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.

Ho avuto molto freddo!

I was very cold!

Upon returning the Italy, Ascoli was simply frigid compared to its normal, mild temperatures. I cannot say that we had it worse than you guys in New England, but the sudden dip from the mid 60s to low 30s was enough to make anyone shiver for a week! Hats, gloves, and scarves became the norm and as the week progressed, the cold seemed to never let up.

This cold weather, however, did not anchor down the spirits of those returning from their trips. The general consensus of all our vacations were pretty consistent: we missed Ascoli. In fact, no matter where we are, it seems Ascoli has become a sort of home for all of us. I enjoyed returning from France to be greeted with the melodic sounds of people talking in Italian, and I enjoyed a big Italian meal that was laden with both good flavors and the love I have come to know in food.

I also returned to an important piece of news.

It involved voice lessons. Now, I have been a bad boy: I have come all the way to Italy to take voice lessons (among many other things) and I have not even taken two seconds to talk about them. That is because I, sadly, I have been afraid to explain exactly what sort of developments I have been making. But now, I feel I can share them. Needless to say, my developments are far beyond what I expected.

Rosella Marcantoni is the name of our wonderfully bubbly and flat out flamboyount voice teacher. The first time I laid eyes on her, everything screamed BIG SOPRANO (in terms of personality: like everyone else here in Italy she is shopping somewhere in the size 0-3 department)! And she is...no surprise there. What other voice type would be whipping out high A's in your face on a day to day basis?

None the less, she is wonderful, and we are blessed to have her. Not only does she have a lot to say to help us in terms of understanding how the Italians learn music (note: opera is huge here. Art songs are seemingly overlooked here. No surprise there) and also about how to approach the language. And her passion is contagious. She makes you laugh and think, and I have recieved more kisses on the cheek than I can dare to count. They are also ENTIRLEY IN ITALIAN. Needless to say, the language barrier has been tough, but every week I feel I can comprehend more and more. It has been nice. But at first, voice lessons were a little rocky.

*Before I go on, a brief review of voice parts for those who are not singers: soprano (highest female voice), mezzo sorpano (richer timbred soprano, lower range), contralto (lowest female voice), tenor (highest male voice), baritone (rich, middle register male voice), and bass (lowest male voice).

I have always identified as a tenor...a very light tenor. Tenors are normally associated in Italy with Pavoratti, and therefore if you do not sound like you are going to burst down the door of the building with your high notes, you are not a tenor. But I seemed to baffle poor Rosella in my first lesson: my timbre was not a baritone, but these high notes sounded bizarre and affected, and my tone inconsistent. Suddenly, she hit a note, and told Arlene to tell me (she was there to translate) to match that pitch. It was in the female octave. Suddenly, after hitting notes all in falsetto, she explained that she thought was I was a countertenor: a male voice part that sings the parts of the castrati in Baroque music. A growing field with a lot of potential, she seemed excited for me.

I however was not excited by this concept. I mean, I was: this is a special and unique gift, I suppose, and my voice feels very comfortable up there. But I was afraid of what others would think: it is hard enough being gay, imagine having to tell everyone when you get home your voice part matches that of a mezzo soprano!

But, I decided to pursue it. The results have been lovely. I feel relaxed, and I have enjoyed what I am learning. It is helping me in all of my registers, so I am able to continue studying tenor repitoire. This week, I was surprised to learn that Rosella wants me to sing in a festival next month: a duet with her other countertenor student. I am so excited to have this oppurtunity, and I am greatly anticipating updating you all on that.

On Saturday, Arlene had us over her appartment for dinner. Her warm house (a sheer contrast to my cold apartment) was welcoming, and I had wonderful food and a wonderful time. It has been a blessing to have the Kies on this trip: a suggestion anyone at UNH in the next semester to stop into either of their offices just to say hi. They radiate happiness and joy and I could not ask for a better two people to be in Italy with. Arlene has also been helping me on the piano greatly: I have graduated from Bach to Chopin (a Mazurka: in G minor for the pianists at home who recognize the name). I feel challenged, but also I feel like piano has taught me to relax when practicing. Needless to say, my vocal practice sessions have become increasingly more efficient.

That has, essentially, been my week. My roomates were in Ireland for the weekend, so I had the apartment to myself. I have been reading lots of books in that time, wrapped in a blanket with my iPod. It has been cold, yes, but with every passing day I feel my soul get warmer, but I needed to have a break this weekend. I enjoyed reading some "trashy vampire novels" alone: not talking and barely singing. Many people know that, for me, to relax like that is a challenge. I always want to be doing something productive. But I have learned something extrodinary here: if you are not happy and content with yourself, you are never going to go farther in your plans.

And now I feel refreshed and ready to tackle yet another exciting week here. Hopefully, it is full of warmth (it is getting back to the norm) and full of more exciting adventures.

Until the next one, a presto!

"Vorrei una pizza" o "Je voudrais la pizza"

So, a crisis has occurred in Europe, people! The world has been turned upside down by one, sad happening in France. The pizza is better here than in Italy. Let me write that one more time to drive the point home: THE PIZZA IS BETTER HERE (FRANCE) THAN IN ITALY!

