We just had lunch with Lucia, the Argentinian girl, at a trendy Asian restaurant around the corner. Our stuff is packed and sitting at the hostel ready to go, and we'll grab a bus this afternoon to go back to the train station and return to Alton this evening.
Last night we met up with Anna and her boyfriend Joe, old friends of Emilie's from Ohio, and had pizza at the Italian restaurant around the corner. I was thrilled to have a menu in Italian, and return to the foods that I love -- but the best part was that our server was a friendly 21-year-old girl from central Italy who we made casual conversation with over the course of the meal. She told us she came to London to find work to better her English, and that she had a few friends in town but she was still lonely and bored a lot of the time. We made plans to meet up with her after her shift ended, but she never called, which we assume means she was just too tired. After all, it was 1 a.m. on a Thursday night, so no one blamed her..... But it was still nice to get to talk to an Italian again.
Now we return to Paul's for three days, and I go home to the States on Monday. I don't know if I'll have time to update again before then, but I'll certainly catch up when I get back. And add pictures.
More soon,
-Al
July 17th (England) - London
I am on a public connection at the youth hostel. How much can I cover in 15 minutes?....
Em and I have been in London for the past three days, and we leave tomorrow afternoon. In this time we have done a lot. Generally, we wake up in the morning, have breakfast at the hostel, and buy an underground (subway) day pass so that we can do whatever we want around town. We are staying in a room with four other girls -- one Argentinian named Lucia, who we've built up a friendly acquaintance with, and the others an assortment of nationalities who are mostly in-and-out and we haven't really talked to. The first day, there was a tiny Japanese woman living in the bed next to mine. We tried to have a conversation, but her English was so terrible that after three minutes we could understand only "neighbor" and "America."
Tuesday we arrived a little before noon, and explored the British Museum and Covent Garden for the afternoon. In Covent Garden, there were some various live performers, one being a slightly loony middle-aged woman singing opera. We arrived just in time to see her grab the staircase railing dramatically and launch into a rendition of Carabino's first aria from, coincidentally, "The Marriage of Figaro" -- the opera I'd just performed at the program in Italy.
Yesterday we saw Buckingham Palace in the morning, and stayed for the changing of the guard, complete with some tunes from the royal band and a parade of horses on their way to Whitehall. Then that afternoon (the highlight of my visit so far) we got cheap tickets to see "The Merry Wives of Windsor" at Shakespeare's Globe. The play was fantastic; although cheap tickets entailed standing room only, it was totally worth it. In the evening we took the tube to Trafalgar Square, and sat and had a snack while watching the end of the Royal Opera's live broadcast of, you guessed it, "The Marriage of Figaro." (I'm getting really sick of this show.) Hundreds of people had gathered to see it on the huge screen, resting on the steps of the art museum and around the fountain at the bottom.
Hurrying before my time runs out -- more later,
-Allie
Em and I have been in London for the past three days, and we leave tomorrow afternoon. In this time we have done a lot. Generally, we wake up in the morning, have breakfast at the hostel, and buy an underground (subway) day pass so that we can do whatever we want around town. We are staying in a room with four other girls -- one Argentinian named Lucia, who we've built up a friendly acquaintance with, and the others an assortment of nationalities who are mostly in-and-out and we haven't really talked to. The first day, there was a tiny Japanese woman living in the bed next to mine. We tried to have a conversation, but her English was so terrible that after three minutes we could understand only "neighbor" and "America."
Tuesday we arrived a little before noon, and explored the British Museum and Covent Garden for the afternoon. In Covent Garden, there were some various live performers, one being a slightly loony middle-aged woman singing opera. We arrived just in time to see her grab the staircase railing dramatically and launch into a rendition of Carabino's first aria from, coincidentally, "The Marriage of Figaro" -- the opera I'd just performed at the program in Italy.
Yesterday we saw Buckingham Palace in the morning, and stayed for the changing of the guard, complete with some tunes from the royal band and a parade of horses on their way to Whitehall. Then that afternoon (the highlight of my visit so far) we got cheap tickets to see "The Merry Wives of Windsor" at Shakespeare's Globe. The play was fantastic; although cheap tickets entailed standing room only, it was totally worth it. In the evening we took the tube to Trafalgar Square, and sat and had a snack while watching the end of the Royal Opera's live broadcast of, you guessed it, "The Marriage of Figaro." (I'm getting really sick of this show.) Hundreds of people had gathered to see it on the huge screen, resting on the steps of the art museum and around the fountain at the bottom.
Hurrying before my time runs out -- more later,
-Allie
July 13th (England) - Relaxing
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For the last five weeks, I’ve thought Italy had the most laid-back people in the world. I was wrong.In the time since I’ve been here we’ve had tea numerous times, usually in the kitchen or out in the breakfast nook. Paul takes his time with nearly everything he does, including eating and drinking. I’ve learned that when he says “hurry up” in the morning, it means “be done with your fussing upstairs so we can spend a calm hour on breakfast.” He enjoys nothing more than sitting down to tea with friends, or even just with Emilie and me, and discussing the weather. Or yesterday's fete. Or his family. Or nothing at all. Many times the house has been so completely silent and relaxed that all I can hear is the ticking of the cuckoo clock on the wall; rather than enjoying the quiet, it actually makes me quite nervous. This type of environment doesn’t suit me well.
Anyway, I guess the Italians aren’t the only ones who enjoy life at a slower pace.
Regardless of my aversion to quiet, it is nice to be able to finally relax; the last few weeks in Italy haven’t been a true vacation, just work and performances with some sightseeing in-between. (Although when this adventure is over, I will probably still feel more comfortable in the noise and bustle of the States.)
Later,
-Al
p.s. Heading back to the house today after church, I stopped to pet the noses of two equine friends I made yesterday shortly after arrival (picture above). One of them is speckled grey and pretty tranquil, the other chocolate brown and a little more high-strung. They trot up to the fence when they see us coming to talk to them. Needless to say, I am very happy to have horses available for petting within walking distance from the house….
p.s. Heading back to the house today after church, I stopped to pet the noses of two equine friends I made yesterday shortly after arrival (picture above). One of them is speckled grey and pretty tranquil, the other chocolate brown and a little more high-strung. They trot up to the fence when they see us coming to talk to them. Needless to say, I am very happy to have horses available for petting within walking distance from the house….
July 12th (England) - Settling in
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Paul greeted us coming into the house last night. Paul is a family friend of the friend that I am visiting (both of us are staying at his house now due to changing circumstances the last couple of weeks). He is also a 94-year-old man in perfect health except for his eyesight and hearing, which are only negligibly worse than the rest of him. But he still reads, talks on the telephone, drives, and works on his “tapestry” every day. He’s thrilled to have both Emilie and I here with him for the time being, and brags to everyone how he has two girls from Ohio to do his work for him.The house itself is small, but cozy. Em and I sleep upstairs in the guest room, adjacent to a hallway overlooking the beautiful yard (pictured above). On the side of the house is a small sitting room where Paul allows me to practice violin. Downstairs is the kitchen and tea room, which opens out to the breakfast nook, a small cozy sun porch that overlooks the blossoming backyard. Stepping outside from the nook to the yard, I am swept up in the gentle scents of roses, lavender, honeysuckle, and sweet pea.
I thought when Paul mentioned two girls “working” for him it was a joke, but the first thing yesterday morning after breakfast he decided to send us out to pick berries in the garden. It was quite pleasant for a first experience in this new country – out in the comfort of a calm English backyard, picking fresh fruits – until I had my first experience with the stinging nettles, which I couldn’t seem to avoid…. In the end, Em and I picked nearly three pitchers-full of raspberries and currants, which are still sitting in the fridge waiting for us to do something with. Most likely we’ll make some currant jam one of these days… or just continue snacking on them raw.
Yesterday afternoon we attended the fete, a type of English fair that every town holds annually. Paul’s town’s fete was out on the green just across the street from his home, so we popped over for the afternoon. There were booths set up with food, games, and items to sell, mostly hand-crafted jewelry. At 4:00 a young group of guys in a rock band put on a set, so Paul went home and we girls stayed to hear the band. They did mostly covers, including (ironically) “Sweet Home Alabama” and one of our friends’ favorites, “500 Miles” by the Proclaimers.
Well, I guess I could have detailed everything in a little more structured way in this post, but my mind’s a bit fuzzy from the long couple of days of travel, and getting settled in. Tomorrow Emilie and I will travel to Winchester for the day, then from Tuesday-Friday we’ll be in London. Hopefully I’ll be able to have internet access sometime before the weekend, but in the meantime I'm just catching up on posting the last few days' writings as well as I can.
Till next time,
-Allie
July 11th - Travel
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So, bracing myself for a long day, I headed for the station. (And it was a long day, so if you don’t have time to read a lengthy entry then stop here.)As mentioned before, needing to stay in Rome was annoying, even though I knew it was necessary in order to catch the train. Obviously the first thought was to get a hotel, but this was just too expensive (from what I could find that night, prices ran from about €80-130 a room), so I decided to stay the night in the airport. Taking the 10:00 train from Arezzo left me arriving in Rome at about 12:30. When the security guard kicked me out of the station at 1, I knew I would be in for a long night – since now I didn’t have anywhere to stay, and seemingly no way to get to the airport, I didn’t exactly want to try to sleep on the street in a sketchy part of the city with a violin, purse, and suitcase around me. So I settled outside the station sitting on my luggage, and tried to think of ways to occupy myself until 5 a.m., when the next train would run to the airport.
Soon an old Indian taxi driver approached, asking if I needed a ride. When I told him no, I had already bought a train ticket for the next morning, he snapped out of business mode for a minute to advise me against staying where I was for the night. “Take a bus,” he said, switching to weak English, “there are many people drink tonight, dangerous for you.” He helped me find the bus times across the street, and left me there to wait for a shuttle bus to the airport that ran at 2:30 a.m. Even though I had already bought a ticket, I trusted both my gut instinct and a helpful stranger’s warning words and took the bus. Two separate fees was a small price to pay to ensure safety for the night.
The bus ride was mostly uneventful, and I had reached the point where I was beginning to be tired, so I started to doze off while driving across town. Suddenly I started awake seeing something out of the corner of my eye, and turned out the window to see the giant form of the Colosseum looming over the bus. It was lit up for nighttime, and since the curvature of the road wrapped closely around its borders, I was able to fully take in the view while we followed it for a good minute or two. As I gawked at the enormous stone structure, I didn’t have enough wits about me to pull out my camera... but I think this makes it more mysterious and fascinating to me as I will remember only its monstrous size sneaking up on me in the middle of the night.
