The final countdown

I arrived in Roma almost four months ago with two suitcases and a backpack in hand, three hours of sleep, one semester of Italian behind me, and no idea of what the next four months would hold.  I stepped off the plane in complete disarray and was whisked away to my new home without a minute to gather my thoughts.  I leave Roma in about a week with the need for another suitcase, a more colorful Italian vocabulary, a heart filled by amazing people and the unique experience we have shared, and having consumed more food than I ever have in my twenty years of life.  My world has been enriched by the moments both big and small, ones that I cannot part with no matter how much time may pass.

Roma came alive this week as millions of people flocked to the eternal city to take part in Holy Week.  Though I am not Catholic, I too was eager to see what it was like to be part of such a religious experience.  Thursday night, following dinner in the Jewish Ghetto, I made my way to the Colosseum for the Stations of the Cross.  There, in a crowd of thousands of people and with the Pope standing in front of me, I turned to face the illuminated Colosseum and the Arch of Constantine and I cried.  I cried not for the religious significance of the night or for what the Pope was saying.  I cried for what it meant to the people surrounding me, because in this moment I was part of a community, because I was standing next to some of my best friends here and in front of pieces of Roma that I have been dreaming of for years.  There is no telling when I will be part of a moment like that again, but for now I have that night to stand out amongst my memories of the past few months.

Following the religious tradition of the weekend, Easter Sunday (or Pasqua in Italian) was a day where millions filled Piazza San Pietro for mass.  It was a warm, sunny day, and since most places were empty due to the crowd filling the Vatican, we did not stay long.  Instead, we made our way to Duecento Gradi for my favorite panino and to "Secret Bakery" for another sampling of the wide array of pastries.  With a stomach full of incredible food I hopped on the metro to Piazza del Popolo and wandered the streets toward the Spanish Steps.  With the city in full bloom and the smell of flowers in the air, the Steps did not escape the spread of springtime.  Pink and white potted plants lined the Spanish Steps from top to bottom, and I rested in the sunshine amongst the tourists taking pictures and the vendors selling their roses and toys.  As more people began to fill the area I set off for the Trevi Fountain, and made it just before tourists flooded it with their cameras.  No matter how many times I turn the corner to the sound of the roaring water, I always have to take a moment to catch my breath as I stand in front of the most famous fountain in Roma.  In an attempt to have it always hold its magic I have not visited often, but every time I do is just like the first night I saw it in January.

Being so far away from friends and family at home has made us forge a new family, one that consists of an exceptional group of people who are strange, crazy, hilarious, awkward, and some of the most kind-hearted, open-minded people you will come across in your lifetime.  They take you for exactly who you are, make fun of you, give you a hard time, and at the end of the day are the ones standing by your side as you navigate the ups and downs of a semester far away from the people you love at home.  With Easter generally being a holiday spent with family and marked by yearly traditions, our JFRC family set out to make this Easter one to remember –– and what better way to celebrate in true American fashion then a dinner at Hard Rock Cafe?  I have held out these past three months and not indulged in American food, but our Easter dinner was well worth the wait.  French fries and hamburgers have never tasted so good, and the endless stream of music videos both new and old helped us to feel just a little bit more at home.  

There are the people who have known you your whole life, the ones who have just made an appearance, and the ones who you hope will be there sixty years from now to reminisce about the "good old days."  Then there are the people who you meet in situations like this, who have come together from around the country and who become part of your day to day life.  They are the ones who will laugh with you late at night on the 913 bus, who will clean up parks and plant flowers in the neighborhood with you one Saturday, go out for sushi dinners in Italy, and the ones who will cry with you every single time you think of leaving. Who knows where we will all be a year from now, if we will stay in touch or slowly grow apart, if we will make visits and send care packages and have weekly Skype dates.  Maybe one day we really will get rings that glow when a Pope passes away so that we know to rush back to Roma for a reunion.  For now, what we have is one week left together to let it all soak in.  And really, that is all we need. 

Stations of the Cross

The Spanish Steps in spring

Easter dinner at Hard Rock Cafe  

Matt, Erica, Lauren and I.  Pretty much sums us up.

The Creator made Italy from designs by Michelangelo.

Today marks exactly one month before my semester ends and this chapter in my life, the one that shaped my sense of adventure and taste for new culture, comes to a gradual close.  Though it is not one month before I leave Europe, it is one month until I empty my room, pack my suitcases, drag them downstairs, and roll them over the stone pathways toward the green gates that once intimidated me.  Landing in the Roman airport in January in an entirely new city, arriving on campus and entering my room for the first time, the sense of anxiety mixed with exhaustion, have all been overcome by sheer excitement and faded into the corners of my memory.  It may seem like I arrived here yesterday, but so much of me has changed in the past three months, and there is so much more to come in the next thirty days.

