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...
Monday, November 16, 2009
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
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...
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...
Monday, November 2, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
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!
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!
Friday, October 16, 2009
"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!
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!
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
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!
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!
Monday, October 5, 2009
"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!
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!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)