I reached Fiumicino at about 3:30 a.m., and the place was almost totally deserted. Or so I thought, until I walked up the stairs looking for someplace to rest: there in front of me were probably 50 people stretched out on the couches, wrapped in blankets, luggage in piles on the floor next to them, no one awake. It was quiet and a little bit eerie, almost like an airport graveyard. I settled down for a nap, but only slept an hour or so until the place’s energy picked up again as passengers began to arrive to catch early-morning flights.
Going down to the gate around 7 a.m., I met a white-haired couple on my flight who were returning to Virginia from their 50th wedding anniversary trip to Italy. On seeing the violin, the husband said they had five children, all musical, one of them a pastor and one a missionary in Romania. We kept together while waiting, and they thanked me for “watching over” them while changing gates, even though the only thing I had done was to check the flight itinerary for the change.
The violin has become quite a conversation piece for travel. The next gate I met another couple who had been eyeing the case for several minutes before the man spoke up, asking if it was a violin or a viola. He is the director of music at a school in Hartford, and on further conversation I learned that their son is a singer and former member of Chanticleer, an internationally-known singing group who visited Oberlin last year and of which I own several CDs. I plan to read more about him when I have time.
The flight was uneventful, but quite scenic. The plane followed the Italian coast for most of the way (pictured above), and below the clouds, so I snapped pictures while traveling over the famed Isle of Elba and the beautiful Alps.
And then came customs.
I was stopped at the border getting into England for about two hours, where the workers held me as the desk as a traveler “under inspection.” The woman I talked to, an irritated-looking person with her hair pulled back in a tight bun and shiny pink lipstick that looked terrible, was entirely convinced that I was planning on doing something fishy while in the country. The problems she saw included:
-Me not having an address for where I was staying (of course I don’t have an address, I’m staying with a friend of my friend and my friend is the one taking me there)
-My friend being an American girl working with a family in England (this is probably the most legitimate, seeing as American nannies are illegal in this country without a visa, and the border control is wary… however, this is not the case with Emilie), and
-My “limited” cash supply (I told her I had 50 euro on my person and a couple thousand American dollars in credit).
To top things off, she decided to search every bit of my luggage. When she found my journal, she deliberately read as much of it as she could in the space of five minutes, and found one unfortunate sentence in my writing: “Now I don’t want to go to England.” The funny part of this (and what I explained to her, but in vain) is that if she had read the context, she would have seen that the implication was not that I didn’t want to go to England, but that I didn’t want to leave Italy. After two hours of interrogation, searching through my belongings, and making phone calls to the States, she pursed her bright pink lips up into a fake smile and reluctantly let me through. “But if I were you, I would strongly advise your nanny friend,” she added.
After nearly 24 straight hours of travel, Emilie finally picked me up, and I arrived at the house in Alton, about an hour south of London.
To be continued,
-Allie
July 10th - Leaving already?!
A few friends and I recently discovered a basement pizzeria near the convent, run by a high-energy, suntanned, middle-aged man who loves music. We were enjoying pizza and pasta there two nights ago when “Hotel California” came over the speakers, much to our delight. When he saw our reaction, he turned up the volume to fill the entire little restaurant, we being the only customers at the early hour of 8:00. Whenever he passed the table he played air guitar and sang along – I have to give him credit for knowing most of the words, even if they came out in a very thick Italian accent.The picture above is the pizza margherita I ordered there. I swear, I'm never having Papa John's again.
I was met with a rude awakening yesterday when I found out I would have to leave Italy earlier than expected. The trains didn’t run early enough in the morning for me to make the airport in time for my flight if I took the group bus with the other students, which meant I would have to leave the previous evening and somehow stay in Rome overnight. So I quickly gathered myself, packed in about 20 minutes flat, and began to say my goodbyes. The students I wasn’t worried about – most of them I would see in Oberlin in a month anyhow – but I absolutely couldn’t leave without seeing a few people from the town.
Unfortunately, with this short notice change of plans there was no time to find so many of the locals that I had gotten to know. I don’t know if I’m disappointed about this, or if I’m glad – maybe too many goodbyes would have been too depressing. I knew I still had a long day of travel ahead and wanted to keep my spirits up as much as was possible under the circumstances. Maybe it’s also better to remember all the times I had talking with them, instead of my last memory being that of saying goodbye…. But there was one place that I had to go.
Going into Carlo’s shop, I approached with an unintentionally sad look on my face. Carlo frowned back at me as I walked in and asked what the matter was, and when I told him I had to leave that day instead of tomorrow, his face turned sad as well. As a formal goodbye, we exchanged home and email addresses, and Barbara gave me a thin cardboard tulip from the shop as a parting gift. Daniele, who I had texted to meet up there one last time, looked pretty shaken when he found out that I had to go so soon, which he quickly remedied with a cigarette. Then we all wandered outside and chatted for a few minutes; I asked Carlo if he would still be at the shop in a year, and with the customary accompanying hand gesture he answered, “Magari,” I hope so. I promised that if I were ever in town again I would come visit, and then left the two men standing by the rail smoking – just the way I first met them five weeks ago.
Later that night I passed by the cozy little shop one last time getting to the train station, but didn’t stop to go in, just waved to Carlo and yelled “ciao” in passing. I knew if I had gone in to say a final final goodbye I might not have gotten away without a few tears.
Closing the chapter on Italy,
-Allie
July 8th: People
Im posting from the internet cafe for the first time. Only 1.50 euro per hour to use the computers here - the downside is, the keyboard keys are different, and they feel funny. So excuse any typing errors for now, until I can go home and fix them on my laptop with AMERICAN keys.Recently I was introduced to the "Kebap place" down the street from the Convent... Normally Iàm not a fan of Middle >Eastern food, but this place is great. Evidently other students have been eating there for a while, and built up a nice chat history with the women who work there. Itàs two Turkish women, a son, and a man who looks like a husband-owner of the place. So I went a few times, or enough for one of the women to recognize me. One day this week I heard that they were going on vacation, and wouldnàt be returning until after we leave Italy. Once the news spread, all the Oberlin students flocked there on Saturday for the final day of kebaps (a type of lamb meat sandwich on pita bread -- I usually get mine with ketchup-mayo spread and lettuce, and onions, although they also offer French fries as toppings, among others.) While there, I spoke with one of the women and asked where they were going on vacation, to which she responded, her home country of Turkey. Then she added, "If you students are ever back in town, just let us know -- say youàre the Americans who were here studying music in 2008 and we,ll surely remember you." I wished her a good vacation, ordered my sandwich, and said goodbye to the little boy behind the counter, who had been staring at me with a confused expression on his face.
Marco, the young Italian actor, has become good friends with Caroline, an oboeist friend here who knows my sister from school in Michigan. After hearing her talk about the concerts, he decided to come see Figaro for our final performance, and judging by the grin on his face I saw when I had a chance to look up, he seemed to like it.
We returned to Blu Bar, Marcoàs parents place, again today for lunch. They are always happy to see us, and chat about our classes and upcoming concerts. While eating, it dawned on me that I would only be here for three more days, and that there were many people to say goodbye to, including Marcoàs family.
After a bad day last week where I couldnàt speak hardly a word of Italian for lack of sleep, I recharged at home and returned that evening to Carloàs bar with slightly greater success. Intending only to buy a drink and leave, I heard a frantic voice as I walked out the door: "Allie! English!" I reentered the store to find a petite British woman at the counter unsuccessfully trying to order one scoop of mascarpone in a cone. After helping her out, I asked what she was doing in Italy, and found out that she and her husband were vacationing. I then told her that I was heading to England in a few days, and we chatted about that for a few minutes. Once she left, I turned back to Carlo, who had been listening and trying to understand our conversation. He asked how much longer we were here, and when I told him, he made a sad face and mimed a letter: "You will write me?" I,ll send him and Barbara a postcard when I return to the States.
The trains are running for the first time in a couple of days, due to a transportation strike (affecting buses as well, from what Iàve heard). When asked about it in class, the Italian teachers seemed not to mind, saying that it happens every two or three months here, especially during the summer.
Ok, typing errors fixed and pics uploaded later.
-Allie
p.s. I am adding the picture above several days later, as I didn't have access to my album while in the internet cafe -- it's a shot I took of the antique market that took place last weekend. (I didn't buy anything.)
July 6th: Fourth of July??
One funny thing I forgot to mention was the lack of an Independence Day here.Well, duh, we're not in America. But it was still strange not to celebrate. Many of us had forgotten altogether (myself included), until a quiet ripple began to spread among the students: "hey guys, it's the Fourth of July." Oh yeah, right. Now the question was: what do we do?
The obvious answer was to go to Bloom, the self-proclaimed "foreign bar," order some American drinks, and have our own celebration off in the corner. However, seeing as the opera let out so late, that wasn't a possibility. Or at least not a smart one.
So, on the ride to Cortona that evening, someone started singing "The Star-Spangled Banner," and we half-heartedly joined in. That was it. No fireworks, no more patriotic songs, and no red-white-and-blue. Having never been out of the country before, it was the first big American holiday that I've missed, and it felt strange.
Oh well. Maybe we'll make up for it this Labor Day. I know I'm buying fireworks, at least.
Ciao,
-Al
p.s. (the picture above isn't mine)
July 6th: Catching up
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It's getting harder and harder to update as we get closer to the end of the program. Things are pretty busy.We're full-on into the opera right now, and it's pretty intense. There are four performances total -- tonight is our last -- with two casts in three different locations near Arezzo (Cortona, Sansepolcro, and Castiglion Fiorentino). We have large charter buses that shuttle everyone back and forth from Arezzo to the concert venues, which are great except that the overhead bins don't hold violins. Anyway, since the Italian people take their time with every aspect of life, it makes sense that evening concerts wouldn't start until 9 pm. And that's a lazy 9 pm -- it's usually more like 9:15 or 9:30. So do the math -- if the opera is four hours long, we're not getting home and in bed until well after 2 a.m. every night. Fortunately, the Italian teachers are gracious and allowed us to set back our class time until the afternoon, for the duration of the opera performances.
That said, many of the language classes have been cancelled altogether. They understand that music is our main focus here, so they allowed us to take a few days' break last week. Now that means not only is our test on Thursday (help!), but we've also had time to forget everything we learned in the past couple of weeks. And forget studying -- it's been hard enough just to stay awake with the crazy time schedule everyone's been on. Saturday "morning" I woke up and was shocked to find that it was actually 3 in the afternoon.... but, I guess I needed it.
Some of the kids' parents are visiting Italy to see the performances, and I'm a little jealous. I wish my family could be here too.