I have already noted that the spring sheds a new light on the city, and spring is currently in full force.  Walking down streets bathed in sunshine and lined with blooming trees transforms them from the frigid, damp cobblestone I first fell in love with.  I have found in Italy the awakening of my sense of wonder, and have formed an attachment to the organized chaos that is the foundation of Italian life.  My relationships with the people I have met so far are equaled by the relationship that I have formed with this city.  The food, the language, the movement, the music, the history, the art –– each has made a unique impact on shaping me as an individual.  So often I have found myself walking the streets in complete awe of what I see, and I am constantly overcome with sadness when I think of how soon it will all come to a bitter-sweet close.

The past few weeks have been lazy ones defined by a glowing sun and a deeper exploration of the extraordinary culture that surrounds Roma.  I witnessed first hand the genius work of Michelangelo, from the Sistine Chapel to the Tomb of Julius II to the Pietà.  To see work that defined the art world and that I have only studied in Art History textbooks took my breath away, and standing in a room of people staring up at a ceiling for as long as their necks allowed was an experience I will always hold on to.  There is so much of Roma that is known worldwide and will permanently remain in history textbooks and tourist guidebooks.  Yet living in any location gives you a perspective on it that is deeper than the surface glance you acquire after only a whirlwind few days.  There are places you find that are considered only your own, or routines you develop that remain calming amidst the bustle of a large city.  It is the little things within any place that make the greatest impact, and while I will walk away saying that I have seen first-hand some of the most extraordinary artifacts and structures in history, what I have the most stories to tell about are the days where I read my book in St. Peter’s Square with my pastry from “Secret Bakery,” climbed the Spanish Steps at sunset with my favorite gelato flavor combination, and rented a rowboat on the lake in Villa Borghese with friends despite not knowing how to steer it at all.

While I have been incredibly fortunate to see some of the most beautiful places in Europe, a huge part of this entire study abroad experience for me is knowing as much about Roma as possible.  My favorite weekends have been the past two, where I ventured to places that I had never planned on visiting before I arrived.  I spent a Saturday at the orange groves situated at the top of Aventine Hill near the Church of Santa Sabina.  Surrounded by the orange trees and groups of people lounging in the warmth of the sun, I rested on a ledge that offered one of the most spectacular views of the city I have seen thus far.  Yet the most extraordinary find at the top of Aventine Hill is the keyhole.  No more than two inches in diameter, the keyhole rests in the center of two large doors that, had I been unaware of their existence, I would have walked past without looking twice.  As you place your eye up against the brass surrounding the hole, perfectly situated in the center is the dome of St. Peter’s flanked on either side by a row of hedges.  It is perhaps the most beautiful view of the dome that I have seen yet, aside from gazing at it illuminated at night over the water of the Tiber.  

I was told about the wonders of Italy long before I decided to set out on this trip, but part of my sense of identity with Italy has been formed by my own personal attachments.  D.H. Lawrence is quoted as stating, “For us to go to Italy and to penetrate into Italy is like a most fascinating act of self-discovery –– back, back down the old ways of time.  Strange and wonderful chords awake in us, and vibrate again after many hundreds of years of complete forgetfulness.”  So much of the charm of Roma is its strange ability to awaken the senses to an experience unlike any other.  From the taste of the food to the sights of a city essentially built upon the ruins of another city to the sounds of a new language and the endless hum of life in constant motion.  My Theology professor describes us as being on “liquid time,” where the normal constraints of a schedule seem to fade away and leave us with the absolute freedom to find ourselves as individuals on a great adventure. 

Looking through the keyhole

The view at the end of the keyhole

Boating in Villa Borghese

With Katie and Austin, the view from the orange groves

Help homeless children have sweeter dreams

The sunshine that has settled over Roma the past week has made me fall in love with this city in an entirely new way.  Everything seems to change and take on a new light in the spring that allows the city to come alive.   While my life is currently in Italy, my mind never strays too far from home, and right now, Project Night Night has an amazing fundraising opportunity with Stript Wax Bar.  If you cannot personally participate, pass the information along to friends, family, coworkers –– anyone you think may be interested.  It is not only a wonderful opportunity for Project Night Night, but it is a great deal for you too!  For $59, you can receive a one hour facial at Stript (normally $105-$115) and $20 of your purchase will go toward sponsoring Night Night Packages.  It only takes a minute to share the link, and you would be supporting out an incredible nonprofit that helps homeless children have sweeter dreams.  Follow this link to view our amazing fundraising opportunity: Stript Wax Bar and Project Night Night Partner Up.
For more information on Project Night Night, Click here!

