My final words on Sicily! I feel like I have written a novel so far. But please bear with me, I have a few more things to claw my way through. There is no need to get grizzly. (Puns are fun)
My final night in Sicily was Saturday night and my last dinner was promised to my great aunt and her family. I was picked up by her grandson Ricardo, the same cousin that brought me to her earlier in the week. Together we walked into her building and up the tiny staircase to her apartment. Inside awaited eight or so family members, none of whom spoke English, yet all of whom were foaming at the mouth to meet me. Thus began my final exam, my Italian test for the week. I was separated from my life-line, my cousins who know a semblance of English and can help me when I stumble for words. I was introduced to everyone, greeted them, and sat down very timid and nervous, leaving sweat marks in my pink shirt that I just knew were visible (yeah, that's right, I wore a pink shirt,my aunt said its looks good with my skin tone). I was implored to serve myself as much as I wanted, "eat everything you want," they told me, "We will serve ourselves after you." Well if that sentence right there doesn't make your skin crawl with heightened expectations I don't know what will. In my very humble opinion... I would say I outdid myself. I was understanding everything, with the exception of my great aunt's rough Sicilian dialect, and responding coherently. We ate and chatted about my time here in Sicily, what I was studying in Perugia and in America, how I felt about Italy so far, and how the family was back home. The meal was fantastically prepared and I promised them I would try to recreate it in Perugia. Upon saying such a thing my great aunt shot up, went to the refrigerator to pull out the uncooked extras, and proceeded to rip them apart, showing me exactly how to make them. One simple statement and I had a 70 year old woman whom I had just met fervently explaining cooking techniques to me. This was the kind of unruly power I had in that tiny kitchen. It felt regal and yet slightly raunchy, like I was not worthy of such attention. Every time I opened my mouth to talk the room got quiet to listen to what I had to say. After a few courses and coffee, my cousin asked if it was time to leave. Eager to end such an ordeal I replied with a subtle, "Yes, that would be fine." I thanked everyone for graciously welcoming me and listening to my poor excuse for Italian. We walked down to the car and my head was spinning. The amount of love and generosity that was just dumped on me, along with the constant translation of languages in my head left me slightly dizzy. It was an experience that was equally as wonderful as it was harrowing (harrowing is too strong of a word, it truly wasn't that bad). Ricardo dropped me off at my aunts house and thankfully offered to bring me to the airport the next day.
The rest of the night was spent trying to find some place to "show me a good time" as my cousins would put it. I was with my two male cousins and their girlfriends fighting the traffic of Palermo to try and find a bar or nightclub to spend the night in. Instead we drove around and around, finding no where to park and no place that wasn't spilling into the streets with people. I could hear the disappointment in the voices of my cousins. They were determined to send me off to Perugia as hungover as possible with good memories of a night spent on the town to hold me over until the next time we would see each other. Little did they know I was happy as a clam, enjoying everyone's presence, sharing stories, and looking out at Palermo from behind the BMW window. Growing up worlds away from each other it would seem easy to not feel connected with them. But the opposite is true. They are just as loved by me as any of the cousins I grew up with in San Diego.
Here's the part where I thank those who I know are reading this (Jessica!) Thank you to my aunt Antoinette and uncle Giacomo for feeding me and giving me a home to live in for a week. Thank you to my cousins Domenico, Pietro, and Giovanna for grabbing the leash and dragging their mute shy puppy of a cousin around their city. Since I know no Sicilian (that's not true I have since learned two words!) I spent a lot of time staring off into space, silently listening, and probably making my cousin's friends think I was a weirdo. Thank you to my cousin's girlfriends, Jessica and Filomena, who made huge efforts to get to know me even though neither of them understand English.
That's it. Now I can say I have been where I come from. I can say I have walked in the footsteps of my ancestors. It's an awesome feeling. Hopefully I have detained it forever within the words of this blog.
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Fall Break: Santa Rosalia and Mazara Del Vallo
This one might be long but I have a lot to say for these two days!
On Thursday I had the pleasure of meeting my grandmother's sister! I was brought to her house by a cousin of mine (who I just met). There I enjoyed some fresh brewed coffee as my great aunt told me how happy she was to meet me and how well I spoke Italian. She invited me to dinner Saturday night and of course I obliged (I will get to that story later!).
Afterwards I met back up with my aunt, cousins, and my cousin's girlfriend. We climbed in the family car and were off in the direction of Palermo to visit a famous church of one of the patron saints of Palermo, the Church of Santa Rosalia. This particular church sat on top of a large mountain in Palermo. As we rode up we could see from the road just how massive the city of Palermo was. There were numerous apartment complexes, more than I could count. We arrived at the church and I was surprised to see a strangely square building, one unlike any other church I had seen before. My aunt explained to me the story of Santa Rosalia and why her church is way up on this mountain. A young man has fallen deeply in love with Rosalia, a noble born woman, and he pursued her greatly. In order to assuage his advances and stay faithful to her religious vows, she fled to the top of the mountain and lived in a cave for 10 years. We walked into the church and subsequently into the cave, and an utterly strange event transpired.
