Only in Italy…

There was a chocolate festival in front of Santa Croce church this weekend. Tables under tents choc-full of truffles, giant slabs of hazelnut, coconut and espresso flavors, chocolate in the shapes of sheep, salamis, and even carpentry tools. There were chocolate and vanilla fondue sets downpouring liquid candy, buckets full of churning taffy, steaming vats of pure hot chocolate. The more creative tables held displays of chocolate animals, and yes – chocolate wrenches, hammers, lighters, chains and random tools covered with cocoa powder to make them look even more realistically rustic. My roommates got hot chocolate that came in what seemed like small cups – we couldn’t even finish two between the three of us it was so rich. In my usual unadventurous purchasing, I bought a dark chocolate truffle the size of a golf ball. Boy was it good. Soft powered cocoa covering a thick, creamy center of bittersweet Italian chocolate. Too bad the festival’s not here every week!

And on Saturday – to Siena! The program’s planned day-trip was plagued with rain, fog, and chills but it was still a fabulous day. At the crack of dawn, my roommates and I trooped across town blindly and boarded a bus full of similarly half-asleep students. On the bus’s upper deck, everyone slept semi-soundly for the hour ride to Siena while I watched the Tuscan countryside flying by: everything in browns and greens, villas with chickens, hills rolling with light fog. Our bus teetered on the edges of winding cliffs as we snaked toward Siena. When we arrived, light rain sprayed as we emerged from the bus and began our walking tour. First stop, a view of the countryside; then, the church of Saint Catherine. Inside, Catherine’s head and finger are preserved mummy-like for modern visitors to marvel at. Her head is somewhere below the church’s floors, but we were able to view her finger – looking like a burnt French-fry in its glowing glass display-case. Also in this church is a single portrait painted during her lifetime, so they assume it illustrates the most true-to-life depiction of her face. All the other paintings, of which there are many, were done after St. Catherine’s death. My favorite part of the church’s interior, though, was the colorful stained-glass windows behind the altar. They were so different from others I have seen so far, very unlike the modest, conservative mosaic windows of the Florence Duomo. At St. Catherine’s, they looked almost like cartoons. The colors were far more vibrant and playful than other cathedrals, and the faces and positions of the people depicted in the stained glass were like caricatures – large eyes and goofy facial expressions drawn above simplistic outfits you might see in a children’s book. I don’t know why and didn’t ask, but I suppose it’s possible these windows were not part of the original church.

After visiting Catherine’s cathedral and the separate quarters where she lived and worked, we visited Siena’s famous Duomo. It is similar on the outside to the one in Florence, but inside, the cathedral has about twenty pillars holding it up that boast startling thick green stripes. They look like huge floor-to-ceiling trees that someone painted in Alice’s Wonderland. A side chapel of this church holds several original statues done by Bellini, and one by Donatello. The floor is distractedly covered with contemporary boards and outlined with duct tape, to preserve parts of the tile that people have previously weathered with boots and high-heels. Some parts are roped off for us to see though, displayed images created in forest green, red and cream tiles that look like those fill-in-the-color games in coloring books. One chunk of tile makes the face, another an arm, another the dress, until a full person appears in the slabs. I wonder what’s under the parts of floor we can’t see…
The final most interesting part of Siena is this enormous town square shaped like a bowl. The entire square is a giant brick cereal bowl surrounded by shops at its upper edges. This is where Siena’s horse races are held – a fact Allie and I wondered about throughout the tour, because how do horses run well on the inclined, slippery brick ground? I guess because they’re race horses and they just do. Makes for quite an interesting spectacle, which Sienans are extremely proud of and display on just about every postcard or souvenir piece I saw. They have reason to love this small city – it is quaint but lively, petite but full of shopping and dining, and has some of the prettiest little side-streets and apartment areas that look even more typically Italian than Florence’s. I’d call it more of a large hill-top town. Bella!