Paris, je t'aime

John Berger is quoted as stating, “Every city has a sex and an age which have nothing to do with demography.  Rome is feminine...Paris, I believe, is a man in his twenties in love with an older woman.”  In the few short days I spent exploring Paris, and the few months that I have lived in Rome, Berger’s words hold a great deal of truth in conveying the nature of these two divine cities.  While Rome is a city of antiquity, of ancient layer upon ancient layer, of history and culture and detail, Paris, in its own right, is a city of pure elegance.  It is one of glamour, romance, and charm.  Around every corner there is another surprise, one more thing to fall in love with that will draw you back over and over again.  It may sound strange, but I forgot how much I actually wanted to travel to Paris.  With Italy being such a high priority, and with it finally becoming a reality, everything else was temporarily pushed aside as I made space in my life for adjustments to my new home and a different culture.  Yet as Monday quickly approached, and as I made my way through my neighborhood engulfed by warm sunshine and a light breeze playing through the trees, I was suddenly seized with the realization that in a few short hours, I would be on a plane to Paris.  Paris, referred to as the city of light, a city of romance and elegance and grandeur.  I have to admit that my younger self saw Paris through the eyes of Mary-Kate and Ashley as they dashed through the city on the back of French boys’ vespas in “Passport to Paris.”  My older self, however, was a little more realistic about what to expect, yet never having been to Paris I was still uncertain as to what I would experience.  All I knew was that I had two full days to take in as much of it as I could, and even that was not long enough.

After a quick plane ride, an hour and a half shuttle bus from the airport to the metro, and a metro ride to our hostel, we arrived in Paris late Monday night.  We were tired and hungry, and with it being too late to go out we instead walked down the block and bought our first Nutella crepe, drizzled in powdered sugar and coco powder.  I am already a huge crepe enthusiast, so to take that first bite was a moment to be treasured.  The next morning we awoke early and enjoyed our free breakfast of croissants and baguettes from the hostel and hopped on the metro toward the Arc de Triomphe.  Much bigger than I ever anticipated and standing in the center of the Place Charles de Gaulle surrounded by circling cars, the Arc is a tribute to those who fought and died for France in the French Revolutionary and the Napoleonic Wars.  Its inscriptions are incredibly intricate and its carvings gorgeous, and on the basis of art alone, not to mention architecture, it is spectacular.  As we left the Arc and made our way down the Champs-Élyssées, we stumbled upon the aftermath of the Chanel fashion show as a part of Paris’ Fashion Week.  Surrounded by models, photographers, and men and women dressed in their best with their Chanel gift bags, we did not exactly blend in.  Yet we could not pass up the opportunity to watch for a bit, and observed the glamour that follows such a crowd.  Eventually we tore ourselves away and made our way to La Tour Eiffel.  There is nothing as breathtaking as finding yourself in front of something you have dreamed about for years.  I felt the same way when I stumbled upon La Fontana di Trevi and the Colosseum, and walking up to La Tour Eiffel was a moment of indescribable awe.  It was a beautiful sunny day, and with our purchases of sandwiches and éclairs in hand, we warmed ourselves on the lawn under the immensity of the monument.  Nothing could have summed up my vision of Paris as well as that moment did.

That night my friend Katie and I met up with our friend Lauren, who was in Paris to mark the beginning of her twenty-first birthday.  We ate dinner and followed it up with a dessert of Crème brûlée and a walk back to La Tour Eiffel just in time to see it light up at midnight, helping her ring in her birthday in the best possible way.  It was the perfect night, where the lights cast a glow throughout the crisp night air and settled on the lawn where we absorbed the night.  The following morning was another early one occupied by a walk to the Basilique du Sacré-Coeur (also known as the Basilica of the Sacred Heart of Paris) located at the highest point in Paris, the summit of the butte Montmartre.  Only about a ten-minute walk from our hostel, the Sacré-Coeur was incredible –– high domed ceilings, stained glass windows, and mosaics made up only a part of its impressive architecture.  Yet the most spectacular feature of the Basilica is its location, where you can walk out the front doors and have a view of the entire city.  Though it was a slightly foggy day, the view was still incredibly clear and the expanse of Paris lay before us.  From there we trekked back to La Tour Eiffel for a lunch of baguettes, cheese, and pastries and a walk to Notre Dame.  One of the most impressive churches I have seen thus far (and I have seen a lot), Notre Dame was dimly lit, shimmering with the glow of candles and the colored light through its stained glass windows.  It is an immense church, and there is a reportedly a thirty year waiting list to hold your wedding there, if you are lucky enough to be able to afford it, something that I thought only seemed intimidating.  From Notre Dame we ventured across the Seine and into the Quartier Latin, which instantly became my favorite place in Paris.  A mesh of shops and restaurants, the Quartier Latin had the aura of an artistic community made up of a blending of cultures.  I only wish we had left more time to explore, but from the small taste I had I knew I would love it.