The cave was... downright creepy. I did not enjoy the sight of it. It was dark and very strangely lighted, with yards of metal plates tacked onto the cave ceiling to try and prevent water from dripping onto the pious visitors. There was a particularly creepy bust of a woman sitting in a lonely niche with pale white skin, deeply red painted lips, and blue staring eyes. I took my photos and though I should say a prayer or two to try and clear my mind. I sat in a pew and closed my eyes. All I could think about was how I didn't feel God in this place. The walls were dark and ominous, giving no feeling of comfort. I felt no divine presence, no inner peace. I opened my eyes and contemplated this mismatched feeling. A single large drop of water landed square on my right shoulder. I was startled and looked upwards to find the source but found nothing except the plates of metal designed to keep the water at bay. Was that God's way of telling me he was in that place? I was reminded of the bible verse Matthew 18:20 - "For where two or three gather in my name, there I am with them."
We left the mountain and headed to the beautiful beach town of Mondello. I was told Mondello was a very rich neighborhood of Palermo where most soccer players and politicians lived. The beach was a soft white sand not unlike the sand of the Del Coronado's beach (for any non-San Diegan, the Del Coronado is a famous beach side hotel on Coronado Island; when the President comes to San Diego, they stay there.). We walked down the boardwalk and got gelato, stopping at the small tabletop vendors selling cheap jewelry and scarves. I saw a very out-of-place building and asked what it was. My aunt explained that it was a relic of the war, an old scouting tower, as this was a perfect place to see all of the beach and surrounding area. We left after sunset to be back in Aspra by dinner time.
My trip in Sicily was coming to a swift end and I had a thought that wouldn't go away: I have not seen Mazara del Vallo, the city of my maternal family. I knew that I could not leave the island without seeing it. I asked my aunt if we could see it the next day, which was Friday. She told me the car had to be taken to the mechanic and if I truly wanted to go I would have to take the long ride by train alone. I called my grandmother on my mother's side and told her I was thinking of visiting Mazara, the city where her mother and father were born. I was thousands of miles away from her and yet I could see her smiling through the telephone. I explained it would be difficult but I thought I would give it a try. My grandmother told me that she had never even seen photos of the place, and that if it were possible I should try and find the church where her parents were married. That night my dreams were utterly filled with conflict. Should I go? It would be a grand total of 8 hours of traveling for 4 hours walking aimlessly in a city that I had no idea about. The alarm I tentatively set the night before called an armistice, ending the feuding thoughts. "I'm going to go on an adventure," I thought.
I looked up train schedules, made sure I had a map on my phone, and grabbed the next possible train out of Bagheria. I would have paid 50 euro for that train ride (in total I paid 16 euro for travel). The morning was clear and beautiful. I decided I rather enjoyed the southern part of the island, as it was filled with rolling hills of farms and quaint coastal towns. I arrived in Mazara and headed in the direction of the duomo, the tallest thing I could see. Thus began my 4 hours of randomly walking the streets, camera in hand, taking a photo of everything I could (especially every church I could see). Mazara was gorgeuous. Almost every building was made of a pale yellow limestone similar to Palermo Cathedral. I found numerous small tile paintings plastered to walls, presumably made by children, displaying Mazara as a city of peace and art. I visited many churches and buildings. However my favorite, was a structure which literally made my jaw drop. I arrived at a seemingly normal old church to find its doors completely open, with the light of the sun shining brightly through. I was curious so I walked up to the doors and was surprised to see the church was completely without a roof (after further research, I found out that the roof collapsed in 1933). I walked in and fell silent, watching birds fly in and out of the top of the building. I could have taken a thousand photos of that church, instead I stuck to five or six. For my last hour in Mazara I walked up and down the boardwalk, smelling the salty sea breeze and feeling... at home. I thought, "any minute now I will see the top the the Star of India, sails tucked away, nestled neatly next to Anthony's Fish Grotto." As I returned to the Mazara train station I thought about how I was surprised to not find the name Asaro or Giacalone (my grandmother's family names) on any buildings since I was told they were popular surnames in Mazara. As I walked I looked closely at the names printed on the doorbells of the buildings on the road to the train station. Sure enough, the third building I looked at, there it was, Asaro. I snapped a quick photo and was on my way. I sat back on the train and returned to Aspra, tired from a long day's journey.
To my grandmother: Nana! let me know if any of the churches look familiar!!
