Home

It was one week ago.

Josh and I exited our apartment for the last time. This had been after saying all of our final good byes to both our UNH friends and all of the people we would leave in Ascoli. At the moment, it really did not register to me that I was leaving Italy for a while. I felt as if we were going on another excursion, another adventure to another place close by.

After schlupping our stuff across town to the bus station, we boarded for Rome. From there, we navigated the city, getting a bit to eat and then finding our way to the train that would take us to the airport.

We arrived at 12:00am. None of the terminals were open. Our flight for Amsterdam left at 6:30am. We slept on the floor of the airport as two people on floor cleaning machines bounced around all night. At 5am we got our tickets.

It still did not register at take off as we flew away from Italy one last time. Suddenly, before I knew it, I was fast asleep in the seat. The two hour flight was a blur. What I do remember was the man waking me up wondering if I wanted a complimentary danish and a little cheese sandwhich. I wolfed it down and then went back to sleep.

At the Amsterdam airport we got some lunch, surprised to find variety beyong paninis and pasta. Still, despite the fact that everything was in Dutch, German, and English, it had not registered to me we had left Italy.

Then, we boarded our eight hour Northwestern flight...

And then, after two movies, it hit me.

"Attention Northwest fllyers, we will be landing in Boston, MA, shortly...."

Boston.

I saw it out the window.

It had not hit me then, even, really, until today, almost a week later, that Italy is five thousand miles over the Atlantic Ocean. I could not believe that I had been away from here for three months. The welcome home party I had (consisting of wings...yum) with my family all stopping through was alarming only in that I had forgotten had been gone for so long.

I still drink American coffee, but everyday I go into a shop I expect to see Shereen. I try to talk to the people behind the counter and folks just want the line to move. Life here is so much faster it has taken days to recover.

I think back on my time overseas even after a week and already I am swimming with memories. I think of getting up in the morning and walking through the streets. In my mind, I can still see everything about Italy.

But now I am home, and the biting New England chill, the few snow storms we have had, and the American lifestyle has reawakened me to my reality. Although I miss Italy, I am home now. I am back with my family, and I will not be back there in a while.

You know, I was expecting to come out of this trip changed. A new person. Yes, I was challenged. Both by myself and the culture, but also by those around me. There were moments where I began to wonder if the person I was before I left was a problem. If those around me really were not enjoying what they saw.

I think, however, the magic of this trip was...I did not change. I grew, yes, but all this journey did was emphasize the point that I like who I am as a person. I could not have asked a better place to learn that, either. This trip reaffirmed so many things: my faith, my love for music, and the love I have for myself (both the good and bad). And as I come home, I hope to take this time to reflect and begin a whole new chapter at UNH with a fresh spin on things.

I know, someday, I will be back to Ascoli Piceno. Before I left, I said "a presto" to everyone: the term for "goodbye, but I will see you at one point soon." I believe in that fully. But I am in no rush, really, because one thing has been clawing at the back of my head:

If there is so much to see in Italy, what is in my own backyard?

And so the journey continues...

* * *

I really hope you enjoyed this blog as much as I enjoyed writing it. I thank all of those who read it for their comments throughout the past few months. I hope to get the final pictures up, but my internet connection here at home is just as shotty as in Ascoli. Hopefully, a large transition will happen to facebook.

I hope you all have a wonderful set of holidays, for I know I sure will! I am happy to be home, despite missing Ascoli, and I would love final comments, and I cannot wait to see all of you soon!

Vedo ad Ascoli...e piango...

I look at Ascoli and I cry...

Yesterday morning, I woke up to go to the music school for a final time for classes. I climbed that legendary hill. Along the way, I looked down at my feet and I saw the cobblestones and travertine streets I have grown to know and love. And I said to myself, "I will not see these stones and material again...for a long time."

And then I heard two old ladies talking in Italian. And two men yelling across the street. And a rush of emotion hit me...this language I have come to know and love. Due to scheduling conflicts, I will not hear it anytime soon. I have grown to love this language so much. It is the replacement for the sound of the birds outside my window in the morning. The ups and downs, the inflection of the phrases, the cheerful "Ciaòs" and "Come stai" that greeted me as I got my coffee.