Going back to the Italians taking their time with life... that's one thing I really like about it here. Remember how I've said that the locals find it strange that we eat on the run? I actually am beginning to understand that. When I grab a ham and mozzarella panino per portare via, for takout, I find myself wondering whether it's actually necessary that I get it to go. And a lot of the time, the answer is no. Yesterday, for example -- I was in such a habit of getting food fast that I didn't stop to think that I didn't really need to be anywhere in a hurry. So rather than running with it, I sat down outside the cafe with a few friends and had a nice conversation while eating my freshly-made panino. It was a very pleasant change.
I haven't even seen anyone here eating while walking, let alone eating while working or driving. Even to go for a caffe', they deliberately stand at the counter and sip it slowly, making conversation with the bar owner or other customers. It's a nice change of pace.
Also, the time schedule of this culture is really different. For the first couple of weeks we were here, no one could figure out why stores seemed to close at random at strange times of the day. It was actually a little frustrating, since the afternoon is often the only time that we have free to do shopping, get groceries, etc.Then someone informed us that the town takes a break from 1-4 every afternoon, which we call their siesta time (although that's probably not really what it is). For these few hours, most stores shut down, and there are fewer people out on the streets. Everything re-opens late afternoon and the restaurants start preparing for dinner, which actually doesn't happen until 8 or 9. Then, naturally, everyone is out until 1 or 2 in the morning -- even on weeknights -- which is why it's not unusual to them for the opera to end at 1:30. It's as if they have their quiet time in the afternoon to allow them to stay out as late as they want. Who knows, maybe that's actually the point. Either way, I kind of like it. Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever seen an Italian in a hurry -- these people just have a natural sense of taking it easy that makes everything around here really leisurely and enjoyable.
So while my dining habits probably won't be any different when I return to the States, it's really nice to enjoy here while I can.
(The picture above is the sign hanging outside the theater where we performed in Cortona.)
More later,
-Allie
June 27th: Chamber music and Marco
(Hold on, I'll get to the guy in the picture in a minute....)This weekend ends our time of playing musica di camera, chamber music. We had three concerts the evenings of the 25th-27th to wrap things up, and now we segway into the opera, Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro, which we have five days to put together before the performances next week.
Unfortunately, our Beethoven septet for winds and strings was doomed from the beginning. Due to a combination of a sick horn player and my ridiculously long hospital visit, we had to put off the piece until the last concert, and then we only played one movement after rehearsing three. But, it was enough to get to play it at all, and we pulled it off pretty well, regardless of the fact that the wind was so strong we missed notes trying to keep our music on the stands.
All three of our concerts took place outdoors, and the venues were incredible. The first was at an outdoor ancient-Greek-looking amphitheater, complete with the rounded terraced steps -- I know there's a name for this I just can't think of it. The second, in a large stone building with pillars, statues, and no roof (okay, semi-outdoors), and the third, on top of a hill in a small quiet town overlooking the mountains nearby. Although it's always difficult to perform outside for acoustical reasons, the spaces were beautiful, the audience welcomed us, and the performances all went very well.
The day of the first concert, I ate at a local bar with Caroline while waiting for the bus. The couple who works there has seen us American students often, and usually try to make friendly conversation while we eat, as is customary for the small family-owned restaurants in town. That day the father asked us why we had our instruments with us, so we told him we were musicisti playing a concert that night out of town. Then he told us about his son, an actor in Rome. Caroline and I were both politely impressed, and asked questions about his work. So the father promptly began to pull out publicity photos of his son, a nice-looking 24-year-old acting student, followed by newspaper articles and magazine clippings. While we couldn't quite understand what the nature of his acting career was (it seemed like he played a part on a soap opera type of show as well as a popular cop drama), evidently this kid's pretty big in Italy. The dad offered to give us his email address and let us know when he'd be in town, which he was a couple of days later -- Caroline and Patrick had the chance to talk with him at Mr. Bloom a few nights ago.
Just in case you're curious, the kid's name is Marco Iannitello (the pic above isn't mine, obviously), and here's a couple of links I found to his publicity pages:
Piu presto (more soon),
-Allie
June 26th: Sprained Ankle
No picture for this post... you wouldn't want to see it anyway.
For the last three days, I have been in a bandage and walking with a crutch, the result of a sprained left ankle. Starting from the day I skipped the trip to Siena, the pain and swelling had only gotten worse, so finally I decided to see the doctor. He said it was probably a sprain, but was also worried about a possible small fracture, so he told me to get x-rays. So on Thursday, I headed over to the city hospital (fortunately, right across the street from the university) to get it checked out.
I arrived with Danilo, the office worker employed with the Oberlin program, at about 9:15 a.m. Since Italian is his first language, he was able to help me through the initial checking-in process at the pronto soccorso (emergency room), which was a relief. After that though, he had to return to the office, so I was alone. I'll admit I was a little nervous, but there were people around who helped me out. While standing in line at about noon for x-ray results, one friendly 30-something man with a broken finger joked with me, saying that the wait "probably isn't making a very good impression on you during your vacation." "No," I assured him, "it's the same way in the U.S." ...Little did I know I would be there until 5:30 that afternoon, totaling about eight hours in the hospital that day: once I got x-rays done, I was forced to wait for a couple more hours until I could get results, and then several more until I could actually get in to see the doctor. The x-rays were fortunately negative for a fracture, but I did have a nasty sprain, probably aggravated by the huge amount of walking we students do every day. The doctor advised me in a mix of Italian and very bad English to keep the bandage on for 3-4 days and "no walk."
So, I took the bandage off today, and am feeling a lot better. Keeping weight off the ankle for the weekend has been good, and given it the time it needed to start actually healing. In the meantime, the other students haven't let me hear the end of it... nicknames this week included "Crutchy," "Hobbles," "Lamey," "Tiny Tim," and "Itzhak Perlman." Danilo, after finding out that I'm also recovering from a bad cold and an ear infection, promptly dubbed me "Disaster," and so far that one's stuck.
More soon,
-Al
For the last three days, I have been in a bandage and walking with a crutch, the result of a sprained left ankle. Starting from the day I skipped the trip to Siena, the pain and swelling had only gotten worse, so finally I decided to see the doctor. He said it was probably a sprain, but was also worried about a possible small fracture, so he told me to get x-rays. So on Thursday, I headed over to the city hospital (fortunately, right across the street from the university) to get it checked out.
I arrived with Danilo, the office worker employed with the Oberlin program, at about 9:15 a.m. Since Italian is his first language, he was able to help me through the initial checking-in process at the pronto soccorso (emergency room), which was a relief. After that though, he had to return to the office, so I was alone. I'll admit I was a little nervous, but there were people around who helped me out. While standing in line at about noon for x-ray results, one friendly 30-something man with a broken finger joked with me, saying that the wait "probably isn't making a very good impression on you during your vacation." "No," I assured him, "it's the same way in the U.S." ...Little did I know I would be there until 5:30 that afternoon, totaling about eight hours in the hospital that day: once I got x-rays done, I was forced to wait for a couple more hours until I could get results, and then several more until I could actually get in to see the doctor. The x-rays were fortunately negative for a fracture, but I did have a nasty sprain, probably aggravated by the huge amount of walking we students do every day. The doctor advised me in a mix of Italian and very bad English to keep the bandage on for 3-4 days and "no walk."
So, I took the bandage off today, and am feeling a lot better. Keeping weight off the ankle for the weekend has been good, and given it the time it needed to start actually healing. In the meantime, the other students haven't let me hear the end of it... nicknames this week included "Crutchy," "Hobbles," "Lamey," "Tiny Tim," and "Itzhak Perlman." Danilo, after finding out that I'm also recovering from a bad cold and an ear infection, promptly dubbed me "Disaster," and so far that one's stuck.
More soon,
-Al
June 21st: Giostra di Saracino
Ok, now that I told that story, I can go back to the original post.Today was the daytrip to Siena. I decided not to go because I’m not feeling too well. I’ve had a sore throat for the past few days, and I’m also nursing a swollen left ankle – a recurring problem, not serious, but also not something that I want to make worse by taking an on-foot guided trip through a big city. So today will be spent on housekeeping matters in my room instead – clothes put away, postcards sent to friends, laptop battery charged, and blog updated. Also I just spent an hour doing laundry, which is possible with the help of a huge bottle of detergivo I bought at the supermarket. The convent is the only student housing where there’s no washer and dryer, and I’m not sure it's possible to tote all my dirty laundry across town to one of the apartments, where it would cost me 7 euro per load.
Anyway, now the fun part.
Last night was Giostra del Saracino (Saracen Joust), the biggest annual event in Arezzo. Since Wikipedia can give you the brief summary of the day and its significance better than I can, here's the link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saracen_Joust
Erin (bass player) and I decided to team up and stick together for the evening, since we both wanted to go right after dinner. None of us really knew what time to show up; the tickets said 9:30, but we heard through the grapevine that there were other things going on for a few hours beforehand. It’s a good thing we went out earlier, otherwise we would have missed the citywide procession into the arena. Beginning at about 7:00, the crowd of locals started gathering around the Duomo, where everyone involved in the spettacolo had gotten into costume. Then, in time with the music of the trumpets and drums, they marched from the cathedral to the arena. The procession of nearly 400 involved included musicians, flag-bearers, archers, noblemen on horseback, even a few little kids in character as pages or something... and finally, the riders themselves.
This probably lasted for an hour and a half or two hours, while the people of Arezzo roamed around the city to catch different parts of the procession. We mostly just followed the crowd, and ended up seeing the whole train twice. The first time we had missed the flag-bearers at the beginning – the sbandieratori I saw prepping in Cortona last weekend – so the second time we got to see the actual display of waving and twirling and throwing, although we had to jump up on a ledge to see over the crowd.
Describing the scene doesn’t do it justice. This was the biggest thing I had seen since getting here. From 6:00 to the time the procession ended, the church bells rang incessantly, the drums boomed out the march rhythm, and the trumpets blared simple medieval tunes in time with the drums. Of course, in the old town (the part within the walls where we live), its historical significance is huge – the first giostra took place in the year 1535, and it's been an event off-and-on ever since Renaissance times, but was definitively restored as a historical reenactment in 1931. Literally the entire town turns out to watch the procession and joust. For the Arezzo locals, it's not just a fun evening, it's a matter of regional pride.
Somehow we figured out where the entrance to the arena was, and made our way in right as the announcer started introducing the event. Oberlin students got $5 standing-room tickets. The four jousters represent the four quarters of the city, and we ended up settling in the corner of the colors of Porta Sant' Andrea – my quarter. (This is pretty much completely arbitrary for Oberlin students, but most of us chose the colors of the quarter of the city in which our housing was located. I picked green-and-white for Sant' Andrea, even though it’s not where the convent is located, only because someone had bought me a Sant' Andrea scarf the night before at Mr. Bloom. These are also Carlo’s family’s colors, which is fortunate, because he had only half-jokingly threatened to withhold gelato from Mara when he saw her wearing fuschia and gold last week, and I didn't want the same to happen to me.)