Which is sad, really, but on the whole, Italy has France beat on the whole food thing, especially pasta. And maybe it is just because this section of France has good pizza...after all, I have not eaten it anywhere else. But when I took the first bite of my pizza that was oozing with slabs of melted goat cheese, pieces of prosciutto (uncooked Italian ham) and fresh tomato sauce with MORE cheese, I thought I had died and gone to heaven with every single mouthful. Yum Yum.

But other than that, we have done lots of other interesting things here in Nice. After getting a good nights sleep on Tuesday we awoke Wednesday and decided to explore the city. Along the way, we found the Nice flower market (something it is famous for...and it had lots of pretty flowers) and climbed around what is known as "Old Niece" on the foundations of a former ancient chateau complete with built in cascades and panoramas of Nice. We also saw the beach: it is all rock, no lie at all, but when you sit upon the smooth surface and listen to the clear, Caribbean blue water slurp up against the shoreline it creates a sound not to far from rain pattering atop a roof. It is very relaxing...minus the topless middle aged women, I could do without those.

The next day, after resting some, we decided to go to Monaco, which is within the confines of France but is actually considered its own country. We got on the train and arrived...now, this is the place the rich vacation, so I was expecting a lot. And lo and behold, come to find, it is...Nice except filled with rich people. I mean, the Monte Carlo resort and Casino were nice (I played one slot machine and won thirty five euro, which was kind of cool) it was otherwise very boring. And we got lost...a lot. We wondered at first why that is, as most of the European cities are easy to navigate...but every time we stopped and asked for directions, the rich snooty French person directing us always made a point to mention "oh, you want to go there! But that is such a long walk, you should take the bus."

Did I mention this little country can be walked across in as little as forty minutes? I guess it is true what they say about the French being lazy.

After a lackluster adventure, we decided to go and find some food...and we walked around even more than we did that day. No place was open...everything seemed to have closed at about 8pm...which is so bizzare, because I have been able to get gelato in Italy at around 1am without a problem, and maybe a little earlier than that in America. It is so strange here...France, unlike Italy, runs fast. Really fast, and ends really early. God only knows why, but it was impossible to find a sit down resteraunt priced under forty euro a plate by the time we went out. We settled for some sandwhiches from a little fast food cart and ate them in our rooms.

Today, we had wanted to go to Cannes, but upon researching it, discovered that besides the famous film festival the area was known as being one of the most expensive parts of France. Great, just what a college kid needs, more money to spend. So, we decided to shop. I did not buy much...two articles of clothing and my total came to 20 euro. That was ridiculous, considering the scarf and shirt I bought would have been at least 100 euro in Italy. So, we found something else besides the pizza France does better: clothing prices.

It has been a long few days...relaxing, though. Nick, Sandi and I are having a blast, and it is nice that our hostel has internet (I feel like a member of civilization again). France over Italy: certaintly has its perks, especially in the pricing department (but the food in Ascoli is actually rather cheap, so I really can't say that).

What I can say is that France is like a French speaking America at times (and I know I could be beheaded by a French person if they EVER read this...as I am only basing this on Nice). The culture is similar in the sense that everything gets done quickly, and the people here can have similar attitudes. They have also hopped on the fast food train (there is a McDonalds every block). But in terms of the sights, the two countries are at a dead tie. There is so much stuff to see here. But...at the end of the day, I miss Ascoli. I feel really awkward, though, because I go to Ascoli, I want to be in America! Even when I was in Monoco, I wanted to be in Nice!

Before a left, a psychic gave me a reading. She predicted I was going to Italy without me telling her (which was crazy) and she said that I would grow tremendously from the experience and learn more about myself. That, I can say, is true. But the weird thing she said was "no matter what, you are never going to feel like you are 'home.'" Which struck me as odd, because I have a home in Shrewsbury, MA in the U.S.A. But now I guess I understand...home is where the people are, not the places. And although my home at 8 Bittersweet Circle will always be my "true" home no matter what as my family lives there and I grew up there, I have made life long connections nationwide, and now I can even say WORLD wide! It is nuts, and it is always giving me a travel bug I am sure will never go away.

To think, almost a year ago today, Italy was an idea. This trip was an idea. Now, I am in France. I have eaten so much good food, had to operate in three different languages, and have traversed cross country by myself. I have seen sights I never thought I would see...and I am only twenty years old! I cannot believe it.

Tomorrow, we are going to the world famous Promenade, known for its resteraunts and shopping...and the modern art museum, which will be really fun. Then, we get up early on Sunday and go back "home" to Ascoli, where I will eat an Italian dinner, go to bed, and wake up on Monday to get one of Shereen and Paulo's espresso based beverages I so desperately desire.

...

But now, the ultimate question...can I stomach the American pizza when I return home...?

A bientot!

Ciao, Ascoli...mais, Bonjour Nice!

So, for those of you that do not know, the pictures have been updated. I only have half of the Rome pictures up, something happened in transit, but you can see the Pantheon and the outside of the Vatican. I also have pictures from my hike into one of the mountains of Ascoli with Karrah and Rachel...we walked up one of the major mountains almost to the top to an abandoned hermitage that was inhabited by a monk hundreds and hundreds of years ago. It was a magical hike...pictures are really the only things that can describe the views and the journey up the mountain, but I can say that it was a lot of fun. To view, click the side bar. I do not have the time to update the Rome pictures right now, but as soon as I can, I will.