On Thursday I had the pleasure of meeting my grandmother's sister! I was brought to her house by a cousin of mine (who I just met). There I enjoyed some fresh brewed coffee as my great aunt told me how happy she was to meet me and how well I spoke Italian. She invited me to dinner Saturday night and of course I obliged (I will get to that story later!).
Afterwards I met back up with my aunt, cousins, and my cousin's girlfriend. We climbed in the family car and were off in the direction of Palermo to visit a famous church of one of the patron saints of Palermo, the Church of Santa Rosalia. This particular church sat on top of a large mountain in Palermo. As we rode up we could see from the road just how massive the city of Palermo was. There were numerous apartment complexes, more than I could count. We arrived at the church and I was surprised to see a strangely square building, one unlike any other church I had seen before. My aunt explained to me the story of Santa Rosalia and why her church is way up on this mountain. A young man has fallen deeply in love with Rosalia, a noble born woman, and he pursued her greatly. In order to assuage his advances and stay faithful to her religious vows, she fled to the top of the mountain and lived in a cave for 10 years. We walked into the church and subsequently into the cave, and an utterly strange event transpired.
The cave was... downright creepy. I did not enjoy the sight of it. It was dark and very strangely lighted, with yards of metal plates tacked onto the cave ceiling to try and prevent water from dripping onto the pious visitors. There was a particularly creepy bust of a woman sitting in a lonely niche with pale white skin, deeply red painted lips, and blue staring eyes. I took my photos and though I should say a prayer or two to try and clear my mind. I sat in a pew and closed my eyes. All I could think about was how I didn't feel God in this place. The walls were dark and ominous, giving no feeling of comfort. I felt no divine presence, no inner peace. I opened my eyes and contemplated this mismatched feeling. A single large drop of water landed square on my right shoulder. I was startled and looked upwards to find the source but found nothing except the plates of metal designed to keep the water at bay. Was that God's way of telling me he was in that place? I was reminded of the bible verse Matthew 18:20 - "For where two or three gather in my name, there I am with them."
We left the mountain and headed to the beautiful beach town of Mondello. I was told Mondello was a very rich neighborhood of Palermo where most soccer players and politicians lived. The beach was a soft white sand not unlike the sand of the Del Coronado's beach (for any non-San Diegan, the Del Coronado is a famous beach side hotel on Coronado Island; when the President comes to San Diego, they stay there.). We walked down the boardwalk and got gelato, stopping at the small tabletop vendors selling cheap jewelry and scarves. I saw a very out-of-place building and asked what it was. My aunt explained that it was a relic of the war, an old scouting tower, as this was a perfect place to see all of the beach and surrounding area. We left after sunset to be back in Aspra by dinner time.
My trip in Sicily was coming to a swift end and I had a thought that wouldn't go away: I have not seen Mazara del Vallo, the city of my maternal family. I knew that I could not leave the island without seeing it. I asked my aunt if we could see it the next day, which was Friday. She told me the car had to be taken to the mechanic and if I truly wanted to go I would have to take the long ride by train alone. I called my grandmother on my mother's side and told her I was thinking of visiting Mazara, the city where her mother and father were born. I was thousands of miles away from her and yet I could see her smiling through the telephone. I explained it would be difficult but I thought I would give it a try. My grandmother told me that she had never even seen photos of the place, and that if it were possible I should try and find the church where her parents were married. That night my dreams were utterly filled with conflict. Should I go? It would be a grand total of 8 hours of traveling for 4 hours walking aimlessly in a city that I had no idea about. The alarm I tentatively set the night before called an armistice, ending the feuding thoughts. "I'm going to go on an adventure," I thought.
I looked up train schedules, made sure I had a map on my phone, and grabbed the next possible train out of Bagheria. I would have paid 50 euro for that train ride (in total I paid 16 euro for travel). The morning was clear and beautiful. I decided I rather enjoyed the southern part of the island, as it was filled with rolling hills of farms and quaint coastal towns. I arrived in Mazara and headed in the direction of the duomo, the tallest thing I could see. Thus began my 4 hours of randomly walking the streets, camera in hand, taking a photo of everything I could (especially every church I could see). Mazara was gorgeuous. Almost every building was made of a pale yellow limestone similar to Palermo Cathedral. I found numerous small tile paintings plastered to walls, presumably made by children, displaying Mazara as a city of peace and art. I visited many churches and buildings. However my favorite, was a structure which literally made my jaw drop. I arrived at a seemingly normal old church to find its doors completely open, with the light of the sun shining brightly through. I was curious so I walked up to the doors and was surprised to see the church was completely without a roof (after further research, I found out that the roof collapsed in 1933). I walked in and fell silent, watching birds fly in and out of the top of the building. I could have taken a thousand photos of that church, instead I stuck to five or six. For my last hour in Mazara I walked up and down the boardwalk, smelling the salty sea breeze and feeling... at home. I thought, "any minute now I will see the top the the Star of India, sails tucked away, nestled neatly next to Anthony's Fish Grotto." As I returned to the Mazara train station I thought about how I was surprised to not find the name Asaro or Giacalone (my grandmother's family names) on any buildings since I was told they were popular surnames in Mazara. As I walked I looked closely at the names printed on the doorbells of the buildings on the road to the train station. Sure enough, the third building I looked at, there it was, Asaro. I snapped a quick photo and was on my way. I sat back on the train and returned to Aspra, tired from a long day's journey.