The joust was pretty cool, although not as exciting as the procession. After about forty minutes of buildup (medieval music, sbandieratori, processions within the arena, the announcing of the four quarters), the runs began. The jousters flew from one corner of the stadium to the other to hit a huge knight-sized dummy, the goal being to hit as close to the center of the target to score as many points as possible. Each rider ran twice, for a total of 8 runs throughout the evening, after each of which the score was tallied and the result blared over the loudspeaker by the announcer.
Because Lauren and her roommates went home slightly earlier than the others, and I wanted to get to town with someone else instead of walking alone, I left with them after the final run. By the time I got to the gelateria, where Carlo, Max, and another regular had been watching the end of the event on local TV, the result was in. The victor was the jouster of Porta Crucifera, a different quarter than anyone I knew lived in. As the event wrapped up, other Oberlin students streamed into the gelateria. When Carlo saw Mara, he made peace by way of a sad face and a point at her scarf, saying, “We lose together.”
Just like after the soccer matches, the town went crazy. People in cars blaring their horns, people waving flags, kids shouting, and bars packed. I walked into town with a friend, where we ran into Azzurra and Luciano, ordered some drinks, and watched the proud victors march past our bar chanting and yelling. A general murmur of disgust rippled through the bar, as the marchers were on another quarter's turf and no one in the bar was with the Porta Crucifera. I'm still not sure if this joust is actually an extremely competitive thing, or if it's more friendly competition, but it sure didn't seem like it then. Like I said, it's about regional pride, and the Italians are fiercely devoted to their roots.
The picture at the top is of one of the musicians as he marched by in the procession.
More soon,
-Allie
June 22nd: Trapped
Whoa, that was the scariest thing that's happened to me in a long time.
I came downstairs about ten minutes ago to use the wireless, and on the way I stopped in the bathroom. As I went into the stall, the door slammed shut behind me, and must have gotten jammed, because it wouldn't open. (The handle is weird too -- it's like fat and short with a button on the top to press when you're ready to leave.)
This wouldn't normally have been a dire situation, except that in these bathrooms, there's solid stone walls dividing them -- not like the swinging hinge doors we have with the space underneath to slide through if it locks. It's solid stone all around, and the walls are about ten feet high. Seriously, there is NO way out of this thing.
So after I fiddled with the handle for a minute longer, I used the emergency cord on the wall above the toilet, there because I had chosen the handicapped stall. I rang the alarm several times, but no one came up. I doubt they could hear it at the desk downstairs, since it only sounded througout the hall and this convent is freaking huge. So I started yelling "Help!" and "Is anyone there?" in both languages, hoping someone would pass by.
And of course, this is the day that everyone except me took a field trip to Siena.
The drawn-out scenario replayed in my head: I'm stuck for the rest of the day, no one comes by, my roommates wonder where I am but figure I'm just at the bar and decide to go to sleep without me, no one misses me until tomorrow night, by which time I'm lying on the floor crazed and half-starved.
Ok, so I was only in the stall for 10 minutes. Eventually I figured out that the doorknob (or whatever the heck it is) was just jammed, and when I banged on it extra hard it clicked open.
But it was still really scary. That's the last time I ever use that stall. Ever.
More in a minute,
-Al
I came downstairs about ten minutes ago to use the wireless, and on the way I stopped in the bathroom. As I went into the stall, the door slammed shut behind me, and must have gotten jammed, because it wouldn't open. (The handle is weird too -- it's like fat and short with a button on the top to press when you're ready to leave.)
This wouldn't normally have been a dire situation, except that in these bathrooms, there's solid stone walls dividing them -- not like the swinging hinge doors we have with the space underneath to slide through if it locks. It's solid stone all around, and the walls are about ten feet high. Seriously, there is NO way out of this thing.
So after I fiddled with the handle for a minute longer, I used the emergency cord on the wall above the toilet, there because I had chosen the handicapped stall. I rang the alarm several times, but no one came up. I doubt they could hear it at the desk downstairs, since it only sounded througout the hall and this convent is freaking huge. So I started yelling "Help!" and "Is anyone there?" in both languages, hoping someone would pass by.
And of course, this is the day that everyone except me took a field trip to Siena.
The drawn-out scenario replayed in my head: I'm stuck for the rest of the day, no one comes by, my roommates wonder where I am but figure I'm just at the bar and decide to go to sleep without me, no one misses me until tomorrow night, by which time I'm lying on the floor crazed and half-starved.
Ok, so I was only in the stall for 10 minutes. Eventually I figured out that the doorknob (or whatever the heck it is) was just jammed, and when I banged on it extra hard it clicked open.
But it was still really scary. That's the last time I ever use that stall. Ever.
More in a minute,
-Al
June 17th: FORZA ITALIA!!
4: 35 pmElisa, Alex, and I went to the gelateria last night to watch THE GAME.
THE GAME was Italy vs. France competing for soccer quarterfinals in the Euro 2008. In Italy, this is equivalent to the Superbowl. It was especially huge last night in particular because the two countries are always in a sort of cultural feud (much like America and Canada except that they're actually serious). Every bar in town took reservations for 8:00, and Mr. Bloom actually turned away a crowd of Oberlin students because there just wasn't enough room in the building.
THE GAME was Italy vs. France competing for soccer quarterfinals in the Euro 2008. In Italy, this is equivalent to the Superbowl. It was especially huge last night in particular because the two countries are always in a sort of cultural feud (much like America and Canada except that they're actually serious). Every bar in town took reservations for 8:00, and Mr. Bloom actually turned away a crowd of Oberlin students because there just wasn't enough room in the building.
Italy were the victors, 2-0. For more on THE GAME, click here: http://msn.foxsports.com/soccer/story/8255454/Italy-advances-to-quarterfinals-with-2-0-win-over-France
After THE GAME, the town went crazy. Walking from the gelateria to the bar around 10:45, we saw kids running around town waving flags, heard shouts of "FORZA ITALIA!!" all over the place, and cars honking at anyone they passed on the street. Unfortunately, it rained all night, otherwise we would have gone down to the piazza where we saw the Italy-Netherlands game the first night we were here (probably the screen wasn't even set up due to the weather).
I can't believe how worked up these people get over a soccer match. Then again, it was France....
June 16th: Dancing
I forgot to mention what we saw last night.
Across from Mr. Bloom is a large square patio, which usually holds picnic tables and a small concession stand. During this week of Giostra di Saracino (the joust -- I think I mentioned this earlier), there is so much going on in the city of Arezzo and the surrounding areas.
Side note: we are staying in the "old town," which consists of the part of Arezzo within the walls. The city is actually a lot bigger than I thought at first, because of this.
Anyway, everyone is involved in the fun during this week. Even on a Monday night, there were lots of people around -- mostly young people -- partying, dancing, and having a good time.
Last night was the best though. A few of us walked over to the area where the kids were dancing -- there were probably a hundred, appearing to range from about preteen to college age. There was a DJ up on a small portable stage who held an electronic guitar and two keyboards, and appeared to be in his 50s or 60s. We watched the kids dance to the Y.M.C.A., the chicken dance, and Italian equivalents of party music. One song looked like the electric slide; I couldn't quite make out the lyrics, but it was basically a guy shouting out directions that the kids followed -- step to the left, clap your hands, etc. There was one blonde girl flitting from guy to guy and dancing like crazy, so as we were observing, Daniele kept laughing and calling her a puttana, a little slut.
I'm not sure why I found this so fascinating -- it's exactly what we do in America -- but something about seeing all the young people having fun made me want to get up and dance with them.
Ok -- bedtime!
-Al
Across from Mr. Bloom is a large square patio, which usually holds picnic tables and a small concession stand. During this week of Giostra di Saracino (the joust -- I think I mentioned this earlier), there is so much going on in the city of Arezzo and the surrounding areas.
Side note: we are staying in the "old town," which consists of the part of Arezzo within the walls. The city is actually a lot bigger than I thought at first, because of this.
Anyway, everyone is involved in the fun during this week. Even on a Monday night, there were lots of people around -- mostly young people -- partying, dancing, and having a good time.
Last night was the best though. A few of us walked over to the area where the kids were dancing -- there were probably a hundred, appearing to range from about preteen to college age. There was a DJ up on a small portable stage who held an electronic guitar and two keyboards, and appeared to be in his 50s or 60s. We watched the kids dance to the Y.M.C.A., the chicken dance, and Italian equivalents of party music. One song looked like the electric slide; I couldn't quite make out the lyrics, but it was basically a guy shouting out directions that the kids followed -- step to the left, clap your hands, etc. There was one blonde girl flitting from guy to guy and dancing like crazy, so as we were observing, Daniele kept laughing and calling her a puttana, a little slut.
I'm not sure why I found this so fascinating -- it's exactly what we do in America -- but something about seeing all the young people having fun made me want to get up and dance with them.
Ok -- bedtime!
-Al
June 16th: observations
If you imitate an Italian with a heavy accent attemping to speak English, you will sound like Borat. This has become a recurring joke among us Oberlin students, but the more I hear it the more it's true. The word that really sticks out to us is when they try to say "Okay" -- a simple two-syllable word gets sort of drawn out into a long, elaborate sound more like "Oh-ka-i-ee." I wonder if they get confused by the "ay" at the end and think it needs an extra turn....
So at this point, you're probably wondering where all the alleged music is happening. I haven't said much, if anything, about what's going on at the university. But this is because all we're doing so far is rehearsing. For the instrumentalists, we just have rehearsals, coachings, and solo practice each day, so there's not really much to talk about with that. It looks like we're going to have a concert next weekend on Eine Kleine Nachtmusik and the Barber Adagio....
Mr. Bloom has quickly become the default location for any of us who want to a) get something to drink, b) watch a soccer match, c) just hang out, or d) find out where all the Oberlin students are any given night. Since it's right up the street, it's a great place to go if we're on our way home but don't quite want to go to bed yet. I showed up with Ishmael at 9, and there were five others who had already been there for a while. We always sit in the same corner, and evidently so do a couple other groups of young kids in a touring theater program from Dublin, so the last few nights we've been chilling with them more often than not.... Tonight we didn't get any food or drink, just said hi and left within a half hour or so, but we plan to return tomorrow. And probably the next night after that as well.
Some of the sinks here are pedal-operated. this has been hard to get used to. The first time I encountered one, I didn't see the pedal on the floor and assumed it was broken. I don't really like them; it feels like I'm driving a porcelain car.