And why, do you ask, does Ryan not have the time to update those photos? Wow, I love easy segways.

Je suis en France avec Sandi et Nick.

Huh? But that is in French!

Exactly!

So, it is midsemester break, and my two friends Sandi (the same one I went to Rome with) and Nick decided to book a flight together to Nice (Southern France) for midsemester break. Do not get me wrong, Italy is amazing, but I took French in high school and really wanted to see the country I feel I had learned so much about way back when. Plus, despite its rustiness, I wanted to put my French to the test. So, we booked a flight and a hostel together, and eagerly awaited our departure.

This morning, Sandi and I awoke at around eight o'clock and made our way to the bus station. We arrived in Rome (again) this time with an inkling of what we were doing and where we were going. We took a train to the airport...checked in, and met Nick (who was in America the past few days...his brother was getting married) and we flew to Nice.

It is strange how, despite how close they are, the views of the two countries are radically different. As soon as we were told we were about to land, we saw the aqua blue waters of the Nice and the more lush landscape of France, a very odd departure from the hills and valleys of Ascoli. I was so surprised...and it was even more alarming getting off the plane and not hearing a single lick of Italian for the first time in weeks. However, oddly, I could still understand what they were saying.

I have not spoken French in so long. It has slowly returned, in fact I used quite a bit of it today, but the issue is that I now have three languages in my head at once. Quite literally, we have been caught saying "Hello! Tu parles inglese?" (the correct sentence is "Bonjour! Tu parles anglais?" which translates to "Hello! Do you speak English?") And here, unlike in Italy where they assume you know no Italian in major cities, they let you try to speak for a bit, and then abruptly start speaking English at you. It is rather alarming.

But Nice, from what I have seen so far, is beautiful. We just ate a lovely dinner...and it was nice for a change of pace and a reduction of carbohydrates. The real shocker is the Hostel...we are not really in a hostel, we are in an apartment. The owner, Brigitte, is very nice, and has a lovely little dog named Mishma. We have only spoken to her for a little bit, but we have full facilities and it is only 20 euro a night for a three person private room. Good find on our part, if I do say so myself.

I will, obviously, have more to say on Nice the more the week goes on. But...I need to take a moment to say that, I really miss home. I miss all of you. And I really miss not feeling like a fool when I do not know a word in Italian. At the same time, Europe has been so good to me...I have, slowly, been finding myself. My voice....both in singing and my inner voice. I cannot say Europe itself did that, but alternative cultures combined with the fact that I am in a country that sees the world a little differently has made me look at myself. If any of you can get to Europe in your lifetime, do it! And for students...STUDY ABROAD!

We are halfway there, and I cannot believe it. This trip marks that, after all it is midsemester break. Just seven weeks ago, I did not know any Italian. I did not know how to navigate an Italian city. I did not know how to travel on an airplane by myself. And I did not understand the Italian lifestyle. Now, I feel like Ascoli is a home away from home. I am proud of myself for the first time in a while. I have done a lot of growing up...I feel it in my soul.

I cannot wait to return to you all...I am envious you all get to see autum in New England. But you know...the coast of Southern France is not half bad either.

Ciao!
...
I mean...A Bientot!

"Piacere, Ragazzi" e "Roma!"

So, last week was interesting. You would think living in a foreign country you would have stories everyday to share...well, I kind of stagnated for a couple of days. I suppose the good thing is, I have finally assimilated to a day to day routine here...I have my regular places to go and I have gotten into the swing of the much slower Italian life. So, I suppose that is an update, but it was not worthy of any blogging. However, at the end of last week, some surprising things occured and now I am LOADED with stories.

One of my classes is a practicum in which I aid the local elementary schools with teaching students English. Well, this class actually just started last week, and I almost forgot about it until our program coordinator asked me my available times for it. Needless to say, with my already hectic schedule, I was not looking forward to this...and after my not so happy student teaching experiences last semester, I was equally afraid of what this class would yield.

It turns out that this will probbably be the class that teaches me Italian THE MOST. Now, I have was under the impression that I would be going to an English classroom...that is to say, the teacher would speak it fluently. But on my first day, I introduced myself to the teacher and when I asked her "Parla inglese, si?" I was met with "Pocissimo."

Which means almost NONE AT ALL!

I want you to imagine that you are suddenly thrust in front of a group of ten year olds...you barely know Italian, they barely know English, and the teacher is of little help. Oh my God...my brain has never worked harder in one hour. I had to think equally in two languages at the same time. It was as if two little voices were going off in my head at once, and at first it was scary. But you do not realize how much of the other language you know until you are literally forced to have to speak it.

I have two classes of children: the first one is absolutely adorable! They speak English very well, and the teacher is so nice. They are also very well behaved and you can tell they work hard. My second class, on the other hand, is like a zoo, and the teacher has little to no control over them. But over here, unlike America, it is not uncommon for teachers to scream blatent insults at their students in order to get them to be quiet...I am pretty sure I have heard them say they are stupid and need to shut up about five times. It is nervewracking to be the center of attention for an hour while these kids are both excited to meet an American student and also out to get the teacher. The second class also has some issues with their English...when the teacher told them they could begin asking questions, I called on the first student and was met with "I like dogs." To which I replied "Me too..." and then called on the next student. This continued for about five minutes: "I like baseball" "I like soccer" "I like T.V." and suddenly, one of the "ragazzi" shot up their hand and started yelling at their classmates "No no! DO YOU LIKE DOGS, DO YOU LIKE BASBALL, DO YOU LIKE SOCCER!"

