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.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, September 14, 2009
"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
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
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
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 ; )
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 ; )
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
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
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
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