I am in the home stretch of my stay here. Once, my friend Melody told me that when you study abroad there are a few days when you really miss home, and then in this last stretch you realize you are really going to miss your new found home. I will say this, Mel, I did not believe you, until this week concluded. Ascoli has given me more gifts that I care to imagine, and with our Thanksgiving celebration tomorrow I can confidently say I have a lot to be thankful for...although, I really missed being able to spend Thanksgiving with my family.
Tuesday and Wednesday were relatively uneventful. It was not until Thursday (ironically, Thanksgiving Day) that all of this happened. I went to go teach my final lesson with "i ragazzi." As much as I loved the kids, and although it became easier as the weeks went on, it always took a lot out of me. Well, this week, after teaching the children a little bit about England out of their textbook, I was asked to sit down. In my lesson on food in America, I mentioned to this class how much I loved "Kinder Bars" (a delicious European chocolate bar) and Nutella. Well, in response to this, the children made me dozens of cards and bought what had to be fifty Kinder bars and a big jar of Nutella. They also demanded me of my signature in their planners on my birthday. For each child, I wrote "Mi Manerai" I will miss you.
The second class greeted me the same. I now have two bags of cards, crafts, and the like. The second class even went as far as to make a three dimensional turkey stuffed with their names. It shows, sometimes, that even the smallest thing like helping teach English can greatly impact someones life. I was so happy...but it was bittersweet. I really am going to miss these kids. I gave them my e-mail...I hope I hear from them soon.
Thursday night was also un altro concerto...another concert. This time, I sang two pieces solo. I had Chris tape them on his camera. This performance meant a lot to me. This was my chance to show the school, and my peers, all I have learned in three months. I was confident after Sunday's duet, and I knew my two songs down pat. After three months of Italian, singing in Italian and understanding what I was saying has become much, much easier. So, for the first time, I went out to sing my first piece with that in mind and nothing more.
As a tenor, I never understood what it meant to sing classically and feel the music in the moment. I watched other singers look elegant and poised while they had one hand on the crook of the piano. I watched them die away to almost nothing and grow to crescendos that shook the room. I never understood that, because my tenor voice is too inflexible. But, for the first time, I felt it. The thrill of performing classical music and interpreting it with a solid technique. I felt everything pulse through. Listening to the playback, I can confidently say I see my voice staying here. I have a lot to do, but I think it will be much more enjoayble an experience. I cannot wait to show everyone at home.
Everyone else did a lovely job, as well. I loved listening to my fellow singers who have all grown so much. Josh sang a Rossini piece ("L'Utimo Riccordo" or "The Last Memory") that was emotionally potent, and Sandi sang a Rossini piece that has a beat not to far off from the one from "Single Ladies' by Beyonce. We even have a dance to it...
Rosella was crying as we went away. I think it hit us all that we have all learned so much from one another. For every moment that we all got frustrated from her vice versa, we learned something more about ourselves and the world of music outside of America. I have discovered composers we dare not go near in undergrad because all we know of them are their virtuosic pieces (For instance, there is easy Vivaldi and Rossini out there, but you just have to find it). I know I am a man of hyperbole, but she really did change my life. I feel like I leave a friend behind as I go away from Italy soon.
Last night, we got discount tickets to go see Ascoli's production of "La Boheme." I have passed the theater many times, and after Fermo I was afraid that this opera was going to be sub par. But we were all shocked. I think it was better. The singers were much more consistent, the orchestra was STELLAR and the sets were great. Notably, Musetta and Marcello were powerhouses. They both had me laughing and crying, especially Musetta (if anyone knows Rent, they know the plot to this opera. Musetta is essentially Maureen and Marcello is Mark). And the theater was packed...with lots of kids our age scattered about. I am going to miss this place where music is such a staple. I hope I can bring that passion back with me when we return. Here, opera is not so stuffy. It is an art and a job, and as Josh said to me last night "singing is a career here, not a novelty. When you say you are a singer, people take your seriously."
Today, I am working on my project and getting ready for Thanksgiving tomorrow. I am making my mother's bread stuffing and some garlic mashed potatoes. Shereen, Paulo, and their newest edition to the staff, Dalilah (who is probbably the most bubbly, eccentric, and genuine human being I have met) are coming tomorrow. We hope this to be an experience where we show them what sort of things we do in America, as a token for all of their help. I am excited. These three have left indents on my heart that will never go away.
Everyday, as I walk through the lovely Piazza del Popolo, I take my time now. I only have six days left here, and I want to remember it. I remember the first time I walked through that Piazza with Josh and Chris, and we were literally dumbfounded. You know, you would after three months of walking through it everyday, I would have lost all of my love for it. No, I haven't. And I don't think I ever will...
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
La Cena Più Grande
We have fourteen days left, officially, in Ascoli Piceno. But this weekend was, by far, one of the best!!