Ok, time to check Facebook quickly and then a letto, to bed. (I wish I could upload pics onto Facebook now, but the connection here is too slow. I'll try sometime soon and see how it goes.)
Ciao,
-Al
So at this point, you're probably wondering where all the alleged music is happening. I haven't said much, if anything, about what's going on at the university. But this is because all we're doing so far is rehearsing. For the instrumentalists, we just have rehearsals, coachings, and solo practice each day, so there's not really much to talk about with that. It looks like we're going to have a concert next weekend on Eine Kleine Nachtmusik and the Barber Adagio....
Mr. Bloom has quickly become the default location for any of us who want to a) get something to drink, b) watch a soccer match, c) just hang out, or d) find out where all the Oberlin students are any given night. Since it's right up the street, it's a great place to go if we're on our way home but don't quite want to go to bed yet. I showed up with Ishmael at 9, and there were five others who had already been there for a while. We always sit in the same corner, and evidently so do a couple other groups of young kids in a touring theater program from Dublin, so the last few nights we've been chilling with them more often than not.... Tonight we didn't get any food or drink, just said hi and left within a half hour or so, but we plan to return tomorrow. And probably the next night after that as well.
Some of the sinks here are pedal-operated. this has been hard to get used to. The first time I encountered one, I didn't see the pedal on the floor and assumed it was broken. I don't really like them; it feels like I'm driving a porcelain car.
Ok, time to check Facebook quickly and then a letto, to bed. (I wish I could upload pics onto Facebook now, but the connection here is too slow. I'll try sometime soon and see how it goes.)
Ciao,
-Al
June 15th: Cortona
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June 15, MondayI came downstairs to meet Daniele outside the convent yesterday at 1:15, having lost track of time. When he asked why I was late, I replied jokingly, aren’t the Italians always late? “Certo, ma non io,” he smiled and replied, sure but I’m not, and made a face that said, what kind of guy do you think I am? I’m still not sure whether he was actually slightly offended, or just amused….
He suggested we try Azzurra’s parents’ restaurant, which turned out to be a great idea. Just a few streets away from the convent, it’s a small cozy café-ish place that opens up to outdoor patio seating in the back. Azzurra’s brother greeted us at the door and sat us at one of the patio tables, and I spent most of the rest of the time gawking at the stone buildings with garden terraces surrounding the tiny restaurant. The bright sun was out early that day, which made the place even more picturesque. Daniele reassured me that even though the Italians see these sort of things every day, they still find them beautiful. I was glad. Lucky people.
A few minutes later we met their mother and father who were working in the back. At some point during the dinner, all three came over to the table for an extended conversation with Daniele, and then they politely ask me simple questions about where I’m from, why I am here, etc. This has been my experience with just about any restaurant or café in town, going back to the first night we ate at the pizzeria during the soccer match – it seems that the locals never hesitate to approach a fellow customer and initiate friendly conversation.
This was also the case with our next visitor at the table, a funny arrogant old man who chatted for ten minutes with Daniele before he gestured to me and asked who I was. When he found out I am American with Italian roots, he proceeded to lean back and study my face for a long time before definitively pronouncing me Italian and Scottish. We both laughed as I replied that while I did have Scottish/Irish blood, I am actually as much German as Italian. Apparently the old gentleman did not believe this for a second. “Mezzo e mezzo” he said, half-and-half, meaning Italian and Scottish. “You are too nice a girl to be German. The German girls are… how do you say it…?” He was attempting to explain that my personality does not fit the cold and reserved type that is a German woman, which I finally understood when he made a haughty face, and then leaned over to a nearby metal pole and tapped on it.
Later that day we took a trip to Cortona, a town about 20 minutes from Arezzo and where Daniele used to work. Cortona is situated several thousand feet up a mountain, so we had to take a tassi from the train station to the top. The driver, clearly used to this sort of thing, took the twists and turns a little fast for my liking – much like how I felt when I first rode with my aunt up the switchbacks in the mountains near L.A. Once we reached the top, I was overwhelmed by what I saw. The main street has a breathtaking panoramic view of the city below (named Camucia), a huge lake, and other mountains in the distance. I sat for probably 20 minutes just staring out over the cliff rail before Daniele urged me to keep walking – as we were going to reach the top by foot, we still had a long way to go.
At the crest of the mountain is an ancient Catholic church, where we stopped in briefly to watch the end of a traditional mass, and then filed in line to see the remains of a saint long-dead. I was a little shocked to see that the glass case displayed her actual decaying but preserved body at the front of the church. After grabbing a quick drink, we returned down the trail, but not before I got the amazing chance to capture the picture above… it’s the enormous mountain serving as a backdrop to a tiny butterfly Daniele spotted perched on a weed.
At the midway point of the mountain (with the view I referred to earlier) is the actual town. Returning to the town square we saw a ceremony of flag-bearers, sbandieratori, giving a presentation complete with music and period medieval clothing, and Daniele pointed out for me the flag displaying the colors of Arezzo.
We returned to Arezzo late that evening, where we met a few Oberlin friends at Mr. Bloom and ordered some dinner. I had a cheeseburger for the first time in ages, but this was no American cheeseburger – it was a delicious huge slice of beef, with gooey melted cheese and the red and green tomatoes native to the country. When I commented on how great it was, Ishmael told me that even the McDonald’s restaurants here are gourmet. From what I hear, their burgers also cost about 7 euro – equivalent to 10-12 bucks now – but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s worth it.
It was a long day of sightseeing. The view from the mountain, my favorite part of the entire day, can only really be described in pictures…
A presto,
-Allie
June 15th: Azzurra and Luciano
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June 14th, SundayNot more than two hours after I wrote that last entry, I got my answer in the form of three young local people.
I walked with a friend to the gelateria, to get a snack and ask Carlo what there is to do around here on a Saturday night. There was a young couple there that happened to overhear the conversation, and put in their two cents as well. The girl's name is Azzurra - one word for "blue" in Italian - and her boyfriend is Luciano; they are 22 and 23 respectively. Azzurra was very helpful and let me know in a very nice way that there is absolutely nothing fun to do in the town of Arezzo... but, if we wanted to wait until next weekend, we could take a group bus from the "Information for Youth" building down the street when it makes its weekly run to the discoteca in the next town over. We decided to keep this in mind.
Carlo listened to this conversation for a few minutes, but then decided to refer me to Daniele -- his younger friend who's at the gelateria often -- since we were closer in age. He called his cell, which was pretty embarassing because he insisted that I talk, and it's incredibly difficult to understand anyone speak a foreign language if you aren't standing right in front of them watching their lips move. So I gave up and handed the phone back to him.
Side note -- recently I learned that most Italians have more than one cell phone. At least one for work and one for friends, and sometimes another, although I'm not sure what you could possibly need a third for. (A guy in the gelateria joked that it's for married guys with a girlfriend on the side.)
Anyway, Carlo got Daniele (who was apparently sitting at home doing nothing) to come over to the gelateria and help us out. We were talking for a while when three other Oberlin students came in wanting to buy wine for their apartment. Turns out Azzurra's dad owns a restaurant that sells wine, located two streets over from the gelateria, and her brother was working there at the time and could get them a discount. So we all made the trek over to the restaurant, then after agreeing to meet up with Azzurra, Luciano, and Daniele later that night, the two groups went our separate ways.
We reconvened at Mr. Bloom, a favorite local bar of Oberlin students, where we hung out with the three Italians for several hours. At one point, while hanging around outside, a middle-aged scraggly-looking woman sauntered past nursing a beer, and the three started discreetly laughing and making fun... evidently she's the sort of town crazy of Arezzo. During a conversation with her a few minutes later, I started to get the picture. She told me she's a huge fan of Bruce Springsteen, and really wants to visit Tennessee. (uh... that wasn't initially intended to be a punchline.)
So, in the end I was super happy to get to meet some people closer to my age that aren't sketchballs. Azzurra is very sweet, and said that they go to Mr. Bloom's often. (As this is the hangout spot for Oberlin kids about every other night, chances are we'll probably run into them again.) Her boyfriend, while shy at first, was also a pretty nice guy, and fun. When I made a comment to Azzurra about his gauged ear, he promptly stuck an unlit cigarette through the hole and made a weird noise. Charming.
Another side note -- All the Italians I've met have been chain smokers. Like... seriously, everyone here smokes cigarettes, all the time. I knew this was the case, but didn't realize the extent until now.... anyway...
Daniele I've known for a while, since we're both in and out of Carlo's gelateria often. He's a huge fan of Green Day, and has "Basket Case" as his ringtone. Although he's pretty good with elementary English, it's still hilarious to watch him sing along.... After making plans to get lunch with him the following day, we all went home. It was 4 a.m.
A lot happened yesterday too, but my wrists are cramping up from typing. More in a bit....
Ciao,
-Allie
June 14th: Barriers
Didn't have time to post this yesterday....
5:00 pm
I'm getting a little frustrated. I realize that this is probably premature since we've only been here for a week, but I'm disappointed that I don't have easy ways to interact with the people of Arezzo -- especially the kids my age.
Of course I can speak some Italian, but that doesn’t help much when you don’t know anyone you can speak it with. And while the Italians are very friendly people, I can't exactly just randomly introduce myself to someone and start making conversation. It’s so much fun to talk to someone new. Unfortunately, there’s no practical (or safe) way that I can think of to meet someone my age.
There are acquaintances around town, and that's fun. I speak to the desk lady (Paola) on a regular basis when entering or leaving the convent, and often I stop in the gelateria to say hi to the owner (Carlo) (and get gelato of course). But these things aren't really satisfactory, they're just ways I can be friendly and practice my conversational skills. Also, before I left for Arezzo, I had been communicating with as many Italians as I could on Skype. While it helps my command of the language a lot, it doesn’t help with this problem. Obviously I can’t just arrange to meet with someone who lives nearby and hang out, because it’s dangerous and creepy. Same thing for conversation at one of the many bars around here.
(By the way, the Italian bar is different than the American bar – what we think of as a sketchy place to drink and eat cheap food late on a Friday night, is actually more of a normal restaurant here in Italy. So if you hear me talking about my friends and me going to a bar, it doesn’t necessarily mean we were drinking the night away with total strangers. Just thought I should clear that up.)
(By the way, the Italian bar is different than the American bar – what we think of as a sketchy place to drink and eat cheap food late on a Friday night, is actually more of a normal restaurant here in Italy. So if you hear me talking about my friends and me going to a bar, it doesn’t necessarily mean we were drinking the night away with total strangers. Just thought I should clear that up.)