With one last Nutella crepe, our final view of the sparkling Tour Eiffel, and a brief visit to the Moulin Rouge, we headed back to the hostel to pack and rest before our early morning flight home.  My plane was delayed (it was coming from Italy, so it was only to be expected), but there was nothing as welcoming as stepping off the plane onto the sizzling airport concrete under the warm Roman sun.  With each trip away I realize even more how much Rome has become a part of me.  It is feminine, as John Berger said, in a nurturing yet raw and authentic sort of way.  Paris is filled with lights and romance and is undoubtedly somewhere I want to acquaint myself with over and over again, but a traveler always wants to return home eventually, and for now that home for me is Rome.  It may be temporary, but at the end of all of this it will stay with me so much longer.    

Street crepes

      

2 days. 6 waffles. This is the story of my food pilgrimage to Brussels.

When someone asks "why Brussels?" there are only a select few words you need in order to answer: French fries, waffles, and chocolate.  When you can find a place that combines some of the best things in life, the better answer to "why Brussels?" is "why not Brussels?"  And so, it was with this mentality that three students from across the United States studying in Roma for a semester set out for Belgium on a pilgrimage.  A food pilgrimage, that is.

There are a few things one needs to know when traveling to Brussels.  Some knowledge of French or Dutch is one (we knew none).  The second is that the city is small –– small enough, in fact, that we walked almost the entire thing in one day.  The third thing is that Belgians do not mess around when it comes to food, and by food I mean waffles and French fries.  There are four types of waffles: the street waffle (dough with sugar inside that they make in waffle carts on the street), the Belgian waffle (coated in powdered sugar), the tourist waffle (an over-the-top waffle topped with strawberries, bananas, whipped cream, and chocolate), and the extreme tourist waffle (with everything already mentioned plus ice cream).  French fries are not just French fries, they are meals, and come in trays or cones with every type of sauce imaginable.  The most popular is mayonnaise, but as I cannot handle large amounts of mayonnaise loaded on top of my food, I stuck with ketchup and was more than satisfied.  We survived our two-day stay in Brussels on two orders of French fries and six different types of waffles, and in the end we still wanted more.  My favorite waffle was either the street waffle, with its melt-in-your-mouth sugar pieces embedded in the dough, or the chocolate dipped waffle we had upon arrival.  The Nutella coated one came in a close third, while I was surprised to find that the tourist waffle was too much for me to handle.  No one should have that much whipped cream in his or her system.  It may not have been a healthy trip, but I am not ashamed in the slightest.

While at the core our journey to Brussels may have been based on our love of food and our eagerness to have as many waffles as possible, the city of Brussels is an extraordinary one in itself.  A blend of different people and historical sites, it is a city that offers cultural diversity around every corner.  Scattered with a number of parks and eclectic artwork in the most obscure places, Brussels is not only a food “Mecca” but an artistic one as well.  With our map in hand we explored the city by foot, which offered us the opportunity to find local spots we may have otherwise overlooked had we stuck solely to public transportation.  We saw almost every major site in Brussels with the exception of the atom, and devoured as many waffles as we could handle along the way.  

Belgium has a different atmosphere than Italy, one where there is less rush to make it somewhere, a friendlier outlook, and a little more modernization.  I have found McDonald's in Italy, but on this trip I also saw two Pizza Huts –– just like being in America.  The map provided to us by our hostel had an "Act Like a Local" section, where it stated, "stay long enough, and Brussels is not a little postcard city like Bruges.  On one day you can see the classics and drink the beers, but you need at least two more days to discover the good stuff.  A year would be even better."  Ours was a power trip through Brussels where we crammed in the sites and sustained our hunger with cheap food, and it was impossible to leave after only two days and feel like it was a sufficient amount of time.  We may have walked for hours, seen an old army museum, the Palace of Justice, the famous “Manneken Pis” fountain, and photographed our way through the Art Nouveau areas, but I left with the feeling that there are endless finds down every street to be uncovered another time. 