Even more petite and adorable was our next stop – San Gimignano. This is truly a beautiful hill-top town, much smaller than Siena, with only a single main street passing through it. I could walk the town in probably ten minutes. Up, up, up by pottery shops and cafes, until you reach the hill’s peak and look down on Tuscany below. It is isolated and dreamlike – with I think only one hotel and a population about the size of our tour group. The buildings are uniform, in typical gray bricks above cobblestone streets, and the whole place just seems more peaceful than the city of Florence. Although it was pouring rain by the time we toured the one main street and half the group was without umbrellas (including me), it was easy to see that this was a beautiful town I would definitely have to return to on a nicer day. When the fog is absent, the best thing to do in San Gimignano is to climb the towers that rise above it and provide an even more breathtaking view of the countryside – something I’ll certainly be going back to do. And so, the day ended and our group sloshed back to our bus in squeaking sneakers and wet-dog hair. Needless to say, I slept great last night and am focusing my Sunday on achieving the maiden voyage to GustaPizza. I’ll let you know how it goes. Pace! (Means “peace”, pronounced “pachay”).

More Week Two

I did a bit of exploring today, around the area where I live. People seem to imagine that the city basically ends after you pass the Duomo and reach the Ponte Vecchio, the big bridge full of jewelry shops that crosses the Arno River. But much to even my own surprise, the Piazza Pitti (across from my apartment) is the frontman for quite the big- band behind it. Walking away from the apartment in a direction we had never ventured, Allie and I discovered a quieter but just as interesting piece of Florence. Just beyond our street is a bustling square, Piazza di Santo Spirito, which houses the breath-taking Church of S. Spirito. We decided it looked sort of Spanish, with an enormous blank front and a curvy outline (pictures to be posted soon). My guidebook calls it “sober.” But, while the exterior is much duller than other Florentine churches, this one has quite possibly the most beautiful interior. I was more impressed with the inside of Santo Spirito than I was with the Duomo. The altar was overwhelmingly ornate and the ceilings soared with about eight giant arches on either side of the center walkway. Between each arch and its pillars was a huge biblical painting in bright color. While the Duomo lit fake candles, Santo Spirito was luminous with genuine candlelight and the faces of several worshippers seated silently among the pews. Mass is weekdays at 6:00 and I plan to go ASAP. In the piazza outside the Church, a few restaurants look promising, and further down the street there are two shops that sell fresh deli meat and bread – something we’ve actually been searching for since arriving, since our only food outlet right now is a major supermarket nearby. I peeked in at the giant wheels of cheese and oversized salamis; I will definitely be returning soon. And best of all, we’ve finally located what we hear is one of the best pizza places in town – GustaPizza, right around the corner from our apartment! It was closed today, but will certainly be seeing my face soon. In other news, Nick is coming for a visit in just five days and I am excited for us to go see the Fiorentina soccer team! Their purple flags and jerseys are all over the tourist shops here and I can’t wait to become a real fan at the game next Wednesday. I plan on jamming as many touristy things into his week here as possible, and of course…GustaPizza.

Week Two

The focus of this week has been classes. I have Italian four days a week for two hours each day (seriously? Yes.) and four other three-hour classes, one on each day Monday through Thursday. I’m taking Photography, Renaissance Art, Sketching, and The History of 20th Century Fashion. Photo and Sketching are extremely interactive within the city, as we spend most of the class wandering around Florence taking in the people and sights and recording what we see through the lens and the pencil. I haven’t done too much drawing since Studio Art in high school so I can’t wait to get started and brush up on my skills. Photography will be mostly with my own digital camera and I will also learn how to use the darkroom, which I’ve never done before. The professor for this class seems very cool and is a professional photographer for musicians and rock concerts around Italy. She is hip and sarcastic, or as my roommate Allie called her as we left class – very sassy. I can’t wait to hear what comes out of her mouth next week. Her introduction on the first day was mostly about how much she loves Obama and how Italians should be able to vote for the President of the U.S. too because our Pres has so much influence on Europe as well. Interesting thought. Not only that, but she was basically a walking advertisement for smoking – as she explained in length how she took maternity leave last semester and the worst thing about having a child was that she had to quit smoking for nine months. I haven’t actually seen as many people smoking in Italy as I thought. It’s common, of course, but honestly not anymore than back at GW. Anyway, to finish up on my synopsis of the classes…Renaissance Art involves going to lots of Florentine museums, for free! And will be a much-needed run down for me of the most important histories of famous artwork. 20th Century Fashion also brings us to various fashion sites in Florence, including the Capucci Museum and the Ferragamo Museum. We also visit a costume exhibition at the Palazzo Pitti, which is right across the street from my apartment. In this class, we watch a few movies that I can’t wait to review and analyze in terms of fashion, like Casablanca and The Great Gatsby. The class focuses on placing fashion in a social and political context, showing how fashion influences and has been influenced by various social movements, economic changes, wars etc. The professor, Marco, is well-dressed and therefore well-equipped to teach 20th Century Fashion. I especially liked his light brown corduroy suit today. Should be great!