Saturday was the opera in the nearby town of Fermo...essentially, the rival of Ascoli in the Marche region. I cannot say the town impressed me too much...it is all downhill, hard to traverse, lacks the eclectic amount of stone that builds Ascoli, and the main Piazza left much to be desired. But it was a quaint, lovely place. We saw the ancient Roman waterways underneath the town, which were nice, but the overwhelming feeling of seeing something ancient has seemed to wither away on this trip. It is everywhere in Europe. Still, interesting none the less.
So, you can imagine that maybe the opera (and the opera house) was going to be subpar. But, as Italy always has the ability to surprise, it was far from it. The opera was Verdis "Otello." The house was beautiful, clearly a historic landmark of the town, and the opera itself was lovely. The orchestra was meh, and the leading Tenor (Otello) was very whiny and hard to listen to. But the rest of the cast was awesome!! Desdemona, Jago, and Cassio clearly held the show together. It was the first really good opera I have ever seen, and I suppose what I learned from it was that an opera can be fun to watch...when it is performed well!
We got home at 3 am (the opera got out at 1, yikes) and I slept in yesterday in anticipation for my concert with Emiliano, the Sopranista. I was, needless to say, very nervous all day. Not only was I about to make my debut singing countertenor, but I also had to go to the rehersal and get around only in Italian. The proved to be easier then expected. The other performers were very good to me. I finally decoded what this performance was. It was a faculty concert, and only two students were invited to sing. Me, and a seventeen year old mezzo soprano named Sara. She was very nice, and I enjoyed talking with her. So, we were set apart in the program, marked by the word "Allievo and Allieva" which means "student."I felt honored to be there.
Emiliano had three pieces: a duet with Sara, a Monteverdi Solo in which he also played viola, and the duet with me. The other parts of his section of the program were great: he has a lovely voice, and Sara is going to grow into a fine mezzo...she is already amazing as is at seventeen years old! And then I performed. I think I did very well for my first time in a public setting. The last note was not even sharp or flat...it was wrong, but I think I got away with it because in baroque cadences suspensions are common. Still, my intonation overall was better, I think we worked very well together, and the students that showed up to support me were very, very pleased, and so were Chris and Arlene.
The rest of the performance was mixed. The most notable people of the night were the trumpet teacher and one of the other singers. The trumpet player played a Copland piece and it was lovely. The singer decided to do two American cabaret classics: "New York, New York," and "Cabaret." I am just going to say this...we found the real Miranda. She is hiding in Italy. For those that get the reference, you will completely understand. For others, youtube it.
Afterwards, Chris, Arlene, and I were invited to dinner with the rest of the faculty and performers. This is the reason for the title of this entry. Dinner last night was huge and served in seven courses! It started normally with antipasti: bruschette with zucchine and mushrooms, small slices of cheese pizza, and a mystery dish. I tried it...it appeared to be eggs with mushrooms. But after eating it, I asked the man across from me what it was. It was...cows heart. Yes, cows heart...
Yikes... well, then we had two rounds of pasta dishes, a platter of assorted meats, a lovely piece of cake, coffee, and some Limoncello. Oh my lord, was I full!
I am actually, for the first time in a while, proud of myself. Parts of this trip have been amazing, but parts of it have been a test for myself and for those around me, both socially and musically. I think I leave this trip with two things: one, I am not longer afraid to stand up for my musical opinions. Not everyone is right, but I have my beliefs about myself and music. I need to let those guide me, and not the strong opinions of others. How will a performance be authentic otherwise? And also, I have learned that I am a strong person because I am who I am. People are going to try and trample me my whole life, both in big ways and little ways. But the people that matter the most are going to be the people who stick with me, and who do not take pleasure in putting me down and stifling me. In a department full of people who are adept at that, I think that is a valuable lesson to learn, no?
With that, I get ready for a week of finals and, on Sunday, Thanksgiving for us americani. I am very excited for that. I am slowly counting down the days until the end, and trying to take in as much of the sights, sounds, smells, and taste of Ascoli in the next few days...
Saturday was the opera in the nearby town of Fermo...essentially, the rival of Ascoli in the Marche region. I cannot say the town impressed me too much...it is all downhill, hard to traverse, lacks the eclectic amount of stone that builds Ascoli, and the main Piazza left much to be desired. But it was a quaint, lovely place. We saw the ancient Roman waterways underneath the town, which were nice, but the overwhelming feeling of seeing something ancient has seemed to wither away on this trip. It is everywhere in Europe. Still, interesting none the less.
So, you can imagine that maybe the opera (and the opera house) was going to be subpar. But, as Italy always has the ability to surprise, it was far from it. The opera was Verdis "Otello." The house was beautiful, clearly a historic landmark of the town, and the opera itself was lovely. The orchestra was meh, and the leading Tenor (Otello) was very whiny and hard to listen to. But the rest of the cast was awesome!! Desdemona, Jago, and Cassio clearly held the show together. It was the first really good opera I have ever seen, and I suppose what I learned from it was that an opera can be fun to watch...when it is performed well!