Tonight is the last night I sleep in Italy. Tonight is the last night I look out my window and see the most romantic street view I have ever seen. Toight is the last night I go to the bar to use internet, talk to Dalilah and Paolo, and call it a night.

Tonight is my last night here. I...do not know what to say. This experience has been the most amazing experience of my life to date. And it has just hit me that this place is going to be thousands of miles over the Atlantic ocean tomorrow night as I get to the airport.

Ascoli I just want to say, mi macherai. I will miss you. Hai insegnato molto. Ho impararato la lingua. Cantavo e ascoltavo alla musica bellisima, e mangiavo i tuoi cibi...e mi piaceva molto!

...e ti ricordarò sempre.

Ascoli...I will miss you. You taught me a lot. I learned the language. I sang and heard the most beautiful music, and I ate your food. And I liked it a lot. And I will remember always.

With that, I go to take my Italian final. There is but one more entry (and a multitude of pictures) left before this blog is officially chiudo (closed). I will let you all know how my travels went and my final reflections.

A presto,
Ryan

I Regali della Ascoli

I am in the home stretch of my stay here. Once, my friend Melody told me that when you study abroad there are a few days when you really miss home, and then in this last stretch you realize you are really going to miss your new found home. I will say this, Mel, I did not believe you, until this week concluded. Ascoli has given me more gifts that I care to imagine, and with our Thanksgiving celebration tomorrow I can confidently say I have a lot to be thankful for...although, I really missed being able to spend Thanksgiving with my family.

Tuesday and Wednesday were relatively uneventful. It was not until Thursday (ironically, Thanksgiving Day) that all of this happened. I went to go teach my final lesson with "i ragazzi." As much as I loved the kids, and although it became easier as the weeks went on, it always took a lot out of me. Well, this week, after teaching the children a little bit about England out of their textbook, I was asked to sit down. In my lesson on food in America, I mentioned to this class how much I loved "Kinder Bars" (a delicious European chocolate bar) and Nutella. Well, in response to this, the children made me dozens of cards and bought what had to be fifty Kinder bars and a big jar of Nutella. They also demanded me of my signature in their planners on my birthday. For each child, I wrote "Mi Manerai" I will miss you.

The second class greeted me the same. I now have two bags of cards, crafts, and the like. The second class even went as far as to make a three dimensional turkey stuffed with their names. It shows, sometimes, that even the smallest thing like helping teach English can greatly impact someones life. I was so happy...but it was bittersweet. I really am going to miss these kids. I gave them my e-mail...I hope I hear from them soon.

Thursday night was also un altro concerto...another concert. This time, I sang two pieces solo. I had Chris tape them on his camera. This performance meant a lot to me. This was my chance to show the school, and my peers, all I have learned in three months. I was confident after Sunday's duet, and I knew my two songs down pat. After three months of Italian, singing in Italian and understanding what I was saying has become much, much easier. So, for the first time, I went out to sing my first piece with that in mind and nothing more.

As a tenor, I never understood what it meant to sing classically and feel the music in the moment. I watched other singers look elegant and poised while they had one hand on the crook of the piano. I watched them die away to almost nothing and grow to crescendos that shook the room. I never understood that, because my tenor voice is too inflexible. But, for the first time, I felt it. The thrill of performing classical music and interpreting it with a solid technique. I felt everything pulse through. Listening to the playback, I can confidently say I see my voice staying here. I have a lot to do, but I think it will be much more enjoayble an experience. I cannot wait to show everyone at home.

Everyone else did a lovely job, as well. I loved listening to my fellow singers who have all grown so much. Josh sang a Rossini piece ("L'Utimo Riccordo" or "The Last Memory") that was emotionally potent, and Sandi sang a Rossini piece that has a beat not to far off from the one from "Single Ladies' by Beyonce. We even have a dance to it...

