CAPA staff is friendly and the classes, although they have only just begun seem intersting and i have tons of oppurtunities between my art history class and my historical cultural class to go on many field trips in and aroudn the city, and special oppurtunities. for example, yesterday afternoon, the drawing instructor lead the way down the steet to see the best shop for supplies. as we approched the keeper was just getting back from lunch (at 3pm :) and we waited while she opened. as we stood around, men from the next shop over came back too. these men have a very unique and prestigious job. when sculptures from famous buildings such as the duomo begin to deteriate they and they alone in all of italy are entrusted to replace them perfectly. knowing we were students and with an itailan speaking instructor we go to look inside the building. a very once in a lifetime moment. also, as an art history student (or storia della arte) i recieved a card better than christmas-birthday and everything wrapped into one. through the program we got unlimited passes to all of the state museums in the city. the uffizi, acedemica etc are all at my disposal. one could want no more ;)
so, so far this trip is everything i wanted it to be, and quite a bit more. ciaò! -corrie
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