We got home at 3 am (the opera got out at 1, yikes) and I slept in yesterday in anticipation for my concert with Emiliano, the Sopranista. I was, needless to say, very nervous all day. Not only was I about to make my debut singing countertenor, but I also had to go to the rehersal and get around only in Italian. The proved to be easier then expected. The other performers were very good to me. I finally decoded what this performance was. It was a faculty concert, and only two students were invited to sing. Me, and a seventeen year old mezzo soprano named Sara. She was very nice, and I enjoyed talking with her. So, we were set apart in the program, marked by the word "Allievo and Allieva" which means "student."I felt honored to be there.
Emiliano had three pieces: a duet with Sara, a Monteverdi Solo in which he also played viola, and the duet with me. The other parts of his section of the program were great: he has a lovely voice, and Sara is going to grow into a fine mezzo...she is already amazing as is at seventeen years old! And then I performed. I think I did very well for my first time in a public setting. The last note was not even sharp or flat...it was wrong, but I think I got away with it because in baroque cadences suspensions are common. Still, my intonation overall was better, I think we worked very well together, and the students that showed up to support me were very, very pleased, and so were Chris and Arlene.
The rest of the performance was mixed. The most notable people of the night were the trumpet teacher and one of the other singers. The trumpet player played a Copland piece and it was lovely. The singer decided to do two American cabaret classics: "New York, New York," and "Cabaret." I am just going to say this...we found the real Miranda. She is hiding in Italy. For those that get the reference, you will completely understand. For others, youtube it.
Afterwards, Chris, Arlene, and I were invited to dinner with the rest of the faculty and performers. This is the reason for the title of this entry. Dinner last night was huge and served in seven courses! It started normally with antipasti: bruschette with zucchine and mushrooms, small slices of cheese pizza, and a mystery dish. I tried it...it appeared to be eggs with mushrooms. But after eating it, I asked the man across from me what it was. It was...cows heart. Yes, cows heart...
Yikes... well, then we had two rounds of pasta dishes, a platter of assorted meats, a lovely piece of cake, coffee, and some Limoncello. Oh my lord, was I full!
I am actually, for the first time in a while, proud of myself. Parts of this trip have been amazing, but parts of it have been a test for myself and for those around me, both socially and musically. I think I leave this trip with two things: one, I am not longer afraid to stand up for my musical opinions. Not everyone is right, but I have my beliefs about myself and music. I need to let those guide me, and not the strong opinions of others. How will a performance be authentic otherwise? And also, I have learned that I am a strong person because I am who I am. People are going to try and trample me my whole life, both in big ways and little ways. But the people that matter the most are going to be the people who stick with me, and who do not take pleasure in putting me down and stifling me. In a department full of people who are adept at that, I think that is a valuable lesson to learn, no?
With that, I get ready for a week of finals and, on Sunday, Thanksgiving for us americani. I am very excited for that. I am slowly counting down the days until the end, and trying to take in as much of the sights, sounds, smells, and taste of Ascoli in the next few days...
Monday, November 16, 2009
Due Settimane...
Two weeks.
I cannot believe this is all going to be over in two weeks. Part of me wants to not think that way and just accept what I have right now, but the other part of me wants to think of how we are leaving soon. I think it helps, though...realizing how little time I have left has made me appreciate everything a little bit more. Especially considering the next two weeks are going to be way too busy...
We are seeing Otello this weekend in the nearby town of Fermo. I am singing on Sunday. Arlene and Chris performed a concert two nights ago (it was a huge success...the two of them are so talented and nice at the same time, a rare thing to find these days). The following week begins the homstretch for all of our projects a presentations: I have to finish setting "Erlkonig" by Schubert by the time we leave for an orchestra, and then I have to present a small presentation and write a paper in regards to Christianity from the death of Christ to Constantine for archeology. I then have to do voice a piano juries, two more recitals for the faculty and for accompinent class, and course selection. Tomorrow housing is due, which I am terrified for...I really want a good room (preferably a single...I will pray hard for that one...)
I think it has become the general concensus that we are all, for the most part, done with school. Not so much Italy, just school...although I really, really want to go home and see my friends and family, but I already dedicated my last entry to that. I am just so tired...and although I love everyone on this trip, I think we are all more or less ready for a nice, long break from one another. I think two months away is just what I need, for my sanity...
I used to say to my parents "I go to college! I know responsibility, I know how to live on my own, stop treating me like I am two!" Well, there is nothing more shocking then having to go into your own apartment and have to cook, clean, and support yourself. The real world sucks, especially in another language. But I am determined to not look at this as defeat: the next time I have my own space, now I know what to expect. I suppose it takes mold growing on your walls twice to figure out how to make sure it doesn't happen again.
Two more weeks...two more weeks of hill climbing, classes, tests, and Italian life, and then I am home. It seems so strange...I cannot believe that it seems like yesterday we were saying two weeks have gone by! But, as I have learned, so much can happen in that time...
Until next time, I pray for myself that I can manage to stay afloat, alive, and well rested the next few weeks. And as much as I love it here, one thing keeps me going with this sudden workload increase: the vision of stepping off my transatlantic flight home into the waiting arms of my family...
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...
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!
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