To my grandmother: Nana! let me know if any of the churches look familiar!!
Monday, October 28, 2013
Fall Break: Palermo and Day 4
Tuesday morning of last week I woke up ready to visit Palermo, the capital city of the region of Sicily. Three lovely ladies (my cousin Giovanna, her friend Luana, and my other cousin's girlfriend Filomena) were my guides through the city. We arrived at Palermo Centrale station after a short ride from the Bagheria train station. From there we started down a famous street in Palermo, Via Roma. We walked past one beautiful church and the most ornate post office I have ever seen to see the first of two amazing theaters. This one I immediately noticed as Teatro Massimo, the theater featured in the film Godfather part III (terrible movie) in the scene of Michael Corleone's son's murder. Directly after seeing this theater we walked to the second famous theater in Palermo (and my personal favorite), Teatro Poilteama. We walked to the other side of the long piazza of the theater to find a small reconstruction of a Greek temple. To the best of my knowledge this temple-like structure has absolutely no historical significance, and yet I found it strikingly beautiful. We then walked to a famous intersection known as Quattro Canti. Each of the four corners of the intersection house a large fountain, one for each season. Directly behind one of the fountains is a beautiful church called San Guiseppe dei Teatini. The interior of this church was magnificent. From there we walked to the duomo of Palermo (the duomo of a particular city is it's largest or most famous church, it does not actually have to have a dome!) which is simply called the Palermo Cathedral. This massive yellow limestone church was a beautiful sight! Strangely the outside was far better to look at than the rather plain interior. We saw a few more churches and ended up at a famous fountain whose official name is Fontana Pretoria however it is known to the locals as Fontana Vergogna or "shame fountain" as all the statues are clearly and bashfully nude. We ended our tour of the city sights by walking down and the path of an old market. When we returned to Aspra I parted ways with my female escorts and thanked them for patiently speaking to me in Italian all day. I had thought the day of picture taking was over. Instead I took some photos of Aspra and my cousin drove me up a nearby mountain so I could take some shots of the whole city from above. I slept well that night after a long day of sightseeing, obviously after applying heavy amounts of cortizone ointment for my countless mosquito bites.
The next day was not as eventful. My cousin Domenico, his friend Mauro, and I went out in their small fishing boat to fish for "poupu"which is Sicilian for octopus. And wouldn't you believe it! We caught nothing! Thus continues my streak of fishing endeavors without catching a single thing ( I think I am up to 6 times in a row). Pardon my digression, but it makes no sense how terrible of a fisherman I am. And yet, I enjoyed myself. The sea was calm, the sun warmed my body, and the view of Aspra and the backdrop of the mountains was beautiful. When I looked out onto Sicily from that little boat, I could not help but notice how ancient the island looked. Jagged mountains shot up and fell down in huge cliffs near the water's edge. The unsettled areas around and lining the mountains were filled with sparse grass and small olive trees. I had to be looking out at the same sights Greek mariners saw five or six thousand years ago when they ventured this far west and first founded settlements on Sicily. In Homer's The Odyessey, one of the most famous classical pieces of Greek literature, the island of Sicily (or what is thought to be the island of Sicily) was inhabited by families of gigantic cyclopes (I googled it, that's the plural version of cyclops) (don't you start doubting me). In the midsts of the adventure of the main character Odysseus, a blinded cyclops by the name of Polyphemus breaks off the tip of a mountain and hurls it at the fleeing Odysseus' ship, sending the rock crashing into the Mediterranean. I stood in that tiny boat, flinging my fishing rod, finally understanding why Homer had used Sicily for such a story. So many of these mountains looked as though their tops has been loped off by a giant. As I recreated the scene in my head, I couldn't pick which mountain in my plain of sight would be my wounded mountain, sitting at a fraction of the height it used to have before Polyphemus had to decapitate it. Unfortunately my most unplanned and sloppy attempt at speaking Italian was trying to explain this story to Domenico and Mauro. I kept mentioning words like mountain and cyclops, they had no idea what I was trying to say.
Later that evening I was brought to a small and famous village called Santa Flavia. I tried taking pictures but I found out very fast the orange light of street lamps is the worst lighting for photographs. I believe I spared some in order to show you how terrible the photos came out.