We left Brussels bright and early this morning following a few transportation issues –– our taxi did not arrive to pick us up and a large fare is required to actually make it all the way to the airport –– and we left with chocolate in our suitcases and a craving for more waffles.  With any journey, there is a comfort that comes with returning home, and being away made me realize just how much I have started considering Roma my home.  Being gone, even for just a weekend, made me "Rome sick," and it felt amazing to be back among the unorganized and laid back Italian airport system, where luggage size and the volume of liquid you are carrying makes no difference.  It may have taken a plane, a shuttle bus, the metro, and another bus to get us back to campus, but walking up to the green gates of the JFRC was relieving.  Though I am currently displaced from my room due to a water leak, this campus is a home base that makes traveling a little easier.  I traded pasta for waffles and "buongiorno" for "bonjour" this weekend, and while I can see myself returning to Belgium over and over again, there is nothing quite like returning to Roma.     

"It's the creme de la creme, (and you can bounce with that)" -A Tribe Called Quest graffiti in a Brussels alley

Waffle #3 –– Street Waffle

French fries in a cone

Il dolce far niente

There is a special unexplainable serenity that develops as the frigid chill of winter transitions into the warmth of spring.  As we shed our winter coats and don our light sweaters, trading our boots and thick socks for sandals, it generates a different reality unique to springtime.  And so, in this new reality, the sun shone on Roma this weekend in such a way that I felt more at home.

Friday began with a bus ride to the Vatican, where we warmed ourselves in the sunshine of Piazza San Pietro while watching both locals and tourists flock out into the streets of Roma with a newfound zeal.  From St. Peter's we moved forward into the city with no destination in mind and no agenda to follow –– our day was free, and we were ready to Rome (thank you Kevin for that wonderful pun).  Ending up in Piazza Venezia, we climbed the steps aside Monumento Nazionale a Vittorio Emanuele II, popularly known as the “Wedding Cake” building, and once again soaked up the Roman sunshine.  From there we walked toward the Spanish Steps and arrived just as the sun was setting over the city.  There are select moments where the fact that I am in Italy washes over me.  It is not that I forget where I am, but more so that the routine of school and the busy weekends have helped me to feel as comfortable here as I do at home in San Francisco.  Yet there are moments, maybe when the sun fades into night and casts a pink glow over the cobblestone streets or I stumble upon something I have only seen in movies, which make me stop and actually think about where I am and what I am doing.  Standing atop the Spanish Steps watching the slowly diminishing sun behind an endless assemblage of buildings was one of those moments.  Sometimes when the comfort of a routine sets in you need a moment that will give you just enough clarity to change your perspective.

This weekend, aside from beautiful weather, also gifted us with a visit from the Budapest study abroad students and a little taste of home in this incredibly different culture.  We ventured out in to the city Friday night, a blend of San Francisco, Saint Louis, and Chicago students living in Italy and Hungary ready to experience Roman nightlife.  Saturday was a day of relaxation and errands in town, followed by an attempt at Mexican food only to find out that a reservation was needed for the restaurant.  In a world of pasta and pizza, sometimes what you really crave most is a burrito.  Maybe next week!  We awoke early Sunday morning to trek to Porta Portese, a Flea Market that I can tell will quickly become a weekend tradition when I stay in the city.  We wove our way through stands of cheap clothing, shoes, jewelry, bags, books, music, sunglasses, and every other item you could imagine being sold in an outdoor market.  Followed by lunch and gelato, it was the perfect way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

Amidst the bustle of city life and the slowly mounting piles of homework, finding calm in lazy weekend afternoons makes me feel like Roma is gradually becoming a bigger part of me.  There is a certain sense of awe that comes from standing in front of ancient ruins, but there is a greater sense of belonging that comes from uncovering the authentically Roman hidden gems on days when there is nothing but time.  It is what the Italians refer to as “il dolce far niente.”  The sweetness of doing nothing. 