So, they had been asking me questions for ten minutes and I had no idea...I felt very bad, but luckily we cleared that up, and I answered all of their questions.

I have shcoked and amazed the students with some of the information I have shared back at home, too. American media has leaked over here, and so Disney Channel shows and movies are about their only perspective about our country...so I have broken a few hearts. Some children were very sad to learn the "Tipton Hotel" from the show "The Suite Life of Zach and Cody" is not a real hotel...nor is Spiderman a real person. They are also shocked by our food...to them, the concept of a coffee bigger then what they have is unspeakable! Let alone when I explained the concept of Iced Coffee to the students they were nearly blown off their chairs and were surprised we had not died of caffeine poisining. They also do not know what peanut butter or pancakes are, as they do not exist over here. I hope that we can continue learning from one another...I felt my Italian become stronger by the second. Now, if only I could control them...

After my second class on Friday, my friend Sandi and I went to Rome for the weekend to sight see and look at some mosaics for a project we are doing. After a three hour busride, we arrived at night and checked into our hostel...which, I need to say for the record is rather scary. Hostels are not like hotels, and rooming wtih total strangers...well, lets just say I never had to sleep with my wallet under my pillow before. But none the less, it was an experience.

Now, I know Venice and Florence are the two places that wow people the most, but before anybody pushes Rome to the side I want you to imagine this: you are in the cobblestone streets of Boston. Designer shops line the streets along with souvenirs, and the windy roads scare the crap out of you as cars nearly hit you about thirty times per minute. Suddenly you turn the corner, and amongst the streets of Boston...well, what would you know, there is the Colliseum! And suddenly, THOUSANDS of years of history seem to emerge throughout the city life.

That was Rome. It was unbelievable. Every landmark you see in books...the Trevi Fountain, the Colliseum, the Vatican City...I must say, pictures cannot do any of them justice. I was suddenly overwhelmed by the amount of history was surronded by...and you know, I kind of liked it over the Venice. People actually live in Rome, and so there is a sense of Italian life there...and the tourist attractions are deserted at night, soI got to see all of the great places upclose and in the romantic aura of the moonlight. It was magical...and I hope that, if anyone ever travels to Italy they take a weekend in Rome. It was lovely. Pictures will be up soon.

And it dawns on me that, sadly, I have not mentioned a lick about my voice lessons...there are some good reasons for that. They have been going so well, but there is so much detail to each one that I would need another blog entirely for them...I will try to make a feesible entry this week about them. But until then, I am signing off...hopefully, the middle portion of this week yields some more interesting stories then the last.

I miss you all...Italy is wonderful, but I am certaintly missing all of you at home. If anybody wants to skype, the best way is to give me your avaialble times for the week so I can find when our times coincide. Telling me even a few days before can be tough over here with classes...

Ciao!

I Ponti e Il Pesto

Before I begin this entry, I need to say that I am truley touched to so many of you are commenting and reading my blog. I am happy that you are all enjoying it! I actually look forward to writing it not only for myself, but for the fact that people actually seem to enjoy it too. "Julie and Julia" anyone?

That aside, I had quite the weekend. It began on Friday morning at 7:30am (which means you were all still asleep, and for that I was insanely jealous) to get on a bus for the 6 hour trip to Venice. Before getting to Italy, anytime I met someone who had visited the country in the past had one, consistent piece of advice (besides eat): go to Venice. So, I had high hopes for the place. After a LOOOONNNGGG bus ride, we finally pulled into a massive parking lot. This made sense, as I was sure the actual city did not have a place to park...unless we wanted to sink! But, the only thing I could think of as I got off the bus was of Disneyworld. "Now, remember kids, we are parked in Goofy 5."

I have only ever seen pictures of Venice in books and photos, and so for my entire life I have kind of associated it as a land of make believe. Only in "Lord of the Rings" or "Harry Potter" can you actually find a city that sits entirely on top of the ocean! But guess what...it is real. Thousands of years ago, people built this place without the use of modern construction and without much knowledge of what might happen. But through their faith, they made this city on top of the ocean. And as we walked more and more over what felt like thousands of bridges, we arrived along the Grand Canal of Venice.

Oh my God, I thought. This place is ridiculous! People live here!?

But as the initial shock of this beautiful city faded, something strange happened...now, when walking in Ascoli, all I ever here is Italian. But suddenly, I heard a foreign voice, one that I had not heard in a long time. The sound of the harsh, gutteral accents of American English. Huh? But we are in Italy! How the hell are there so many Americans here?

And the more we went throught he city, the more of an awkward melting pot this place became. German, French, English, and American English suddenly dominated the language of an Italian city. And as I looked around, I saw tourist booths and carts carrying cheap souvenirs of the landmark, and people constantly taking pictures. I hated to think of this, and it surely did not detract from the beauty of this place, but I felt further away from Italy being in Venice than I did in Ascoli. The feeling of Disneyworld had somehow followed me from the parking lot. And no matter what happened on this trip, no matter how amazing an experience, it has not left me.