Fall Break: Sicily Day 1 and 2
I'd like to start out by saying in Sicily, no one speaks English. Thankfully most of the younger generation are taught and therefore can speak Italian. However the overwhelming majority speak Sicilian, which is surprisingly different from Italian. I would estimate that 80% of my time in Sicily was spent in silence trying to listen and understand what the hell everyone was saying. When some one addressed me, which they did and I am very grateful for, they spoke Italian slowly and clearly. I surprised myself every time by actually understanding them and being able to respond. I had full conversations with friends and family in Italian, which until a year and a half ago was only a dream I could say I wanted to accomplish. Now, that dream is becoming a reality (Thank the lord!).
My first two days in Sicily were very similar. I was living with my aunt's family in the sleepy fishing town of Aspra, a small section of the larger Sicilian city of Bagheria. A little tidbit of information for you: apparently Aspra is home to 90% of the world's sardine factories. The place is reminiscent of the old American coal mine towns whose very life blood came from their single export; if the sardines were lost the town would fall apart. But I digress! Both days I woke up late, aroused by the loud snoring of my cousins whose room I shared and the magnificently itchy feeling of a dozen new mosquito bites acquired throughout the night. Both days we ate a late lunch followed by a trip out to the sea on a little boat, in search of a small strip of beach to wash up on and pass the time. It was very relaxing. After returning from the beach we would shower, eat a home cooked meal, jump in the family car, and ride out into the night in search of friends and a place to sit and enjoy a beer. The town was so small that everyone knows everyone, and everyone knows that everyone has nothing to do and was seeking entertainment. We would drive down the streets, yelling at other local kids, wondering what they were up to. Both nights we ended up at a small outdoor bar in Porticello, a nearby town known for (you guessed it) its large port. We grabbed beers and conversed in a slurry of languages: English, Italian, Sicilian, and sometimes other dialects of Italian (my cousin is dating a wonderful Neapolitan girl).
During these two days I formulated an analogy that by the end of the trip I had confirmed to be downright accurate. Sicilians eat how they drive: with as little rules as possible.
Driving in Sicily is not for the weak of stomach. It is simple, fast, and without regulation. Seat belts are not obligatory. A girlfriend of my aunt's pointed out the fact that she could tell exactly who was the American in the car because I was the only one wearing my seat belt. "Mi scusate," I would say, " e' un abitudine, non sto pensando!" (I'm sorry, it's a habit, I am not thinking) Also it is clear that Sicilians do not have a healthy respect for what we might call a "lane line." Maneuvers were made that in the California would grant you a nicely sized ticket. However they do have a healthy respect for the size of their vehicle and just how small of a space they can get their car into. Crowds of car were able to crawl through tiny streets without a drop of nervous sweat produced from their drivers (maybe it's just me but I don't like anything to get within a foot of ole Besty, my 23 year old Cadillac).
The classic Sicilian dinner is very similar. The meal resembles a densely crowded street as participants make mad rushes for the large platters of food spread out on the table. Before the meal the table is populated with loafs of bread, liters of soda and water, and the large platters of whatever meats and vegetables are being served. Everyone sits, and the chowing-down commences. Few words leave mouths in order to make room for the copious amounts of food going back the other direction. Arms are reaching and plates are passed. Bread is broken and used to scoop up any juices left on a plate. The meal is done after 15 minutes. Now this is the kind of eating I can get used to.
I did not take any photos these days but not to worry, There are plenty more to come!
My first two days in Sicily were very similar. I was living with my aunt's family in the sleepy fishing town of Aspra, a small section of the larger Sicilian city of Bagheria. A little tidbit of information for you: apparently Aspra is home to 90% of the world's sardine factories. The place is reminiscent of the old American coal mine towns whose very life blood came from their single export; if the sardines were lost the town would fall apart. But I digress! Both days I woke up late, aroused by the loud snoring of my cousins whose room I shared and the magnificently itchy feeling of a dozen new mosquito bites acquired throughout the night. Both days we ate a late lunch followed by a trip out to the sea on a little boat, in search of a small strip of beach to wash up on and pass the time. It was very relaxing. After returning from the beach we would shower, eat a home cooked meal, jump in the family car, and ride out into the night in search of friends and a place to sit and enjoy a beer. The town was so small that everyone knows everyone, and everyone knows that everyone has nothing to do and was seeking entertainment. We would drive down the streets, yelling at other local kids, wondering what they were up to. Both nights we ended up at a small outdoor bar in Porticello, a nearby town known for (you guessed it) its large port. We grabbed beers and conversed in a slurry of languages: English, Italian, Sicilian, and sometimes other dialects of Italian (my cousin is dating a wonderful Neapolitan girl).
During these two days I formulated an analogy that by the end of the trip I had confirmed to be downright accurate. Sicilians eat how they drive: with as little rules as possible.