Rosella was crying as we went away. I think it hit us all that we have all learned so much from one another. For every moment that we all got frustrated from her vice versa, we learned something more about ourselves and the world of music outside of America. I have discovered composers we dare not go near in undergrad because all we know of them are their virtuosic pieces (For instance, there is easy Vivaldi and Rossini out there, but you just have to find it). I know I am a man of hyperbole, but she really did change my life. I feel like I leave a friend behind as I go away from Italy soon.

Last night, we got discount tickets to go see Ascoli's production of "La Boheme." I have passed the theater many times, and after Fermo I was afraid that this opera was going to be sub par. But we were all shocked. I think it was better. The singers were much more consistent, the orchestra was STELLAR and the sets were great. Notably, Musetta and Marcello were powerhouses. They both had me laughing and crying, especially Musetta (if anyone knows Rent, they know the plot to this opera. Musetta is essentially Maureen and Marcello is Mark). And the theater was packed...with lots of kids our age scattered about. I am going to miss this place where music is such a staple. I hope I can bring that passion back with me when we return. Here, opera is not so stuffy. It is an art and a job, and as Josh said to me last night "singing is a career here, not a novelty. When you say you are a singer, people take your seriously."

Today, I am working on my project and getting ready for Thanksgiving tomorrow. I am making my mother's bread stuffing and some garlic mashed potatoes. Shereen, Paulo, and their newest edition to the staff, Dalilah (who is probbably the most bubbly, eccentric, and genuine human being I have met) are coming tomorrow. We hope this to be an experience where we show them what sort of things we do in America, as a token for all of their help. I am excited. These three have left indents on my heart that will never go away.

Everyday, as I walk through the lovely Piazza del Popolo, I take my time now. I only have six days left here, and I want to remember it. I remember the first time I walked through that Piazza with Josh and Chris, and we were literally dumbfounded. You know, you would after three months of walking through it everyday, I would have lost all of my love for it. No, I haven't. And I don't think I ever will...

La Cena Più Grande

We have fourteen days left, officially, in Ascoli Piceno. But this weekend was, by far, one of the best!!

Saturday was the opera in the nearby town of Fermo...essentially, the rival of Ascoli in the Marche region. I cannot say the town impressed me too much...it is all downhill, hard to traverse, lacks the eclectic amount of stone that builds Ascoli, and the main Piazza left much to be desired. But it was a quaint, lovely place. We saw the ancient Roman waterways underneath the town, which were nice, but the overwhelming feeling of seeing something ancient has seemed to wither away on this trip. It is everywhere in Europe. Still, interesting none the less.

So, you can imagine that maybe the opera (and the opera house) was going to be subpar. But, as Italy always has the ability to surprise, it was far from it. The opera was Verdis "Otello." The house was beautiful, clearly a historic landmark of the town, and the opera itself was lovely. The orchestra was meh, and the leading Tenor (Otello) was very whiny and hard to listen to. But the rest of the cast was awesome!! Desdemona, Jago, and Cassio clearly held the show together. It was the first really good opera I have ever seen, and I suppose what I learned from it was that an opera can be fun to watch...when it is performed well!

We got home at 3 am (the opera got out at 1, yikes) and I slept in yesterday in anticipation for my concert with Emiliano, the Sopranista. I was, needless to say, very nervous all day. Not only was I about to make my debut singing countertenor, but I also had to go to the rehersal and get around only in Italian. The proved to be easier then expected. The other performers were very good to me. I finally decoded what this performance was. It was a faculty concert, and only two students were invited to sing. Me, and a seventeen year old mezzo soprano named Sara. She was very nice, and I enjoyed talking with her. So, we were set apart in the program, marked by the word "Allievo and Allieva" which means "student."I felt honored to be there.