But, despite that, Venice really is gorgeous, and I think it would be the perfect honeymoon location...at night, especially, it becomes so romantic. But everything you hear about Venice is true...it is dirty, the water is green, and it is certaintly very expensive. But thank God for the Kies and our supervisor, because we managed to have a very different kind of Venetian experience than the folks who were not so educated. For instance, Venice is known for their Mardi Gras celebration they call Carnevale. Where we have beads, they have masks, and every toursit stand sold cheap plastic ones on their carts. Arlene, however, told us that if we wanted a real, handmade papier mache mask, we had to find one in a mask shop. The masks on the cart went for about ten euro...in the shops, the cheapest would be about thirty five, if that gives you any indication of the difference in the level of authenticity. So, I decided...if I was going to walk away with one souvenir from this place, it was going to be a real mask.

The most magical areas of Venice, I feel, are in the bridges. Crossing over them, looking at the Gondolas and the water below...it is rather intoxicating. And therefore, the name of the entry. I will post the pictures of those (as there are dozens) when I have my laptop tonight, but otherwise I feel that was probbably one of the better sights I saw on my stay.

I do not want to go into excrutiating detail on every thing that we did, but there were several experiences that stood out to me more than anything. On the first morning in Venice, we took a tour of the churches. We ended up making it to five...and for the life of me, I cannot remember the names. The last one we visited was absolutely gigantic. As I walked through it, all I could say was "first they build a city on water, and then they build a church this big! How did they do this all by hand? Not to mention, entirely in STONE!" There is nothing like this America, unfortunately. No where do you feel an overwhelming sense of faith, because that must have been the thing that kept those builders going as they built this shining testament to God. I wish we had more of that now...maybe not in organized religion, but in other aspects of our lives.

And I did everything you are supposed to do in Venice: I took a Gondala ride, I bought a very beautiful hand made mask, I walked around and saw the many lovely areas. I also managed to see Monteverdis tomb, Mozarts house in Venice, and Goethes house, althuogh they all happened to be stumbled upon by accident. We saw a concert, albeit not a very good one...we were all relatively diassapointed that the town we lived in had better music than VENICE! And the more the weekend strecthed on, the more we all became homesick not for the U.S. but for Ascoli. I missed my home away from home...the mountains, the people, the Italian I was learning, the (much cheaper) prices, and the homlieness I felt in a city that was not so well known by the rest of the world. I felt my Italian speaking get weaker as waiters refused to talk to us in Italian, trying to make our order go faster. I craved a cappucino from Shereen and Paolo, and I wanted to have dinner at one of our local spots. Was I greatful? Of course. But what this trip taught me more than anything was that the best part of any country are not the major landmarks. It is the little towns and the regular people that have made this stay in Italy so magical and relaxing.

And I think by now you all think I am crazy for saying that, as it is a fresh dream to any American to visit places like Rome, Venice, and Florence. But I think what happened this morning proves my point more than ever. As I walked up to the school to get ready for class, I began to climb the hill. And as I made it to the cafe to get my coffee, Shereen excitedly dashed from the counter. "One minute!" she said said, and when she reemegered she had a plastic bag. "A gift for you" she said. And its contents: a jar of homemade pesto and pasta! "It might not be very fresh, but I wanted to make it for you."

And you know what: a million Gondola rides and thousands of masks could not compare to an act of kindness like that. That, in my opinion, is Italy.

La montagna

Well, I was constantly told as I prepared to leave for Italy that I would gain so much weight because of the insane amount of pasta dishes and carb based meals. Well, as I explained to those people, here the portions are smaller and the food is fresher, not to mention Europeans walk EVERYWHERE. Well, it is true, and my jeans fit me better than they did last week, and I feel my leg muscles and lower abdominal s become tighter everyday. I would say the food is definitely part of the reason, but there is another: "the hill."

The hill is what we have music majors have lovingly dubbed the monstrous, steep pathway that leads up to the music school. Now, I know I exaggerate as it is part of my nature, but I kid you not, this hill must be at at least an 80 degree angle, constructed of cobblestone, and takes ten minutes to climb. By the time you reach the school, you are covered in sweat and out of breathe. To me, this hill adds another issue: I only ever go to the music school when I am going to some kind of lesson. So, imagine, you are going to have a voice lesson entirely in Italian, and suddenly you are expected to climb this massive hill. Talk about a physical metaphor for your anxiety! But, as all analogies go, the hill evens out, and lately upon my arrival I discover that the life of music here in Italy is not as stressful...in fact, it is worth the uphill climb.