We ran out of matches yesterday. Since it’s been raining for a few days, and the week has been consumed by class-time, this is probably the most interesting thing that’s happened lately. Exciting! I bounded down to the wine bar that’s below our apartment and asked in Italian if they had any matches, flicking my fingers against my hand in a match-lighting motion. Then, the guy – in perfect English – explained that there were matches at the nearest Tabbachi and pointed to it down the road. Tabbachis are like drug/corner stores, sort of a smaller version of a 7-11, and would obviously carry matches or lighters. They are on every corner of the city, silly me. In the end, I got a lighter and we could finally have dinner, thankfully. Phew.

Another thing – They have dollar stores in Italy? Yes! They actually have quite a few 99-cent stores, and this is where Allie and I traveled yesterday to pick up school supplies. On the way, we stumbled across a great shoe store and ended up buying two pairs of shoes each, at only 9 euro a piece! I really needed slippers. So as we reached the 99-cent store, in a chipper mood after our shoe purchases, we were excited to find that the store not only had school supplies but also toilet paper, shampoo, paper napkins and sponges – all things we needed for the apartment. Toilet paper! It was a great day :-)

* The First Week *

I’ve been in Florence for almost a week now and already it has been quite the adventure. To start with: the flight. I sat next to an old Italian woman – let’s call her Gran – with whom I spoke broken Italian throughout the flight. Our communication was messy and uncertain, and I’m pretty sure she understood only half of what I said, while I only got about ten percent of what she said. Gran was kind and helpful though, as I was nervous about flying and thinking a mile a minute about what Italy would be like when I finally made it. When I put my sweatshirt on, she held the sleeves for me to put my arms in, and when I tried to sleep, she adjusted her seat so I could lean in the best way possible. Behind giant, thick glasses, Gran watched my every move throughout the flight, looking somehow awed by whatever I was doing. It might sound strange, but to me it only felt like she was watching out for me. Mid-flight, we got up to use the restroom at the same time. At the back of the plane as we waited in line, two other Italian women around her age joined us. The plane had suffered from turbulence almost every half hour or so, and now, the women held onto each other as the plane shook from another patch of resistance. I let each of them use the tiny bathroom first, and when it was finally my turn, the plane of course shook even more violently. I held to the grimy plane-bathroom walls and struggled to re-emerge from the compartment, but when I did, there was still a small crowd in the waiting space. It was Gran and the others – they had waited for me. As I moved into their midst, they steadied me and one another against the turbulence, and saw that I made it safely and comfortably back into my seat. Gran and I returned to our seats, and I realized that this kindness is likely what I would find in all of Italy. I drifted to sleep as she began to doze, folded beneath her airplane blanket with only that innocent, aging face visible under uncontained brown curls. We said goodbyes as the plane landed in Rome and only then did I find out her name. It was Anna.

From Medfield to New York, New York to Rome, and Rome to Florence I traveled. And all I can say is – don’t fly with AlItalia airlines! I hate to bring up such negativity so early on, but well, they lost my luggage. This was one of those things I thought could never happen to me, like getting struck by lightening or being kidnapped or winning the lottery. But it did, and I’m going to go ahead and blame it all on AlItalia, because, as it turns out they went bankrupt not too long before my flight and are currently being bought out by some company that will hopefully manage the airline a bit better. Luckily, or unluckily, almost every student on my flight (which held thirty kids on my study-abroad program) lost either one or both bags. We were told the bags never made it from Rome to Florence and were instructed to wait in the hour-long line where we could make a lost-luggage claim. Fun! I think the only thing keeping me from a nervous breakdown was the fact that me and almost my whole flight was in this together. I got to know my roommate under these conditions, as we stood exhausted, jetlagged, hungry and furious in the claim line. What a way to start our time in Italia!