Emiliano had three pieces: a duet with Sara, a Monteverdi Solo in which he also played viola, and the duet with me. The other parts of his section of the program were great: he has a lovely voice, and Sara is going to grow into a fine mezzo...she is already amazing as is at seventeen years old! And then I performed. I think I did very well for my first time in a public setting. The last note was not even sharp or flat...it was wrong, but I think I got away with it because in baroque cadences suspensions are common. Still, my intonation overall was better, I think we worked very well together, and the students that showed up to support me were very, very pleased, and so were Chris and Arlene.

The rest of the performance was mixed. The most notable people of the night were the trumpet teacher and one of the other singers. The trumpet player played a Copland piece and it was lovely. The singer decided to do two American cabaret classics: "New York, New York," and "Cabaret." I am just going to say this...we found the real Miranda. She is hiding in Italy. For those that get the reference, you will completely understand. For others, youtube it.

Afterwards, Chris, Arlene, and I were invited to dinner with the rest of the faculty and performers. This is the reason for the title of this entry. Dinner last night was huge and served in seven courses! It started normally with antipasti: bruschette with zucchine and mushrooms, small slices of cheese pizza, and a mystery dish. I tried it...it appeared to be eggs with mushrooms. But after eating it, I asked the man across from me what it was. It was...cows heart. Yes, cows heart...

Yikes... well, then we had two rounds of pasta dishes, a platter of assorted meats, a lovely piece of cake, coffee, and some Limoncello. Oh my lord, was I full!

I am actually, for the first time in a while, proud of myself. Parts of this trip have been amazing, but parts of it have been a test for myself and for those around me, both socially and musically. I think I leave this trip with two things: one, I am not longer afraid to stand up for my musical opinions. Not everyone is right, but I have my beliefs about myself and music. I need to let those guide me, and not the strong opinions of others. How will a performance be authentic otherwise? And also, I have learned that I am a strong person because I am who I am. People are going to try and trample me my whole life, both in big ways and little ways. But the people that matter the most are going to be the people who stick with me, and who do not take pleasure in putting me down and stifling me. In a department full of people who are adept at that, I think that is a valuable lesson to learn, no?

With that, I get ready for a week of finals and, on Sunday, Thanksgiving for us americani. I am very excited for that. I am slowly counting down the days until the end, and trying to take in as much of the sights, sounds, smells, and taste of Ascoli in the next few days...

Due Settimane...

Two weeks.

I cannot believe this is all going to be over in two weeks. Part of me wants to not think that way and just accept what I have right now, but the other part of me wants to think of how we are leaving soon. I think it helps, though...realizing how little time I have left has made me appreciate everything a little bit more. Especially considering the next two weeks are going to be way too busy...

We are seeing Otello this weekend in the nearby town of Fermo. I am singing on Sunday. Arlene and Chris performed a concert two nights ago (it was a huge success...the two of them are so talented and nice at the same time, a rare thing to find these days). The following week begins the homstretch for all of our projects a presentations: I have to finish setting "Erlkonig" by Schubert by the time we leave for an orchestra, and then I have to present a small presentation and write a paper in regards to Christianity from the death of Christ to Constantine for archeology. I then have to do voice a piano juries, two more recitals for the faculty and for accompinent class, and course selection. Tomorrow housing is due, which I am terrified for...I really want a good room (preferably a single...I will pray hard for that one...)

I think it has become the general concensus that we are all, for the most part, done with school. Not so much Italy, just school...although I really, really want to go home and see my friends and family, but I already dedicated my last entry to that. I am just so tired...and although I love everyone on this trip, I think we are all more or less ready for a nice, long break from one another. I think two months away is just what I need, for my sanity...

I used to say to my parents "I go to college! I know responsibility, I know how to live on my own, stop treating me like I am two!" Well, there is nothing more shocking then having to go into your own apartment and have to cook, clean, and support yourself. The real world sucks, especially in another language. But I am determined to not look at this as defeat: the next time I have my own space, now I know what to expect. I suppose it takes mold growing on your walls twice to figure out how to make sure it doesn't happen again.

Two more weeks...two more weeks of hill climbing, classes, tests, and Italian life, and then I am home. It seems so strange...I cannot believe that it seems like yesterday we were saying two weeks have gone by! But, as I have learned, so much can happen in that time...