I had my second piano lesson today. Now, I was freaking out this morning, as we have had no time to practice and the pianos that were supposed to be in our apartments two weeks ago are somewhere in Germany and have not yet shipped, so I felt MAJORLY unprepared. The piece I had was the Minuet in G Major...if you youtube it, you will literally recognize the piece almost instantly, and from what I know it is very basic. But I fumble all the time on piano, and I was suddenly afraid Arlene would go ballistic if I screwed up one note! Well, I arrived, saturated and anxious, and waited for my piano lesson to begin. I felt so grungy and disguisting, but as soon as I walked into Arlenes room I felt an air of calm. She really is the most loving teacher I have ever met here at UNH, and as we began I felt the tension just melt away. No, Arlene was not going to kick me out of piano lesson...far from it, actually. Despite some mess ups in the second section of the Minuet, she told me that I "have more of a knack for the piano then I think." The result? I am now doubling as an accompinist in our vocal accompinist class! In plain English...I am playing the piano for singers! Talk about a confidence booster.

But there is another way to ease the stress of climbing the beastly mountain besides considering its many rewards. You can always stop at the halfway point...which sounds really stupid. But at the middle of the hill is a cafe. The first day we were getting a tour, a man walked out of this cafe and yelled after the teacher in Italian...I picked up the phrase "quattro lingue!" which measn "four languages!" So, out of curiousity, I asked the teacher what the man had just said. She told me that he was explaining that his wife spoke four languages, including English, and that they would take care of us. "But I did not want to tell you all that" she said, "because you should be learning the Italian, not relying on English speakers. If I had it my way, you would never hear me speak English, and I would make you figure it out!"

Well, I did not entirely forget this, but I also did not want to walk in and blatently ask for the woman who speaks English, so I postponed my visit. Later that week, I decided I really, really, really wanted to try Italian cappuccinno, so on my way to class I stopped into this cafe. A stunningly beautiful woman greeted me with a smile, "ciao!" she said. But before I had the chance to respond back, she said "which means, hello! How are you?"

Was it that obvious that I was not Italian...I mean, beyond the blonde hair and green eyes.

"OH, hello! Ummm...so you are the woman who speaks English here...come ti chiami?"

"Shereen," she replied, "and yes, I speak it...I love, it is my favorite language! I wish to learn more of it..."

Well, it just so happened that we both had a similar goal, and I promised Shereen that everyday I would stop into her cafe to give her a chance to speak. Word caught on, and it has become a regular location of almost every American student here. If it is not going to talk to Shereen in the morning to get coffee and a pastry (Nutella filled croissants...mmmmm), it is to get a drink and use the internet late a night with her husband, Paolo, who speaks broken English, but has been very influential in my learning Italian phrases for how to order food and drink.

I feel like, in these two people who are almost our age, I have made two real Italian friends. And for that reason, I would make the uphill climb every morning if it means having them, rewarding benefits, and espresso based beverages.

If this hill is the most ridiculous physical obstacle I have to get over while I am here, I think I can live with it. And slowly, I have come to enjoy my climb. I look at the hill less as an obstacle to what I need to do, but rather an adventure! I think it is about time I look at life that way, too...

But the best part about the hill? No matter how hard it can be to climb, and even if the other side is not what you wanted, it will even out somehow. And that is always for the better, when you think about it. The least you can get is some incredible memories and stories...and that, I feel, is the best reward anyone can get.

Ciao, mi amicci.

"Io Ascolato"

So, a few things about the Internet here...it is scarce...and so, therefore, its harder to update than I thought! And my laptop is bugging out and will not charge, so its hard to get the pictures up! I hope to get some time today to do all of these things, but in the meantime, some stories.



The title of this entry translates to "I Listen in English. I decided on this because, in one week, something extraordinary has happened: I am using my ears a lot more often. When talking to an Italian local, I have no choice! I can decode most of the language now, especially when it is written down. But I have learned that, unlike English, Italian is less about exact words and more about the general idea. For instance, in one sentence, if you can catch the word "stop," you can figure out what the person meant by their body language and the inflection of the rest of the sentence. But in this country, it is much more than the language that requires a sharp ear!



Upon our arrival, Jake and I discovered some pamphlets on the assistant director, Diana's, desk. They were about some sort of music festival happening this month, and as we are indeed big fans of music, we decided to take a look. Almost every day of the week, the town is offering music events all over the area! We were sooo excited, and Diana was so taken aback by the enthusiasm of all of the majors that the program decided to provide us with season passes that would have normally gone for about £50.00. The first two events happened over the weekend.



The first was several concerti performed by local musicians and the Korean String Orchestra. Now, I assumed as there is a main theater in the city that all of the events would take place there. But when looking for the location, I discovered it was in a small church. Josh, Chris, and I navigated our way there, and the inside was what you would expect: amazing. Although parts of the building were falling apart, it added to the air of mystery. The pews were not touched since they were built, so they were incredibly uncomfortable. Now, the pamphlet said the concert started at 9, but upon further inspection we realized the word "ore 21:00" was written. That means "around" 9:00...and for Italians, it must meant more around 9:30, because that was about the time the concert actually started! And people were still arriving!



The most refreshing thing to see here was that the church had standing room only: a rare sight in America, but here it seemed common, and people of all ages were scattered throughout the audience. Out came the orchestra...and they began to tune. And then came the conductor...carrying a violin! What!? The conductor does not play, I thought to myself, but sure enough he sat down in the first violin chair and began to conduct the first Mozart Divermento from this seat and play at the same time!! How the hell were they doing this!!??