Four days later, I have my luggage safely delivered from Rome to Florence, and I can finally get out of these leggings I’ve been wearing for half a week. Because, of course, I didn’t think to put extra pants in my carry-on. At least I had a toothbrush.

So now to the good stuff. I’ve been using my limited Italian here, and it’s much easier than I thought to communicate with people. Across the street from my apartment is a small grocery owned by an elderly couple that sells fruits, veggies, bread and pasta etc. You’re not supposed to touch fruit with bare hands in Italy, even in the larger commercial grocery stores, so my first time in the shop I wasn’t sure how to go about picking out items. It basically involves a lot of pointing. The cute old man was of course understanding, and extremely excited to help me pick out oranges and bananas. “Due” I would say, asking for two, and he’d nod and wave his hands and say something in fast Italian as he picked fruit from the cramped shelves. He asked, I think, if I live across the street in the “appartamento” and I was able to talk for a minute in Italian about how, yes, I live right across from his store and am studying right around the corner at Accademia Italiana. He never stopped smiling, and now whenever I leave the apartment, my little old Italian man waves to me from his shop door.

The most interesting part of orientation, which went on for the first few days here, was a bus ride up into the hills of Tuscany. We looked over the city as evening came and the lights of Florence made it look even more beautiful than during the day. The ride took us by famous director Franco Zefferelli’s Tuscan villa and weaved up tiny roads by grand hotels, expansive villas, and the Fiorentina soccer stadium. A whole world lives just beyond the city and watches over it from above. Our destination was a renowned restaurant owned by one of the best chef’s in Italy, who makes the best gnocchi in all of Italy. At least, that’s what the Italians say, and I’m trusting them on this one. Our entire program was treated to a private dinner starting with gnocchi (delicious!) in a cheese sauce and made entirely with potatoes rather than flour. Following this was juicy steak covered in chopped basil with a side salad. And in Italy, salad isn’t just a side, it’s an important part of the meal. Something I haven’t figured out yet is why most of their lettuce is purple instead of green…I’m sure I’ll find out soon. Regardless, salad here is absolutely delicious and seems to usually include just lettuce and something like celery – another thing I’m not so sure what it is. No need for a million cucumbers and nuts and carrots and tomatoes like American salad. Just the good, fresh lettuce and simple dressing. We were, of course, given a few bottles of red wine right from Tuscany to have with our meal. And, like all restaurants, they gave of giant glass bottles of water, since they say you can’t really drink Florentine water unless you want to risk the fifty/fifty chance that it could make you sick. I’m not going to. I should probably just stick to wine. And at this restaurant, the owner is famed among Florence for his interesting wine invention. It’s an attachment that inserts into the wine bottle neck, and it looks sort of like a tennis-ball sized glass orb. The ball projects from the end of the bottle and when you pour the wine, it goes though a tube into the glass ball, measuring what Italians believe is the perfect amount of liquid for a glass of wine. The contraption also does something to the wine as it pours that I think make it breathe better? Something like that. Anyway, it’s very cool-looking and easy to use, despite my confusing description. The servers were all smiles and happy to show us how it works; who wouldn’t be proud of working for one of Tuscany’s best places to enjoy gnocchi and a perfectly poured glass of wine?


In other news, we managed to lose electricity on one of our first nights in town. But our landlords, Grazia and Piero Milani, are absolutely adorable and so nice – Piero came over in the middle of the night to turn our electricity back on, because we’d plugged an American plug into the wall and it fried the whole apartment haha. Piero and Grazia are extremely accommodating, and provided us with abundant towels, kitchenware and utensils, extra blankets, pillows, clothes hangers, and cleaning supplies for the apartment. They speak a little English, but seem to be confused by the word “ladder” and instead say “lather” to point out the ladder on our balcony which they’ve borrowed for fixing the hallway lights. It seems like they love having American students live in their building (a tall, skinny concrete slab that houses only four apartments, one per floor). We, of course, are on the very top floor and hike 62 steep steps each time we enter the building – I’m going to have quads of steel by the end of this semester! But I am used to it already and have started reaching the top hardly out of breath anymore. Getting into our room is an adventure in itself, as it takes five turns in different directions in two different locks with two different keys to get the door open. On our first day, my roommate and I couldn’t figure it out, walked up and down the 62 stairs three times knocking on all the other apartments to find someone to help us, and ended up returning to the door and finally figuring it out for ourselves – There’s going to be a lot of this figuring we’ll have to be doing on our own, and it feels great to survive here by our own independence.