Until next time, I pray for myself that I can manage to stay afloat, alive, and well rested the next few weeks. And as much as I love it here, one thing keeps me going with this sudden workload increase: the vision of stepping off my transatlantic flight home into the waiting arms of my family...

Vogglio America!!

I thought that maybe being from UNH would mean less singing for me. I mean...I sing in at least ten concerts a semester considering choirs, the opera, student recitals, and studio. I was pretty sure that this semester would be more introspective. And it has.

And then we hit the month of November!

I have to sing at least two pieces for Arlene's accompaniment class at the end of the semester (which is a lot of fun), so I have a concert I have to get ready for there. And then, on the 22nd, I am singing with one of Rosella's students (as I mentioned in the previous entry) in a duet for the town's annual festival to St. Cecilia. Suddenly, I feel more under pressure than ever before.

But that has not stopped me from enjoying myself and taking in as much as I can before I leave this place. And things have gotten relatively more comfortable here. I have heat in my appartment, which is nice. I am no longer freezing half do death when I go to bed. But I am starting to miss my comforts, my family, and my friends.

I am starting to miss a lot of things...

I really, really miss bookstores. Oh, yes, we have them here...but they are no fun when everything (with the exception of a tiny section n the back filled with classics for the students in the town that are studying English) is in Italian, including all of the new releases at home (anyone wanna fill me in on how the new Dan Brown is?) And every time I walk into one, I get sad. I miss the Borders in my hometown...the endless hours I would spend drinking coffee and walking around with my friends simply looking. I miss malls where there are more than just over priced clothes stores to walk around and see (video games, in particular. The next time I see a familliar game in Italian I think I am going to cry).

I miss the hustle and bustle, I miss restaurants that are open all day, I miss not feeling like I am scrubbed out all of the time because everyone dresses so well. I miss sitting down to weekend breakfasts with my family, with bagels and my Iced Coffee, talking about our week and joking around. I have learned how much I need them in life, especially my sister. Her humor kept me at a balance at home (hopefully, she reads this). My mother and father, too...sitting back together and watching movies (Spinaltap, Dad?) and Karoake Saturdays and Bongo Mike nights. My mothers witty remarks, her words of wisdom, the Italian American guilt. My Nana's quirkiness and love, my extended family's support...my friends from school (both in Shrewsbury and UNH), and the countless hours we would spend just laughing about little things, and talking about big, deep things.

I could go on for pages more, so I will calm down and get to the point: when I came on this trip, I would say "I need to see another place and grow in another enviroment." Well, that happened. What I did not count on was suddenly being struck but a major, major life lesson: the world is huge and everything in it is beautiful. And although living in America and being raised American makes you think the country has so many problems, you take so much for granted: how (despite its problems) our government is still envied by the world because you can (legally) talk about what you want in your government. You learn how much you have...and how much you don't. I realize now I need to appreciate my country and what is in it more.

With that said, this place is just as amazing. I am sure when I get back, I will crave the things I miss. I will probbably never be settled, that is just the kind of person I am. But that will not stop my deep longing to return.

With that said, I am going to savor everything I can...

Ciao...

La Fede

I miss home...a lot.

Three more weeks here, and they seem like an eternity. Everyday, I wake up and dream that I could somehow lift this little town of Ascoli up by its roots and put it in between Shrewsbury and Durham, because I love it so much. But on the same token, I am feeling the strain with my lack of comforts. I feel torn, like home has been split in two. And I want to say that, when I see you all in three weeks, I will be jumping you in glee. I do not care who you are or how uncomfortable you are with it, you will be hugged...maybe even given the Italian double kiss (which they find baffling that we find awkward, but that is for another blog entry).

But despite my major case of the home sickness blues, the place continues teaching me lessons that I might have, otherwise, overlooked at home.