And the sound...ohh, it was divine. It was as if the church, the orchestra, and the audience were embraced in a large, sonorous hug. And something happened in that church I have never seen before...the musicians were ENJOYING THEMSELVES!!! I have never seen a group of classical musicians enjoying what they were playing in the states...and you could tell the Italians were equally as involved! They all had wide smiles. For once, this was not a concert that was designed for the performer to show what they could do, but it was about making the music...living in the music for about two hours. I held onto to every note they played, and for the first time ever...I listened. And the soloists were amazing. The French Horn player and the Oboist in particular were truly extraordinary, both making sounds I have never heard before on either instrument. For the first time every, the oboe did not sound like a bird call, but rather a bird song.

The second night was equally as wonderful as the first, this time taking place in the local theater. The inside reminds of a picture you would find in the Baroque or early Classic Era, painted in light blues and greens with many, many, man rows of box seats. We were fortunate enough to get a seat in one of them, and I was transported back to a time where this box seat was probably inhabited by a wealthy upper classmen, decorated to suit his interests, and laden with fine food and drink. It was the same orchestra, but this time piano concerti, both of which were amazing, as one could imagine. I could get into excruciating detail on the way these folks performed, but I will let the video my friends took of their performance speak of themselves.

Music here...it is just so different in terms of how it is presented. And I love it...I love every second of it. The more and more I wander these ancient streets and observe these massive churches and structures, the more I realize that there has got to be a reason God wanted me to come here. I am seeing it slowly unfold before me...I have been going to fast. This place is so much more relaxed, not so attached to a schedule. It is less about learning through a book and more about learning from the people. Maybe that is because I am a foreigner and I require more effort to understand, but the people here genuinely want to learn about me, too.

And so, for those of you at home, I have one piece of advice: everyday, for five minutes, go to a spot outside...anywhere outside, and simply sit back and listen. Either to the people, music, or a prerecorded lesson (for my music majors at home) just listen and observed. You will be surprised what you will find : )

Ciao

Gratie Molto!

So, through the power of skype, I managed to discover a way to call my family in the U.S. almost free of charge. I say almost because its a monthly fee...but still, don't be surprised if an unknown number gives you a ring! It's probably me.

I tried Gelato last night for the first time. First of all, gelato kicks ice-creams ass. It's thick, and one scoop has more flavor than a sundae at Cold Stone (or any other sort of ice cream place). I had an espresso flavored with hazelnut/chocolate chunks. Yummy! But the more important thing, I ordered it! All by myself! In Italian...okay, the servers helped me, but I was able to tell them "Non parle molto Italiano...parle inglese. Questo *point to the gelato flavor* una piccolo. Gratie molto!" Which means: I don't speak much Italian, I speak english. I want that one, a small, thank you very much!"

Anyway, after a night of almost no sleep we got up for our first day of classes. I had a piano lesson this morning...my first one in four years. After a few basic excersises and review, Arlene (the piano teacher from UNH who is here) decided to give me some rep. She wanted to test my sight reading, and she was greatly impressed! She gave me a Bach Invention...the piano majors seemed thrilled by this news, and by looking at it I am a little frightened, but I will learn it if its the last thing I do!

After that, I met my voice teacher: Rosella. She is elegant, poised, and very proffesional...oh, did I mention, she doesn't speak ANY English! Aka. our Italian classes have now been added onto by an hour (they are already two) for a special supplement so that we can learn how to communicate with her without too much of an issue. But they are relatively cheap: they will come to about three hundred euro for the three months (as compared to about six hundred: what they normally are) I can't wait for her to give me a lesson! They begin on Friday: Arlene will be there to translate for the first lesson while we work our butts off. Oh, and did I mention: part of this womans practicing rountine is three twenty minute sessions of yoga a day!!!! Yahoo!!!

After that, Jake (the boy I flew on the plane with) and I went to lunch. The waiter was very nice, but we were swimming up shit's creek without a paddle for the first five minutes attempting to decode the menu. After a lovely tortellini dish, the man asked us if we wanted Tiramasu. Who could pass that up? Needless to say, its the best thing I've eaten here by far. It was creamy, and the espresso flavor was not overwhelming. I'm so happy that I get to eat this more often!

Then, I had Italian 401. It was fun...really fun! I'm so happy to be learning this languge, and even after two days I've learned soooo much. It helps to be surronded by people speaking it. And might I say, real Italians speaking the language...no wonder this is the most romantic of all the languages. Old ladies have stunned me with their dialogues...and for all I know, they are making fun of us!

Chris, Josh, and I cooked for our friends from another apartment dinner tonight: I made a marinara sauce that went over pre-made Ricotta and Spinach filled manicoti and a salad. We also found the Italian equivalent of Chips Ahoy for desert...yum. I sit here in a cafe now...its about 10:15pm here. For you guys, its 4:15.

I love it here. I miss the U.S. after two days, but that is only because I would never be this stressed trying to simply order food. But its part of the experience, really. Its fun, almost strategic, to learn this language. And the locals here are really nice. I just need to SLEEP! And hopefully, I will get some tonight. I'll finish this homework and go to bed.

This weekend, we are apparantly going to the beach, and maybe hiking the mountain. My pictures will be up by Friday, especially after I get to the beach. For now, ciao, and gratie molto for the comments on the blog. I hope you all keep reading!