I’m feeling a sort of connection with people here that I hadn’t expected. They tease that it's hereditary (they know mia mamma is Sicilian by ancestry), but more likely I just enjoy them for the kind of people they are -- most Italians are relatively carefree, friendly and happy, if not the most industrial…. I just wish there were some way to talk to them without it being weird or dangerous.
Anyway, sometimes I just wonder if I'm unnecessarily missing out on stuff. After all, this is why I decided to take language lessons and attend this program. I find Italy beautiful and fascinating, and I don’t want to pass up great opportunities to explore the culture and get to know the people just because I’m not supposed to talk to strangers. At the same time, I realize that it is completely necessary to be safe, 100% of the time, especially thousands of miles from home. So I hope it makes sense what's frustrating.
There’s got to be some middle ground here, I just haven’t found it yet.
A domani (Until tomorrow),
-Allie
A domani (Until tomorrow),
-Allie
June 14th: Trees
3:25 pmOk, I am officially caught up on posts from the last week! I am posting this in REAL TIME, and from now on can keep the updates coming more regularly.
Before I forget...
The trees in the picture above -- and also at the top of the preceding post -- I find these fascinating. They grow everywhere here. I think they look like trees in the Sahara, with those really tall trunks, and no leaves until the top. The question is, are they real? Jeff says he examined them and it seems like they are made to look like that, all the branches from the canopy down cut off to be decorative.
I still think they're pretty cool. Those and the wild poppies stand out to me as really unique kinds of vegetation here.
A presto (later),
-Allie
June 14th
June 14, Saturday2:05 pm
Last night we all put on our nicest clothes and went to a formal dinner at the city hall. The mayor gave a speech, which my table couldn’t hear very well, so we just sat and enjoyed the delicious meat, desserts and chianti. I have yet to find a favorite food here in Arezzo, but the noodles with white meat sauce they served there was amazing.
I think in the end, pistachio gelato will still win out.
After the dinner, some of our advanced vocal students gave a brief concert. As we finished our meals, men in medieval attire began streaming into the hall and up the stairs, where there was an event taking place to choose the riders for an upcoming event in the city, Giostra di Saracino (Joust of Saracino). The room was very crowded, so a few friends and I decided to cut out and go explore the town instead.
After about an hour of wandering, we finally met up with some other Oberlin students at a place called Mr. Bloom (really), where everyone had some drinks and hung out for a while. I was surprised that the bar played all American club music the whole night – Usher, Pussycat Dolls, Mariah Carey, etc.… and I don’t think it’s because they knew we were there, which is what one of the students said. Even in the piazzas and restaurants, there’s usually American pop music playing. The owner of the gelateria and others I have talked to who play guitar usually list as their favorites as including Bruce Springsteen, Aerosmith, and Neil Young. (Popular opinion seems to dislike metal though.) It’s amazing what an impact our entertainment has on this country, even in an old historic town like Arezzo.
When I woke up this morning at 9:30 (WOW did it feel good to sleep in), the sun was shining brightly over the entire city. We had rehearsal on the Beethoven septet at 11. By the time we were done at 12 it was pouring rain again – a friend and I had to walk to get some lunch huddled under an umbrella, and our feet got muddy on the streets. Now, as I sit in my room back at the convent, the sun’s out again. I feel like I never left Ohio.
When it rains though, it rains in torrents. I haven’t figured out how the weather works here – I’m not really sure whether it’s influenced by any nearby lakes or other geographical factors – but I do know we’re up in the mountains. Like I said, it’s pretty cool to look out the window across the town and see the other huge mountaintop. Sometimes there’s a visible difference in the weather from here to there.
Well, it’s a free afternoon for me, so I have lots of time for a short pisolino (nap) before I meet friends for the concert tonight. I’d rather do that now, and update later – although it will be Saturday night, we leave for Florence tomorrow morning at 8:45, so I doubt anyone will be out for long.
Ciao,
-Allie
After about an hour of wandering, we finally met up with some other Oberlin students at a place called Mr. Bloom (really), where everyone had some drinks and hung out for a while. I was surprised that the bar played all American club music the whole night – Usher, Pussycat Dolls, Mariah Carey, etc.… and I don’t think it’s because they knew we were there, which is what one of the students said. Even in the piazzas and restaurants, there’s usually American pop music playing. The owner of the gelateria and others I have talked to who play guitar usually list as their favorites as including Bruce Springsteen, Aerosmith, and Neil Young. (Popular opinion seems to dislike metal though.) It’s amazing what an impact our entertainment has on this country, even in an old historic town like Arezzo.
When I woke up this morning at 9:30 (WOW did it feel good to sleep in), the sun was shining brightly over the entire city. We had rehearsal on the Beethoven septet at 11. By the time we were done at 12 it was pouring rain again – a friend and I had to walk to get some lunch huddled under an umbrella, and our feet got muddy on the streets. Now, as I sit in my room back at the convent, the sun’s out again. I feel like I never left Ohio.
When it rains though, it rains in torrents. I haven’t figured out how the weather works here – I’m not really sure whether it’s influenced by any nearby lakes or other geographical factors – but I do know we’re up in the mountains. Like I said, it’s pretty cool to look out the window across the town and see the other huge mountaintop. Sometimes there’s a visible difference in the weather from here to there.
Well, it’s a free afternoon for me, so I have lots of time for a short pisolino (nap) before I meet friends for the concert tonight. I’d rather do that now, and update later – although it will be Saturday night, we leave for Florence tomorrow morning at 8:45, so I doubt anyone will be out for long.
Ciao,
-Allie
p.s. The picture at the top is of the hill where the park is, next to the church that we visited a few days ago. (Hmm, I guess sooner or later I should learn the name of that church -- it's a pretty popular tourist destination....)
June 13th: Storms
June 13, Friday2:00 pm
I just came back to the convent to get some rest, and made some pretty good timing. Right as I stepped into my room, the rain started suddenly, and it’s been a downpour ever since. The huge heavy windows flew open with a gust of storm wind, so I was just in time to close and lock them and stop our books and laptops from getting soaked. As I glanced out the window, I happened to look across the city to one of the small mountains in the distance (picture above), over which a dark cloud was hanging, and see a thin bolt of lightning strike the top.
So as of now, I’m sitting in my room updating as much as I can before I pass out from exhaustion. There are enormous raindrops pelting the window, and the pigeons don’t sound too happy – they’re all huddled in a small alcove of the roof right outside my bedroom window and making a lot of nervous cooing sounds. This storm came on pretty quickly for one so fierce.
And….. it just occurred to me that I do not own an umbrella.
June 12th: Sightseeing and Eating
June 12, Thursday11:35 pm
Wow, we’re nearing the first weekend already. It's taken this long for everyone to settle in (and we're still really not), so it's easy to forget that we're only here for five weeks... which will probably seem shorter once we start performing.
This afternoon Jeff, Mara and I had a lot of free time, so we made a long picture-taking expedition all around the city. The incident that stood out to me was Petrarch’s house, which I didn’t know I was standing in until Mara told me. It had a small, cozy courtyard with orange trees growing on the terrace above, iron gates, and the customary yellow walls of the city. Soon afterwards Mara left to go to rehearsal, so Jeff and I continued along the road to “the hill,” a favorite park/picnic/playground area of us students with a great overlook into the city, and took probably hundreds of pictures between the two of us. From there we kept going in the direction we had started in, and ended up at the church I visited with Mara a few days ago (picture above) – a huge, echoey, high-ceilinged place with many famous frescoes of Francesco (say that five times fast). When we entered, we heard what sounded like a religious sermon, and as we made our way across the room realized that there was a funeral taking place in the lavishly-decorated side room of the church. The priest’s voice boomed throughout the entire building, as tourists reverently made their way around the spacious room. The combination of the intoning of the priest and the stillness of the rest of the building made for a very peaceful, calming experience.
I have been talking about making soup for a few days now, so tonight we decided it was time. Seven of us met at the supermarket to buy the necessary ingredients, along with some bread, wine, and a huge piece of watermelon. When we got back to the apartment nearly an hour later, we realized just what we’d gotten ourselves into – there were ten hungry people waiting to be fed, and not enough dishes to go around. So Lianna, Elisa and I quickly got to work, and managed to cook up two huge pots of soup to feed everyone that wanted it. I had had something simple in mind, but things kept being added during the process, so in the end we had a tortellini, white bean and vegetable soup with tomatoes and basil. From grocery store to consumption of the meal, the process had taken about two and a half hours… but we had a lot of fun making a mess of the kitchen and listening to Jenny’s Swedish pop music on full volume. Everyone claimed the soup was good, too, although Lianna and I still think they were just being nice for all our effort….
Three nights ago I went for the first time to the gelateria down the street from one of the apartments. The owner, a friendly middle-aged man with stubble, was very welcoming, and also patient with our slow pace of sampling and choosing flavors. By coincidence, I came back the next night with a different group of friends, and it having been the second time he saw me, he asked where we were from. He was excited to find out that we were instrumentalists because he used to play the piano, so I invited him to come to our chamber music concerts later this month. He gave Elisa a discount, and promised me that the next time it would be my turn… so tonight I grabbed a bunch of people and we went over.
While the others chatted amongst themselves, I began conversing with the store owner and his friend, a 26-year-old chain smoker named Daniele who often hangs around the store. He asked what the group was doing in Italy, and was particularly taken with Elisa because she looked like his sister of the same age. I asked him if there was a discoteca anywhere in or around Arezzo, since many of us are interested in going dancing this weekend, but I wasn’t expecting much because I had already heard from others that there isn’t much around. Sure enough, he told me there was not only nothing to be found in Arezzo, but nothing in the surrounding cities either. He also said dancing/clubbing is something the Italians do only in the winter….
Daniele made me promise to bring the group back tomorrow night so we could continue our conversation. That store owner is going to make a fortune off of us.
June 11th: Converters and Euros
June 11, Wednesday
10:50 pm
Today the chamber orchestra had our first rehearsal/coaching with the violin teacher. It was sort of a surreal experience for everyone to gather together, tired, cranky, and disoriented, and sit down to read Eine Kleine Nachtmusik. After (for some of us) four days of not touching our instruments, it sounded great to finally hear some music. Though we were rusty, the piece felt especially fresh and fun, and it was a great first run-through.
I have a growing rapport with the woman who works at the front desk. She’s fairly young (probably late 20s to early 30s), wears hip clothes, and has a cute layered haircut with highlights. She’s also very peppy and helpful, or as much as she can be when there’s a huge language barrier between her and most of the people who are staying in the convent. (Oberlin’s not the only bunch – there’s at least one other group from Oklahoma, and maybe others too but I’m not sure). I stopped by on the way up to my room, since I needed to ask her where to buy an electrical converter to charge my cell phone and computer… evidently something about the voltage is different here…..
Umm….