Last weekend, my friends Karah, Val, and I took the six am bus to Rome to see the Vatican City. We met our lovely tour guide, Jason, at the piazza, and we began our adventure. Now, I had already seen the outside of the vatican at night, which was stunning, but to see it in the day was another story. The City, despite the fact that it borders Rome, is not a member of Italy. It is it's own city state, guarded by the Swiss with its own official services and banking system. As you can imagine, the Pope (or the Papa, as they say here) would be so picky, but I suppose it is necessary when you are probbably one of the largest and most powerful organizations in the world. We learned about the massive, authentic Egyptian obelisk that sits in the center, and how the vatican claims that the cross at the top contains an actual piece of THE Cross (the legitimacy of that is up for debate, of course), and then we walked around the medieval walls that were used as an escape route for the pope in the event of an emergency. Then, without any further ado, we went inside the museums.

I have never been so overwhelmed in my life. In the matter of one hour, I am pretty sure I saw almost every piece of some of the more important artwork in their original states: Raphael's "The School of Athens," being my prime example. You would know it when you see it, but to suddenly stare at it and see the amount of detail and color and know that you are looking at something that forever altered art and philosphical history is mind blowing.

Then, we sat down in the courtyard of the pine cone (named that for the giant pinecone shape structure that was contained in it) and we were briefed on the Sistine Chapel. Now, the Sistine Chapel had been my number one location since I got here that I wanted to see, as I will not be able to see Florence on this visit. We were explained how a frescoe is made, and how Michealangelo wanted to be a sculptor before a painter, and how it took him a total of nine years to finish the cieling and the back altar wall...this was because he refused help from the others, in fear they would steal his ideas. And yet, everyday for nine years that man stood on scaffoldling, with his back bent back, as the lye and paint blinded him and warped his vision.

And then we went in.

The first thing you think is: THIS IS HUGE. The second thing you think of is: THIS IS HUGE. And the third thing you think of is: THIS WAS HANDPAINTED AND IT IS HUUGGEEE!

The work is, in my opinion, the most stunning work of painted art I have ever seen. Everything about the paintings that literally surronded every line of your vision speak one word: faith. These artists had faith, not only in themselves, but also in their work. Faith that it would be completed and immortalized. Faith...La Fede.

As I gaped at the chapel and tried to catch every last detail I could to memory (no photography allowed, also no talking), I left, thinking that I could not possibly be more overwhelmed. But then, we were directed into St. Peter's Basicalla.

Before we entered, we were told that scientists have more or less confirmed that St. Peter's bones are, indeed, burried under the sight of the church, and that the Piazza and layout of the church has the aerial view of a key hole, representing how St. Peter holds the key to heaven, and that only you have the power to have it unlock it.

As if that were not overwhelming enough, I entered the church and was suddenly struck: it was huge. It is, by square feet, the biggest church on planet earth, and is filled with the most important pieces of religious relics in the world. I heard a choir singing in latin, and a man performing Gregorian chant in a lovely tenor voice, and it enveloped every square inch of the sanctuary.

Then, I looked to my right: the Pieta laid there. Michaelangelo's premiere sculpture, depicting the Virgin cradling the now dead Jesus in her arms. I got as close as I could, and I just stared. Not only was the detail stunning, but the face of Mary...it was human. It was the first time I ever saw this story of Jesus in a human sense. As Karrah said: it was not touching solely for the scene, it was touching because it was about a mother losing her son.

For years, we have been told by our music directors that religious music is powerful regardless of what you believe because it demonstrates the faith these people, for centuries, have had to stand up for. What they had to do to gain their freedom, and how they chose to express their passion for a "greater being" regardless of which one it was, in words, music, and art. I now understand this...I think I finally get it. I have been lacking a sense of faith in my life, the way these artists had one.

Now, will I start going to church every day of my life? I do not know...but I think I feel the presence of something greater out there...for sure. I am determined, on my return, to figure out exactly how I want to channel it. But if you ever find yourself in this country, I urge you to take a church tour, or to attend a service. You might not understand it, but you will be entranced. If you are like me, you will feel the faith from these people. Its infectious.