The sunset from the Spanish Steps

Jewelry at Porta Portese

Scarves and artwork at Porta Portese

Quando si lascia la vecchia per la nuova

With the transition into a new country comes the inevitable adoption of its culture.  Up until this point, my absorption of the Italian lifestyle has been one based primarily on a relationship with food, language, and the arts.  I have eaten my fair share of pasta, pizza, and gelato; I have stumbled my way through conversations in Italian and picked up a few new phrases in the process; I have seen the likes of the Pantheon, Trevi Fountain, Spanish Steps, and Roman Forum.  But today served as an introduction to an aspect of Italian culture that is probably more unknown to me than the language itself –– attendance of the Papal Audience.  

For those who know me well enough, I am not a religious person.  Despite attending a Jesuit school, I have my own set of reasons as to why I have not integrated religion into my life; and while I am not opposed to religion nor will I criticize anyone for their beliefs, the understanding of a higher power or one God is not something I can wrap my head around.  This makes me the perfect candidate to pay a visit to the Pope, right?  When I heard that Loyola cancelled classes for the day and gave us all tickets to the Papal Audience, I decided that neglecting to go simply because I was not Catholic would only keep me from experiencing as much of Roma as I possibly could.  And after all, the Vatican is one of Roma's defining characteristics, despite many Romans being non-practicing Catholics (you will often hear "Io sono cattolica ma non pratico").  So instead I set my alarm for six a.m. and set out to view this whole experience from a sociological standpoint.  If nearly 1.1 billion people in this world define themselves as Roman Catholics, it is no secret that this religion has a large influence on our society.  After spending awhile figuring out what was appropriate to wear (it says something about our generation when only a handful of us brought dresses that covered both our knees and shoulders), we caught the 990 bus and set out toward the dome that serves as the highest building in Roma.  We passed through the security checkpoints, handed over our tickets, walked inside and took our seats about ten rows from the front.  

The rows of seats began to fill with people from all over the world, many of who were dressed up, carrying signs, flags, and singing.  While I may not understand the Catholic religion as a whole, one thing that is entirely apparent is the sense of community that stems from being part of it.  When one group would begin a song, another would join in, followed by the clapping of another and the tambourine of yet another.  The swell of excitement grew as the minutes ticked on until the Pope finally walked on stage to abounding camera flashes, cheers, and applause.  And so it began.  Two hours of introductions for each group in their native language (Loyola received its own recognition and a wave from the Pope) and the Pope reading the same thing in seven different languages.  Many groups greeted the Pope with chants and songs, revealing their overwhelming affection for him.  Being someone who has never felt this sort of devotion to a religion, it was quite the eye-opening experience.  It is amazing how something can serve to unify people from around the world, regardless of their language, social class, race, or ethnicity.  I may not identify, but there is no denying the power generated from the religious community.  Ultimately, we are a vastly religious society, and today I was at the heart of the Catholic sector of it.  I got another little taste of Italian life this morning that helped me to step outside my romanticized version of Roma filled with espresso shots and Nutella croissants, and it was nowhere near what I had anticipated.  Not bad by any means, just different.

It was a sunny day at the Vatican

Yes, there's still a Christmas tree up in February

The Pope (blurry, I know)

When in Rome...

I like to define this past weekend as my first "real" weekend in Roma, and what a weekend it was.  There was no settling in, no mandatory orientation trips, no days planned out to the exact hour.  It was just me and my friends and Roma, exactly how I have always imagined it, with the absolute freedom to do as we pleased. 

Friday began with shopping, followed by a dinner downtown of pizza and a panino and the incredible three-flavor gelato combination of dark chocolate, coffee, and caramel.  We returned to the JFRC, watched a movie, got ready, and headed to Testaccio, an area known for its popular discoteccas.  The evening was nothing short of eventful and proved many stereotypes about Italy I had been told over and over again, including the persistence of Italian men.  Saturday was my roommate's twenty-first birthday, and was a leisurely day filled with a walk in Balduina (our neighborhood), coffee and pastries in town, and a visit to the local hair salon.  If you think that Italian women take time making themselves look presentable, wait until you see the men.  My roommate and I waited on a man in the salon for over an hour as he had his hair washed, cut, blow-dried, and styled.  And it was not as if he had a lot of hair or a high-maintenance haircut.  It was simple, run of the mill short hair that apparently required twice the amount of time it took to cut everyone else's hair in the salon.  After the salon we headed back to campus and set out for Trastevere, known to be more “authentically Italian” than Testaccio.  Following a few direction mishaps, we ate dinner at a delicious restaurant where I had my first pesto pasta in Italy and an incredible apple strudel with gelato.  To top it off, we ate just like the Italians at around ten p.m.!  We finally made it to Trastevere only to be caught in the rain, and it was in the middle of the downpour that we decided to go home.  After attempting and failing to find a taxi (it is illegal to hail them off the streets here) we crossed the bridge to a piazza with a little more promise.  However, as we walked up to the taxi stand it dawned on us that everyone in Roma apparently had the same idea, and we were faced with a line of about twenty people who were wet, tired, angry, and drunk.  Getting into a cab quickly turned into a competition, and I witnessed people shoving each other out of the way, racing after taxis, fighting, and screaming –– all in the middle of the pouring rain.  After about twenty minutes we made it into a cab and arrived safely back at campus, soaking wet and happy to be home.  My bed had never looked so inviting.  