After exploring the city with the whole program during orientation, my roommates and I were finally on our own this weekend to see it for ourselves and discover the parts that we will grow to love best. First stop, of course – the nightlife! We have so far visited a club called “Twice” and a one called “Yab” (don’t ask…), which both turned out to be pretty comparable to places I’ve gone back in D.C. and we’ve all really liked. The main difference is the cost of drinks, which are super expensive in Italy. A mixed drink at the bar is almost always 10 euro, which is almost a 14-dollar glass of fun. Wow. Since I won’t be spending that kind of money here, I am – again – sticking to wine, which is normally a bit cheaper. Luckily, there is usually no cover charge for clubs or bars – a good quality if you’re going to spend the night wandering to different places. Yab was an interesting adventure, as the promoter for the club invited my roommates, me and about ten of our friends to a pre-club dinner (including wine!) for only 1 (one!) euro. Hm. We thought it was a scam and attended hesitantly and to be honest I watched my glass like a hawk the entire time if you know what I mean…but it ended up being a real event and we received a four-course delicious dinner before the party started, for only a euro. I guess it’s those 10-euro drinks that make money at these places. Plus, the promoters get to invite pretty American girls and attractive Italian guys and both parties seem to end up pretty happy. That is, if you’re a girl who’s into creepy men stroking your face and trying to steal your money…how rude.

On that note, my description of Italian guys sounds terrible, and I suppose most aren’t bad…it’s just that I have this vague idea that all of them – the ones in the bars, those in the restaurants, those on speeding mopeds, and those walking the streets – only want two things. (1) Your cash, and (2) Something else. Although mostly I think they’re just trying to freak out innocent, unaware American girls. Already I have been followed, at night and in broad daylight, by two or three at a time. Most often, they tag along behind me and my roommates, calling to us in Italian and whatever words they know in English – usually “You are beautiful” and “Where are you going?” They seem harmless, actually, and it doesn’t worry me if I’m with other people – it’s almost entertaining. Walking at night alone isn’t highly recommended though, and I don’t intend on it, even though people say there almost no violent crime in all of Italy. Instead, it’s petty crimes, like pick-pocketing, bag-snatching, graffiti-ing and other theft. (Graffiti-ing?). Anyway, I know this because on our first night out my roommate Allie got a 20-euro stolen right out from under our noses. We were standing at the bar inside “Twice,” where one of the managers was welcoming us to his club and offering us and our friends a free “welcome shot,” meaning a dash of vodka mixed with mostly soda. As he talked to us, distracting, Allie pulled her money out of her bra and then put it in her coat’s pocket. Draped over her arm and far from our under-experienced eyes, the bill was prime target for a picker. I made that word up. So, as the manager returned with our warm welcome, Allie felt someone bump into her, and when she reached into the pocket moments later – no money. We searched the ground for twenty minutes and only came up with stepped-on receipts. A bummer, for sure, but I think we definitely learned something that night. Keep our money in our bras and don’t remove it until the exact moment of payment. Check.

One last entry for now! And a short one, because we’re about to spend a lovely Sunday night watching “Knocked Up” in our lovely apartment with the smell of lovely Italian dinner wafting from our kitchen, recently stocked from the day’s grocery shopping. Anyway…you know the Duomo? The most famous cathedral in Italy? I guess it would be called a cathedral. Can you tell I don’t know any history? Not like someone else I know ;) I couldn’t tell you when it was built or who built it or why…but I can tell you it’s gorgeous, huge, and has mass in English on Saturdays at five o’clock. And yesterday we attended. Mass was in a side chapel of the Duomo, where an American priest gave a service much like any one you would attend at any Catholic church. It was inspiring to take communion in the most grandiose, renowned cathedral EVER. Don’t know if that’s true but either way it was pretty amazing to just be there, look up at the ceiling and wonder in awe who was able to create these magnificent paintings inside the giant dome. That’s all for now…phew! If you got this far, come back for more when I get the chance to tell ALL about my week in class. And class is fun here, so it should be good stuff! Ciao!