Driving in Sicily is not for the weak of stomach. It is simple, fast, and without regulation. Seat belts are not obligatory. A girlfriend of my aunt's pointed out the fact that she could tell exactly who was the American in the car because I was the only one wearing my seat belt. "Mi scusate," I would say, " e' un abitudine, non sto pensando!" (I'm sorry, it's a habit, I am not thinking) Also it is clear that Sicilians do not have a healthy respect for what we might call a "lane line." Maneuvers were made that in the California would grant you a nicely sized ticket. However they do have a healthy respect for the size of their vehicle and just how small of a space they can get their car into. Crowds of car were able to crawl through tiny streets without a drop of nervous sweat produced from their drivers (maybe it's just me but I don't like anything to get within a foot of ole Besty, my 23 year old Cadillac).
The classic Sicilian dinner is very similar. The meal resembles a densely crowded street as participants make mad rushes for the large platters of food spread out on the table. Before the meal the table is populated with loafs of bread, liters of soda and water, and the large platters of whatever meats and vegetables are being served. Everyone sits, and the chowing-down commences. Few words leave mouths in order to make room for the copious amounts of food going back the other direction. Arms are reaching and plates are passed. Bread is broken and used to scoop up any juices left on a plate. The meal is done after 15 minutes. Now this is the kind of eating I can get used to.
I did not take any photos these days but not to worry, There are plenty more to come!
Sunday, October 27, 2013
Fall Break: Milan
The first section of my break! So much to talk about!
The week before fall break we all had midterms! Yay! But I was different and special, because I was the only student that also had a 4 hour standardized test the following Saturday. It was a real pleasure to be studying so much and writing three papers as well! Early Friday morning I took a bus headed for Milan. There is something about traveling through Tuscany in the early morning that struck me as breathtaking. Perhaps it was the low lying fog that clung to the rolling hills of the vineyards. Or maybe it was the sunrise over Lake Trasimeno that painted the still water shades of orange, purple, and red.( Trying to paint word pictures as I lack real pictures of this morning)
I arrived in Milan after hours of travel and had quite some trouble finding the apartment I was staying in for the night. Eventually I arrived and the lovely lady who rents it out gave me the keys and bade me a good nights rest before my test ( Lovely woman, the apartment was great and only 30 Euro!) The day was far from being over so I thought that I would try and see some sights before studying and getting to sleep. I took the metro to the Duomo station and walked out of the subway with my mouth agape. The Duomo of Milan was absolutely breathtaking. Fortunately I chose the walkway from the underground station whose stairs faced the front of the church. I walked slowly up the steps as the Duomo revealed itself to me one step at a time. The Piazza del Duomo is a shockingly large square, filled with people and surrounded by building. On one side was the Duomo, and the other side was the entrance to the Gallery of Victor Emanuelle II. I chose to enter the Duomo first as all my feet could do was gravitate toward it. The interior is surprisingly plain however the walls are covered in large stain-glassed windows, pieces of art that have a special place in my heart. After walking around the church I entered the Gallery of Victor Emanuelle II, a large structure with a glass-domed ceiling that housed rows of expensive shops and restaurants. I finished my walk with a well deserved dinner from a place raved about on Yelp, a small joint called Luini's that served tiny fried calzones (Panzerotti's... yummm). I returned to the apartment, cracked my study book, and tried to smash tiny piece of information into my brain before it was too late.
The next morning I took a taxi to the testing center ( a small American K-12 just outside of Milan) and took the dreaded test. It was hard (in the words of Forrest Gump, and that's all I wanna say about that). I walked out of the testing center, in search of someone to split a cab with. I found the only other two students taking the Biochemistry test, one American and one Italian, talking about some questions. I asked them if either wanted to split a cab to the train station, instead I got an invitation for a free ride to the train station which eventually turned into a tour of the Milan by a local (the Italian girl who took the test)! Unfortunately I did not have my camera because I did not think to bring it with me to the testing center. The three of us scientists walked through the fashion district, the Duomo, an old famous castle called Castello Sforzeco, and the massive park behind the castle. It was a great way to cool off from the test and see more of the city. I said farewell and good luck to my fellow biochemists and returned to my apartment. I gathered up my things, gave back the keys, grabbed a bus from the train station, and headed to one of the Milan airports. I made it through security easy enough ( if only they knew what I was smuggling) (nothing but happiness, duh) and boarded my plane headed for Sicily!!