This weekend may have had its ups and downs, but it was one that allowed us to see Roma on our own time and in our own way.  We have seen the antiquity of this eternally beautiful city paralleled by its modernity, have seen its culture by day and by night, and have lived amongst the Italians.  I guess it’s true what they say, that when in Rome, you really do have to do as the Romans do.  

Before leaving for Trastevere -- happy birthday Saiena!

"All we do is eat, sleep, and look at ruins"

I have returned from a weekend orientation trip with all the students of the John Felice Rome Center, and though it was amazing I have to admit that I have never appreciated my tiny little dorm room and these freezing hallways more. The weekend began on Friday around six a.m. when the Student Life Assistants ran up and down our hallways, waking us up with their megaphones and banging on our doors (I guess I missed the memo that I was attending military school). We dragged ourselves onto the waiting buses tired and bleary eyed to make the three and a half hour trek to Herculaneum, or Ercolano in Italian. Herculaneum, a town that once served as a destination spot for the wealthy, was preserved by the eruption of Mount Vesuvius and is still undergoing excavation. It was incredible to see the town similar to what it was in AD 79, with many of the houses still intact and containing their original mosaic floors. Herculaneum sits below its modern day counterpart, and wandering along ancient streets while looking up at modern day apartment buildings further emphasized the juxtaposition between old and new that is such a strong element of Italy’s heritage.  Just as the rain and cold became too much to bear, we were put back on buses and shuttled to a restaurant where plates of fried appetizers, personal pizzas, and desserts were waiting.  It was by far the best pizza I have had thus far, and though I tried very hard, finishing it was impossible.  If pizza continues to be that good, or get even better, I may just not come home.

Our hotel for the weekend was located in Solerno, a small city on the sea that, despite the cold rain, was beautiful.  We were served another three-course meal for dinner and then set out to see what was around, which at night was not much.  The main shopping street in Solerno was lined with lights that kept the spirit of Christmas alive and cast a soft glow on the puddle-ridden streets.  After a long day it was nice to explore on our own before passing out to prepare for the following day’s trip to Paestum.  Saturday was another rainy, frigid day filled with ruins and museum exploration; and though seeing ancient temples across from restaurants and cafes in the middle of a small town was incredible, seeing them cold, wet, and hungry might not have been the best way to appreciate it.  Nonetheless, it was a day rich with history and filled with yet another delicious lunch.

Sunday began early again as we set out for Sorrento, another seaside town famous for its Limoncello.  We had two hours to explore on our own before lunch, and after refueling with some incredible cappuccinos we stumbled upon a small store stocked full of chocolate, olive oil, and every type of Limoncello imaginable.  The owners gave us samples (my least favorite being condensed milk with lemon extract and my favorite being chocolate liquor and lemon) and we all happily purchased our bottles of Limoncello as pieces of Sorrento that we could take back with us.  Lunch was served at a restaurant overlooking the ocean, and we once again hopped onto the buses tired and full to make our way home to campus.  Just as we all grew antsy to get home, a tire blew out on the bus behind us and we sat stranded on the side of an Italian highway.  Our very skilled drivers changed the tire as we shared stories and jokes and we were soon on our way, arriving back at school about two hours later than planned and about an hour late for dinner. 

Though this weekend was an exhausting, cold, and wet one, it was also one that allowed me to see cities I may have never otherwise visited.  I saw my first snow in Italy on the mountaintops surrounding us.  I saw the ocean, Mount Vesuvius, and ancient towns left as they were years ago.  I tasted incredible pizza and coffee and ate more pasta then I ever wanted.  I learned a little more about Italy, and a little more about myself in the process –– one thing being that I should not eat, but will almost finish, five three-course meals in three days.  It was a long weekend but it was one that gave me my first authentic taste of Italy outside of Roma and left me wanting more.  