-Ryan

Oh, and btw...its true what they say about the Italian men here ; )

Buongiorno

Well, after a very long...and I mean VERY long eight hour flight that took us over 10,000 miles over the Atlantic ocean, we made it. I am in Italy. And already after two days I have plenty of stories to tell!

To begin, I arrived at Logan on Sunday and after a relatively depressing goodbye with my parents, I went through security to wait at the gate. There, my two roomates Josh and Chris met me, along with our other two friends Jake and Michelle. Thank God I did not travel alone! Our first flight over to Detroit had no problems, unless you take into consideration the flight attendant who looked like she wanted to slit her wrists during the theatrical presentation at the start of the flight (you know, the one where they show you how to buckle your seat belts like a two year old?) Our layover was full of waiting and midwestern accents, and when we got on the plane to Italy we were already exaughsted.

We were equipped with some television screens on the seat in front of us for the purpose of watching movies and tracking the flight. I must say, plane rides go SO SLOW when you have the ability to check where you are in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, so the seven hour flight suddenly seemed incredibly tiresome. Two things stick out in my mind about that flight: the first being that I did not get a lot of sleep, and second was a very dramatic episode in which a man a few rows behind was unable to breathe. I did not realize this was happening until Josh began screaming for a Doctor, and the mans daughter (I assume) began losing her mind in Spanish (Ay Dios Mio, Dios Mio, Papa Papa!). It was a little scary, as it was something that seemed like it was out of at movie, but the man turned out okay and the rest of our flight went swimmingly.

Then, after what seemed like a lifetime, we landed...in Rome. Now, to understand Rome, you must imagine that you are walking through any other major American city (the only one that I can even think of that was close to this one is Boston) and suddenly a giant Ancient Roman monument appears out of no where! Here, our objective was to take a train from the airport and then walk ten minutes to the bus. After a few moments, Josh realized he had too many things to even attempt to carry, so he Michelle and Jake took a taxi, leaving Chris and I behind at our request to explore. Well, we discovered about six wrong turns later that we had no idea where we were going! It is bad enough getting lost in America, but even worse when you are walking through a city in which almost no one speaks English! My phrase book came in handy quite a bit in the time Chris and I wandered the streets.

Eventually, one of the aforementioned style monuments appeared before us: I large fountain surronded by a large circular building that housed a luxury hotel and a large, very busy resteraunt. I decided that, of all people, a hotel would have an English speaker that knew his way around, so I went in. Sure enough I finally got our way, and as we walked out I noticed something odd: this resteraunt next to the luxury hotel crowded with people was a MCDONALDS! Strange how, with some of the best food in the world, one of the most populated resteraunt was a McDonalds!

We finally found the bus, and Chris and I sat next to one another and promptly fell asleep. When we awoke, we were stunned. Any dreariness receded as we noticed were surronded on every side by mountains laden with trees galore. It was breath taking. It was even complete with large villages sticking out of the landings of the mountains with tiled rooves. It was mildly stereotypical, but mind boggling that such a place existed outside of an amusement park.

As we descended to the point where the most mountain were, I noticed the sign reading our destination name: Ascoli Piceno. When we drove in, it was mind boggling. The streets are all made out of a cobble stone, and the buildings look like they were built centuries ago. And sure enough, we discovered that they were: the tiles on the roof of our house are the originals from several centuries ago!

Our apartment is lovely. It is situated on a narrow street with cobble stone and buildings made of stones with big wooden doors. It was like walking around int eh 1500...with occasional grafiti. The foyer is made of marble and is very, very clean. Our house is small, with two bedrooms (Josh and I are sharing a room), but its quaint, welcoming, and complete with a balcony observing the street.

As we navigated our way to dinner, we were absorbed in the romantic aire the city had. lights line the streets in a way that is safe but dim enough for atmosphere. We thought we had seen everything...however, when we rounded the corner to the main piazza, we were stunned. Piazza del Populo is HUGE compared to the rest of the city, but it has such a beautiful feel to it it feels like you are in a house. Pictures and words cannot do it justice: like the rest of the trip, I have discovered until you see it, nothing can compare.

That night, although exaughsted, we had Italian Pizza. It was...good! very thin crust, and flavorful...but I did not see much of a difference in taste. That did not come until I tried my first glass of wine here. It has no nasty aftertaste and no dreary side effects. It is pleasent, and served with a bowel of potato chips! To them, this is like soda: one that you sip, however.

One glass in the piazza del populo lasted us a good one hour, over good conversation and a lovely night sky. Today, we saw the music school and the UNH satellite school: both our lovely, but the music school takes a good ten minutes to get to entirely up hill. For lunch, we had a traditional Italian meal buffet style: the most interesting thing to eat here is the Olive d Ascoli. It is a pitted green olive stuffed with meat and then deep fried in bread crumbs: delicious. And the cheese is wonderful! Then, for the second course, we had pasta. I have to say, they really do have us beat here. It has more flavor and a thick, hefty texture that makes you want to keep eating it, yet it still keeps you comfortably full.

Now, I write on a computer. Long update, I know, but a lot has happened. My pictures will be up soon, and there will be more streaming in weekly. I already do miss home, but I will say this:even through these past two days, this experience has been amazing, and it is only going to get better.

Ryan