How the heck do I ask this in Italian, when I’m only 80% sure what I’m even asking in English???
On the way I had studied up on my pertaining words, such as “voltage,” “plug,” “wall,” “outlet,” “convert,” etc., and fortunately, many of them were cognates. So I basically took a deep breath, got out my cell phone for illustration, and did the best I could, complete with hand gestures, which is how they usually describe something in their own language anyway. To my surprise, the woman met me halfway, and attempted to help me with her grasp on the English language, however new it was for her. After a couple of minutes, she pointed to the wall, I nodded wildly, and she managed to understand my question. Turns out there’s a store right in the main circle that sells Motorola phones, so I think I’m all set. That is, if I can explain the whole thing again to the store worker later this afternoon….. As I walked away, only half pleased with myself, she said, “I’m teaching you Italian, you’re teaching me English.” “Si! Va bene, penso,” I responded – It’s going well, I think.
Speaking of the language barrier, I paid 10 euro for two items this afternoon, thinking I was spending only 1 euro. Here they mark whole euro the same way we mark cents:
€.5
I don’t know about you, but this looks like half a euro to me.
It’s actually 5 euros. So at a dirty corner bookstand/tourist trap, I found a great book on the history and culture of Arezzo, and an Italian-dubbed version of the Bourne Supremacy movie, for “€.5” each, and was under the impression that I was getting a great deal. The friendly old guy who owned the bookstand was too cute and helpful for me to put the stuff back, so I just bought them anyway.
June 10th
June 10th, Tuesday
3:05 pm
While studying the future tense again this morning, we were asked to construct five original sentences. I was fairly proud of mine, until I reached one in particular in which I described how “I will need to find someone to eat after class.” Alessandra, amused, explained in near-perfect English that I should probably say “qualcosa” instead of “qualcuno” unless I want people to think that I am a cannibal.
Notwithstanding this incident, after an hour and a half of slow review in class this morning, I decided to move to 201. I think it will turn out to be much more rewarding, even if I will need some hardcore ripasso on the verb tenses I learned in the spring.
4:25 pm
Eww… I just got whistled at by two skeezy 20-somethings sitting outside a bar. My first genuine Italian catcall. I didn’t believe it until I saw it, but I guess there really is no such thing as sexual harassment here.
Later….
On that note… kind of… I’m still having trouble understanding what I should say to strangers (if anything). If someone passes you and says ciao, do you respond, ciao? What if it’s a guy about my age? Does that mean he’s just being come-on-ish? If there’s an old woman on the street and you just happen to make eye contact, is it ok then? In the States, I don’t give a second thought about giving a vague smile to someone as I pass, as long as they don’t look totally sketchy. Even so much as a “hi,” depending on the occasion and how safe they look. I’m just being polite, right? But here, having been warned about all the gross Italian men, I can’t help but feel guilty if I so much as make eye contact.
Well, maybe at some point, I’ll find a good medium. For now, I’m basically playing it safe and keeping to myself, unless I need directions or something.
Those creepy room-cleaning women must have been here again today. Our trash can’s missing.
Right now I would love to just go take a walk around. It’d be really cool to see what goes on after dark in this town, as it seems like most places (with the exception of the occasional swanky restaurant or gelateria) close after dinner. But... it's not safe this time of night. Tomorrow I'll explore around a little bit.
Buona sera,
-Allie
June 9th: Getting started
It looks like our (instumentalists') weekday schedule is as follows:
8:50-12:35: Italian class
1:00-5:00: ensemble practice and coachings
6:00-8:00: chamber orchestra
Of course this will change when the opera gets going in a few weeks.... but for now, everything's pretty flexible. Except the seven hours of Italian in the morning. That's rough.
I took the written test for placement into a language class, and ended up right on the border between 102 and 201. This is not surprising. I did take 101-102 this year at Oberlin, but the last half of the last semester I struggled. The teacher was very kind, and said that I could go wherever I felt most comfortable. For now, I'll stick with 102 to brush up on the things I missed last semester. If it goes too slow, I'll move up -- we have a week in which to do so, and all the classes are pretty loosely organized.
Oh, and by the way, the teachers "aren't allowed" to give us homework. We're all pretty psyched about this.
I heard along the grapevine that we're taking a field trip to Florence this weekend.
More later,
-Al
8:50-12:35: Italian class
1:00-5:00: ensemble practice and coachings
6:00-8:00: chamber orchestra
Of course this will change when the opera gets going in a few weeks.... but for now, everything's pretty flexible. Except the seven hours of Italian in the morning. That's rough.
I took the written test for placement into a language class, and ended up right on the border between 102 and 201. This is not surprising. I did take 101-102 this year at Oberlin, but the last half of the last semester I struggled. The teacher was very kind, and said that I could go wherever I felt most comfortable. For now, I'll stick with 102 to brush up on the things I missed last semester. If it goes too slow, I'll move up -- we have a week in which to do so, and all the classes are pretty loosely organized.
Oh, and by the way, the teachers "aren't allowed" to give us homework. We're all pretty psyched about this.
I heard along the grapevine that we're taking a field trip to Florence this weekend.
More later,
-Al
June 9th: Pizza and Soccer
June 9th, Monday
11:40 pm
I got a scare last night when I realized that my suitcase was missing. I looked under the bed, behind the desks, everywhere. I was about to go downstairs to ask when I realized that my violin was missing too… and then I REALLY freaked out. After a few minutes of this full-blown freaking out, Sam found both of them in the huge closet, where I don’t store anything, ever. The girls told me that their beds were made when they got back, so there must be cleaning people who come into the room and tidy up during the day. Is this normal in the States? I can’t remember. Either way, it was not pleasant to find out this way.
Around dinnertime, Mara was dying to watch the soccer match, Italy vs. Netherlands, and I’m always up for a game so I offered to go along. Five of us girls from the convent went over to the pizzeria across the street, unfortunately only to watch the Italians get stomped on. We were there an hour before the game started, so we ordered our pizzas (evidently a “regular cheese pizza” is called a margherita here, but it’s not the same as the American version). The owner of the ristorante was a friendly, bespectacled 50-something who we could tell was thrilled to have us there watching the game, and despite the language barrier treated us no differently than if we were his regulars… except for the “How to Order in Your Language” pocketbook he discreetly slipped onto the table.
As it was nearly seven o’clock, we were surprised to be the only table in the pizzeria that was occupied, forgetting that Italians have their dinner much later than we are accustomed to. But by the time we had finished our pizzas, a handful of men had entered the room, and were glued to the TV and engaging in friendly (although anxious) conversation about the game.
The atmosphere was great. Eating was easy. The rest wasn't....
-Dilemma 1: After debating whether it was customary to take home the remnants of one’s dinner, I finally just asked the waiter the best I could, to which he responded, “si, certo,” and Laura was free to take the rest of her pizza back to the convent.
-Dilemma 2: We were just about to leave when the waiter quietly set on the table some biscotti and vin Santo, compliments of the house. We had to stay for a bit longer. Now came a second problem: do we drink all of what he gave us in the crystal pitcher? Or are we just supposed to take a glass and then give it back? Should have read up on this… We decided to leave about a third of what he offered, hoping that we hadn’t guessed wrong and that it was actually rude not to finish it.
Mara lives much farther away from the university than those of us in the convent do, so Laura and I offered to walk her home. On the way, just down the street from the convent, we heard the shouts of an excited crowd. Already knowing what it would be, we hurried up the hill and around the corner to see a noisy bunch of probably a couple hundred italiani centered around a gigantic TV screen on the street. There was chatter everywhere, and all sort of local people gathered to see the game – mostly teenagers, but also grown men, and a few scattered women with their children. They didn’t seem to be much aware of each other – every eye was focused on the screen. I couldn’t watch much of the game, as it was too much fun to watch the people instead. At every good play, bad play, trip, yellow card, and substitution, the noise grew to a roar, followed by hands in the air and boos and shouts that lasted until well after the play was over.
After ten minutes, it was getting chilly and we decided we’d better go…. but I would have loved to stay and witness the crowd later in the game, when the Netherlands scored their third goal of the night.
I returned to the room tonight to find Sam and Cree squealing over the large gnat-like bugs all over the place. I was especially disgusted to find one crawling over my pillow. We decided to close the window.
June 8th: The Convent
June 8th, Sunday
9:45 pm
I live in a convent.
It’s just as you would imagine – marble tile floors, tall ceilings, reverberating hallways, with a large garden a couple hundred feet below our window, and a great view of a mountain range in the distance. The facilities are unfamiliar (the light switches are outside the bathroom door? the showers doors are see-through? really?), but not uncomfortable, and it’s really nice for a place we thought was going to be so primitive. Since there’s no a/c, there was a good discount on living here, but the stone walls are thick and heat has never been a problem. And, as it turns out, we’re the closest housing to the university by about fifteen minutes.
I apparently didn’t have a room when I got here (no explanation for this – I had signed up two months in advance), so the old woman who works at the desk brought me up and stuck me in a room already inhabited by two singers. I had no idea who they are, but one of them appeared to have a lot of shoes. I wasn’t sure how I felt about this, being one day late and not wanting to intrude on two girls who probably asked to room together…. but at this point I didn’t have a choice.
Our opening dinner was at the Caffe dei Costanti, which is what makes this town famous – it’s the filming location of Roberto Benigni’s La Bella Vita (“Life is Beautiful”). It was a pretty swanky and expensive place, so I was surprised to see a little terrier sitting on a guy’s lap while he ate dinner with his wife. Then again, I’ve seen a lot of dogs in buildings around here, and definitely not service dogs – maybe here it’s not unusual to bring a pet into a restaurant with you.
Lianna and I ordered our free group drinks at the counter, and were fascinated watching the high-energy bar worker do his thing. Three, four bottles at a time, he worked and chatted with us in English while he made our drinks – flipping, twisting, pouring, and mixing at the speed of lightning. He asked where we were from, and when Lianna told him Arizona, he knew the area well – “Ah, near southern California. And very hot, yes?”
11:15 pm: I am very relieved to find out that my roommates are Sam and Cree (two vocalists in our lunch table group this year at school.) This explains the mountain of shoes in the closet.
I apparently didn’t have a room when I got here (no explanation for this – I had signed up two months in advance), so the old woman who works at the desk brought me up and stuck me in a room already inhabited by two singers. I had no idea who they are, but one of them appeared to have a lot of shoes. I wasn’t sure how I felt about this, being one day late and not wanting to intrude on two girls who probably asked to room together…. but at this point I didn’t have a choice.