The week before fall break we all had midterms! Yay! But I was different and special, because I was the only student that also had a 4 hour standardized test the following Saturday. It was a real pleasure to be studying so much and writing three papers as well! Early Friday morning I took a bus headed for Milan. There is something about traveling through Tuscany in the early morning that struck me as breathtaking. Perhaps it was the low lying fog that clung to the rolling hills of the vineyards. Or maybe it was the sunrise over Lake Trasimeno that painted the still water shades of orange, purple, and red.( Trying to paint word pictures as I lack real pictures of this morning)
I arrived in Milan after hours of travel and had quite some trouble finding the apartment I was staying in for the night. Eventually I arrived and the lovely lady who rents it out gave me the keys and bade me a good nights rest before my test ( Lovely woman, the apartment was great and only 30 Euro!) The day was far from being over so I thought that I would try and see some sights before studying and getting to sleep. I took the metro to the Duomo station and walked out of the subway with my mouth agape. The Duomo of Milan was absolutely breathtaking. Fortunately I chose the walkway from the underground station whose stairs faced the front of the church. I walked slowly up the steps as the Duomo revealed itself to me one step at a time. The Piazza del Duomo is a shockingly large square, filled with people and surrounded by building. On one side was the Duomo, and the other side was the entrance to the Gallery of Victor Emanuelle II. I chose to enter the Duomo first as all my feet could do was gravitate toward it. The interior is surprisingly plain however the walls are covered in large stain-glassed windows, pieces of art that have a special place in my heart. After walking around the church I entered the Gallery of Victor Emanuelle II, a large structure with a glass-domed ceiling that housed rows of expensive shops and restaurants. I finished my walk with a well deserved dinner from a place raved about on Yelp, a small joint called Luini's that served tiny fried calzones (Panzerotti's... yummm). I returned to the apartment, cracked my study book, and tried to smash tiny piece of information into my brain before it was too late.
The next morning I took a taxi to the testing center ( a small American K-12 just outside of Milan) and took the dreaded test. It was hard (in the words of Forrest Gump, and that's all I wanna say about that). I walked out of the testing center, in search of someone to split a cab with. I found the only other two students taking the Biochemistry test, one American and one Italian, talking about some questions. I asked them if either wanted to split a cab to the train station, instead I got an invitation for a free ride to the train station which eventually turned into a tour of the Milan by a local (the Italian girl who took the test)! Unfortunately I did not have my camera because I did not think to bring it with me to the testing center. The three of us scientists walked through the fashion district, the Duomo, an old famous castle called Castello Sforzeco, and the massive park behind the castle. It was a great way to cool off from the test and see more of the city. I said farewell and good luck to my fellow biochemists and returned to my apartment. I gathered up my things, gave back the keys, grabbed a bus from the train station, and headed to one of the Milan airports. I made it through security easy enough ( if only they knew what I was smuggling) (nothing but happiness, duh) and boarded my plane headed for Sicily!!
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
My First Weekend Staying in Perugia
After traveling so much I finally had a weekend of relaxation! I stayed in Perugia because I had a field trip on Saturday with my religion class to a small town called Spoleto. Saturday was supposed to be the rainiest day of the whole month; I was not too excited about that. But I had also heard Spoleto was a cute little town.
Spoleto was originally an important Roman city. It lies in the path of one of Rome's oldest roads, Via Flaminia, which made it a major economic center (compared to Perugia which was not directly connected to the capital). We went to the archaeological museum and sat in a real Roman amphitheater. The museum also had exhibits of stone and bronze pieces that have been found in or near Spoleto. The most important of which were two stone tablets found on the top of a nearby mountain. The tablets have been dated to pre-Roman times, somewhere around 5th or 6th century BC. They warned everyone who came to the mountain to never take anything from its forests because the was a sacred place belonging to their equivalent to Jupiter (Zeus).
We also saw a few old churches in while in Spoleto. The largest and most grand was the Duomo (the Duomo of any city is its largest church, it doesn't have to have a dome). It is considered to this day the pinnacle of Romanesque architecture and was finished in the 11th Century. However this was not the church that struck me the most. Our very first stop of the day was at a very small and old church, La Basilica di San Salvatore, built in the 4th Century AD. It was finished sometime in the late 300's which is less that a century after Constantine legalized Christianity. This must be one of the oldest surviving churches in Italy, definitely the oldest church I have been in. The original Christians who prayed here probably had relatives or knew someone who was persecuted and killed for being a Christian. Walking into the space was very humbling. It was plain, grey, it was easy to tell they borrow stones from everywhere they could. Even the columns were miss matched; they must have taken columns from different nearby buildings. Everything looked thrown together and cheap, as if the people who built it were poor and were looking for anything to build a structure to pray in. The entire grey scene within the church is broken by one fragment of a surviving fresco behind the alter. It is the only dash of color so your eyes are immediately drawn to it. It was simple, and therefore fit the space perfectly. The whole building was a perfect example of early Christianity, before the church was heavily concerned with money and land; when Christians just needed a space to get together and be in the presence of the Lord.
I thought it was going to be raining the entire time so I didn't bring my camera! But my other classmates did so maybe they can send me some photos.
The rest of the weekend was spent in doors, mostly watching the thunderstorms outside from the safety of my bedroom window. But God forbid I relax any more! I have tons of work to do.