Our opening dinner was at the Caffe dei Costanti, which is what makes this town famous – it’s the filming location of Roberto Benigni’s La Bella Vita (“Life is Beautiful”). It was a pretty swanky and expensive place, so I was surprised to see a little terrier sitting on a guy’s lap while he ate dinner with his wife. Then again, I’ve seen a lot of dogs in buildings around here, and definitely not service dogs – maybe here it’s not unusual to bring a pet into a restaurant with you.
Lianna and I ordered our free group drinks at the counter, and were fascinated watching the high-energy bar worker do his thing. Three, four bottles at a time, he worked and chatted with us in English while he made our drinks – flipping, twisting, pouring, and mixing at the speed of lightning. He asked where we were from, and when Lianna told him Arizona, he knew the area well – “Ah, near southern California. And very hot, yes?”
11:15 pm: I am very relieved to find out that my roommates are Sam and Cree (two vocalists in our lunch table group this year at school.) This explains the mountain of shoes in the closet.
June 8th: Traveling
[The next few posts were written day-by-day and saved on my laptop until I could acquire internet access, so the events actually take place several days earlier than when I post them.]June 8th, Sunday
5:45 pm, Italian time: I’m finally in Arezzo.
As many of you know, I played a show at Musica on Friday night, for which I was preparing all week and not thinking much about packing. So it was a bit of a shock to have to turn around and board an international flight twelve hours later. But, I knew that this would be the case, and I didn’t mind.
So… armed with my violin, my purse, and one suitcase, I set off for Italy.
The flight from Cleveland to D.C., I sat next to a calm 50-something man from Avon with a Southern accent (he was originally from Virginia), who was probably the nicest person I have ever talked to. He told me about his fiancé, his upcoming work in Romania, his old tri-colored collie who he loved, and his four-foot pet iguana named Sharkey. The 45-minute flight flew by much too quickly.
The flight from D.C. to Rome, I sat next to a middle-aged Italian man from Jersey, who got wrinkles at the corners of his eyes when he laughed, and who was probably one of the most fun people I have ever talked to. After talking about where we were going (he works in Rome often), and our respective knowledges of Italian (he knows how to say prego and vino), he proceeded to flip on his personal mini TV screen. Since now we clearly needed to watch the same thing, I told him to let me know when he found something good and I'd watch it on mine. His choice: 27 Dresses.
After that we saw Fool’s Gold, and then he started dozing. We both restlessly tried to sleep for most of the flight, but were unsuccessful, so in the “morning” (two hours after taking off at 6:50 pm D.C. time, the sun came up over the Atlantic Ocean), we started talking again, and he told me about his career as coastguard/government security. This included one chilling anecdote about a man on a boat who called in for help, only to lose his wife and one-year-old child in a devastating wreck thirty minutes later. Then we watched Horton Hears a Who. He loved it.
I was really nervous when we got off the plane, so I was happy to have him with me when we went to pick up our luggage. Mine came down the belt first, so he shook my hand and wished me the best as a goodbye. Suddenly, as I walked away, I felt incredibly sad, scared and lonely.
By the time the long train ride came, I was getting tired. As much as I tried, I could not sleep. Every time I dozed off, I’d be woken up by someone else on the train, and my eyes would stray out the window to the Italian landscape. I couldn’t stop gawking at the trees and flowers, so different from what kinds grow in the States. There was a profusion of bright red poppies everywhere, growing wild and scattered around the countryside. The trees looked almost tropical, with tall trunks and palm-like branches (there are even cooler trees here outside the convent). Every few minutes the train passed a huge yellow farming field.
Unfortunately, the other part of the train ride was the complete anxiousness of not having a clue where I was and whether I had accidentally passed up my stop. (I don't think the whole idea of what I was doing quite sunk in until this point, either.) If I hadn't been so worried about this I would have loved to just stare out the train window for a good 2 1/2 hours.
Traveling buddy #3, a young-ish computer engineer, sat next to me on the train from Rome Fiumicino to Florence. Both of us confused and not really knowing what we were doing, we stuck together in the stazione between connecting trains, talking about music, eating gelato, and waiting for our trains to arrive. After about an hour and a half, we were discussing the Van Halen reunion tour when I realized it was time for me to go.
I guess I was lucky to have three really nice, really helpful people on this trip. Although I know it's completely normal for those who travel often, it's still a little strange to me that I’ll never see any of them again. As a matter of fact, I don't even know their names.... but they helped me through what could have been a really miserable day of traveling, and for that I'm grateful.
Ok, first things first – I don’t even know where I’m living yet. I’ll try to get settled in and then write more later....
5:45 pm, Italian time: I’m finally in Arezzo.
As many of you know, I played a show at Musica on Friday night, for which I was preparing all week and not thinking much about packing. So it was a bit of a shock to have to turn around and board an international flight twelve hours later. But, I knew that this would be the case, and I didn’t mind.
So… armed with my violin, my purse, and one suitcase, I set off for Italy.
The flight from Cleveland to D.C., I sat next to a calm 50-something man from Avon with a Southern accent (he was originally from Virginia), who was probably the nicest person I have ever talked to. He told me about his fiancé, his upcoming work in Romania, his old tri-colored collie who he loved, and his four-foot pet iguana named Sharkey. The 45-minute flight flew by much too quickly.
The flight from D.C. to Rome, I sat next to a middle-aged Italian man from Jersey, who got wrinkles at the corners of his eyes when he laughed, and who was probably one of the most fun people I have ever talked to. After talking about where we were going (he works in Rome often), and our respective knowledges of Italian (he knows how to say prego and vino), he proceeded to flip on his personal mini TV screen. Since now we clearly needed to watch the same thing, I told him to let me know when he found something good and I'd watch it on mine. His choice: 27 Dresses.
After that we saw Fool’s Gold, and then he started dozing. We both restlessly tried to sleep for most of the flight, but were unsuccessful, so in the “morning” (two hours after taking off at 6:50 pm D.C. time, the sun came up over the Atlantic Ocean), we started talking again, and he told me about his career as coastguard/government security. This included one chilling anecdote about a man on a boat who called in for help, only to lose his wife and one-year-old child in a devastating wreck thirty minutes later. Then we watched Horton Hears a Who. He loved it.
I was really nervous when we got off the plane, so I was happy to have him with me when we went to pick up our luggage. Mine came down the belt first, so he shook my hand and wished me the best as a goodbye. Suddenly, as I walked away, I felt incredibly sad, scared and lonely.
By the time the long train ride came, I was getting tired. As much as I tried, I could not sleep. Every time I dozed off, I’d be woken up by someone else on the train, and my eyes would stray out the window to the Italian landscape. I couldn’t stop gawking at the trees and flowers, so different from what kinds grow in the States. There was a profusion of bright red poppies everywhere, growing wild and scattered around the countryside. The trees looked almost tropical, with tall trunks and palm-like branches (there are even cooler trees here outside the convent). Every few minutes the train passed a huge yellow farming field.
Unfortunately, the other part of the train ride was the complete anxiousness of not having a clue where I was and whether I had accidentally passed up my stop. (I don't think the whole idea of what I was doing quite sunk in until this point, either.) If I hadn't been so worried about this I would have loved to just stare out the train window for a good 2 1/2 hours.
Traveling buddy #3, a young-ish computer engineer, sat next to me on the train from Rome Fiumicino to Florence. Both of us confused and not really knowing what we were doing, we stuck together in the stazione between connecting trains, talking about music, eating gelato, and waiting for our trains to arrive. After about an hour and a half, we were discussing the Van Halen reunion tour when I realized it was time for me to go.
I guess I was lucky to have three really nice, really helpful people on this trip. Although I know it's completely normal for those who travel often, it's still a little strange to me that I’ll never see any of them again. As a matter of fact, I don't even know their names.... but they helped me through what could have been a really miserable day of traveling, and for that I'm grateful.
Ok, first things first – I don’t even know where I’m living yet. I’ll try to get settled in and then write more later....
Introduction
Hi all,
For those who don't know, I'm currently in Italy for five weeks as part of the Oberlin in Italy music program. I decided to start a blog not only to record my own thoughts and observations, but also to share them with friends and family who may be interested, since due to time differences and expensive phone costs it's not easy to stay in touch.
If you'd like to know more about the program, see the website: http://www.oberlin.edu/con/summer/italy/.
It's an intensive opera program that takes place in Arezzo, Italy, near Florence (if you're interested to learn about the town, go directly to this tab: http://www.oberlin.edu/con/summer/italy/arezzo.html).
We instrumentalists, while not the focus of the program and not numbering as many as the singers, provide a small chamber orchestra to play in the pit for the operas. The singers have private lessons, coachings and masterclasses with the voice faculty, while the instrumentalists rehearse with the cast and have a chamber music program on the side. There are several small performances throughout the four weeks, and then during the last part of our stay we perform the operas.
Aside from musical studies, we also take Italian language lessons for 3-4 hours every morning, and are able to explore historic Arezzo and surrounding areas, including taking daytrips to nearby Siena and Florence. This is a great opportunity for me, since I have already studied Italian for a year at Oberlin and can immerse myself in the culture with a basic knowledge of the language.
After the program ends on July 11th, I'll be traveling to England to visit a friend and do more sightseeing, so I plan to continue updating, pending easy internet access there.
Feel free to follow along and leave comments, and email/facebook me if you'd like to talk more. See you in August!
Enjoy,
-Allie
For those who don't know, I'm currently in Italy for five weeks as part of the Oberlin in Italy music program. I decided to start a blog not only to record my own thoughts and observations, but also to share them with friends and family who may be interested, since due to time differences and expensive phone costs it's not easy to stay in touch.
If you'd like to know more about the program, see the website: http://www.oberlin.edu/con/summer/italy/.
It's an intensive opera program that takes place in Arezzo, Italy, near Florence (if you're interested to learn about the town, go directly to this tab: http://www.oberlin.edu/con/summer/italy/arezzo.html).
We instrumentalists, while not the focus of the program and not numbering as many as the singers, provide a small chamber orchestra to play in the pit for the operas. The singers have private lessons, coachings and masterclasses with the voice faculty, while the instrumentalists rehearse with the cast and have a chamber music program on the side. There are several small performances throughout the four weeks, and then during the last part of our stay we perform the operas.
Aside from musical studies, we also take Italian language lessons for 3-4 hours every morning, and are able to explore historic Arezzo and surrounding areas, including taking daytrips to nearby Siena and Florence. This is a great opportunity for me, since I have already studied Italian for a year at Oberlin and can immerse myself in the culture with a basic knowledge of the language.
After the program ends on July 11th, I'll be traveling to England to visit a friend and do more sightseeing, so I plan to continue updating, pending easy internet access there.
Feel free to follow along and leave comments, and email/facebook me if you'd like to talk more. See you in August!
Enjoy,
-Allie
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