Spoleto was originally an important Roman city. It lies in the path of one of Rome's oldest roads, Via Flaminia, which made it a major economic center (compared to Perugia which was not directly connected to the capital). We went to the archaeological museum and sat in a real Roman amphitheater. The museum also had exhibits of stone and bronze pieces that have been found in or near Spoleto. The most important of which were two stone tablets found on the top of a nearby mountain. The tablets have been dated to pre-Roman times, somewhere around 5th or 6th century BC. They warned everyone who came to the mountain to never take anything from its forests because the was a sacred place belonging to their equivalent to Jupiter (Zeus).
We also saw a few old churches in while in Spoleto. The largest and most grand was the Duomo (the Duomo of any city is its largest church, it doesn't have to have a dome). It is considered to this day the pinnacle of Romanesque architecture and was finished in the 11th Century. However this was not the church that struck me the most. Our very first stop of the day was at a very small and old church, La Basilica di San Salvatore, built in the 4th Century AD. It was finished sometime in the late 300's which is less that a century after Constantine legalized Christianity. This must be one of the oldest surviving churches in Italy, definitely the oldest church I have been in. The original Christians who prayed here probably had relatives or knew someone who was persecuted and killed for being a Christian. Walking into the space was very humbling. It was plain, grey, it was easy to tell they borrow stones from everywhere they could. Even the columns were miss matched; they must have taken columns from different nearby buildings. Everything looked thrown together and cheap, as if the people who built it were poor and were looking for anything to build a structure to pray in. The entire grey scene within the church is broken by one fragment of a surviving fresco behind the alter. It is the only dash of color so your eyes are immediately drawn to it. It was simple, and therefore fit the space perfectly. The whole building was a perfect example of early Christianity, before the church was heavily concerned with money and land; when Christians just needed a space to get together and be in the presence of the Lord.
I thought it was going to be raining the entire time so I didn't bring my camera! But my other classmates did so maybe they can send me some photos.
The rest of the weekend was spent in doors, mostly watching the thunderstorms outside from the safety of my bedroom window. But God forbid I relax any more! I have tons of work to do.
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Random Thought #5
So I walk up to my apartment door the other day and I am greeted with an unsettling sight. There is a scorpion on the wall a few inches from my door, just hanging out, being all menacing. Obviously, I begin to panic a little bit. I open my door and yell into the apartment," is anyone home? Get the hell over here now!" One of my roommates comes running over and I show him our undesirable guest. He begins to tell me about how he has seen them around before and that in Italy they are not a big deal.
NOT A BIG DEAL HE SAYS
It's a scorpion for Pete's sake (I'm referring to a buddy of mine named Pete, I do a lot of things for his sake)! I asked my roommate what we should do about the creature. He told me, in the words of Italian-Americans everywhere," don't worry about!" I looked down at the creature, found some mercy in my soul and left him undisturbed. But oh did I give him a piece of my mind; yelling at him for disturbing my peace, telling him to move on before his friend (my roommate) wasn't around to protect him. I...well I didn't use that calm of language, but that was the gist of my aggravated speech to the scorpion. Needless to say when I left for class a few hours later he had high-tailed [get it ;)] it outta there, heeding my strong advice.
As I walked into class I sat down and immediately raised my hand looking for some sort of answers from my professor regarding my harrowing encounter. My professor ensured me that Italians aren't bothered too much by the large population of scorpions in the area. Apparently a sting from them is similar to a sting from a bee: you don't go looking for it, but you also don't go to the hospital for it.
Following this rant I tried to provide a photo from the internet to show you what young Mr. Scorpion looked like. I immediately regretted that decision. I now look forward to a restless evening.
NOT A BIG DEAL HE SAYS
It's a scorpion for Pete's sake (I'm referring to a buddy of mine named Pete, I do a lot of things for his sake)! I asked my roommate what we should do about the creature. He told me, in the words of Italian-Americans everywhere," don't worry about!" I looked down at the creature, found some mercy in my soul and left him undisturbed. But oh did I give him a piece of my mind; yelling at him for disturbing my peace, telling him to move on before his friend (my roommate) wasn't around to protect him. I...well I didn't use that calm of language, but that was the gist of my aggravated speech to the scorpion. Needless to say when I left for class a few hours later he had high-tailed [get it ;)] it outta there, heeding my strong advice.
As I walked into class I sat down and immediately raised my hand looking for some sort of answers from my professor regarding my harrowing encounter. My professor ensured me that Italians aren't bothered too much by the large population of scorpions in the area. Apparently a sting from them is similar to a sting from a bee: you don't go looking for it, but you also don't go to the hospital for it.
Following this rant I tried to provide a photo from the internet to show you what young Mr. Scorpion looked like. I immediately regretted that decision. I now look forward to a restless evening.
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