The original mosaic at a house in Herculaneum

One of Paestum's temples

The city of Solerno

Sorrento on a rainy day

Chi cerca trova

A couple of days ago I learned the Italian saying "non basta la vita."  Directly translated, it means "not enough life," or "life is not enough."  Less literally, it is used by Italians to mean that there is not enough life to see everything we want to see, do everything we want to do, and at the end we usually end up looking back on everything we believe we missed.  I hope to never be one of those people.  I am starting with Italy, and these experiences are the ones that I will look back on to say that my life was more than enough.

These past few days marked the beginning of classes, meaning the beginning of a steadier routine and the beginning of my education in Roma.  They also marked the beginning of my first venture outside of Roma, as this past weekend we traveled to Orvieto, a small town located high on Italy's cliffs and surrounded by a stone wall.  Known for producing an award-winning white wine, it is perhaps most famous for the Duomo, the Orvieto Cathedral.  A massive structure of alternating black and white stripes of stone and a face of intricately placed mosaics, we arrived at the cathedral in the slowly fading afternoon light.  What truly struck me was the fact that, hundreds of years ago, people spent years hand-carving each distinct piece of marble and laying every individual tile so that we are able to stand before its artistry and marvel in its power.  This is what deserves true appreciation.

My trip to Orvieto was one that was also heavily occupied by food, as we were given an introduction to a traditional Italian meal.  As we sat around the tables occupied by bottles of wine to split between three or four people and both aqua naturale and aqua gassata (natural or sparkling water), our first course was brought out.  I cannot tell you the name, but I can tell you that it was delicious.  I think the only way to describe it would be to say a type of mac n' cheese with vegetables.  Basically, it was flat pasta filled with multiple layers of cheese and sliced vegetables.  Incredible.  The minute our plates were cleaned they were replaced by our second course –– a beef dish, side salad, and bread.  As a reinstated meat eater, all I can say is that I am enjoying each and every meat dish I have had so far.  After about three rolls each, a few glasses of red wine, and a completely cleared dinner plate, there was little room for anything else.  That is, until dessert was brought out.  A strawberry tiramisu with perfectly proportioned layers and flavors, it was quickly finished off by each and every one of us.  I may not be Italian, but this is a lifestyle anyone could get used to.

We have a weekend trip scheduled for Friday through Sunday that covers parts of the coast, with a lunch in Pompeii that I am really looking forward to.  Many weekend trips are in the planning process right now, including a definite Spring Break trip to Paris and Ireland set for March.  Europe is waiting for us with each passing day, and we want to see it all.    

The Orvieto Cathedral

One of many ceramic shops

The walled exterior of Orvieto

   

Let's write letters!

I always love getting mail.  Here's my address in Rome:

Ashley Thomas
Room 314
Via Massimi, 114/A
00136 Rome, Italy


Also, here's a humorous video that compares Italy to the rest of Europe.  And from what I've experienced so far, a lot of this is pretty accurate! 

Not all those who wander are lost

In the past couple of days I have experienced countless firsts.  My first bus ride in Roma.  My first taste of gelato and pizza.  My first real Roman experiences.  I finally feel like I am in Italy, and this is only day four of my adventure.  Never again will I say how crazy the Muni drivers are in San Francisco, for when riding a bus in Roma standing becomes a matter of holding on with two hands and finding as much balance as you can muster.  And when that doesn't happen, it's easier to just find a seat.  I will not be able to return to gelato or pizza in the United States, because with one bite of each there is going back.  I have experienced Pistachio (my current favorite), Nutella, Dark Chocolate, and Caffè gelato, but to choose just one flavor is nearly impossible.  I have seen the Vatican, Pantheon, Trevi Fountain, Roman Forum, Colosseum, and Spanish Steps, all of which have only affirmed the unique blend of beauty that makes Roma what it is.

 

A group of us boarded the 990 bus and headed away from school in search of something that would cement the fact that we are studying abroad.  After finding Old Bridge gelato we began to walk and ended up in St. Peter's square, illuminated by lampposts, as well as a giant Christmas tree and nativity scene that still stand in the center.  As light played off the cobblestone and the Vatican loomed above us, a sense of calm washed over me as I began to realize that this eternally beautiful city is the place I am currently able to call home. 

Following our voyage to the Vatican and a day full of long safety and culture meetings, we set out the following evening for a greater Roman experience.  We wandered down tiny alleys as scooters and taxis whisked by, just like in almost every movie made about Rome, and found the many hearts of the city.  Yet for me, the most incredible site thus far has been La Fontana di Trevi.  Walking around the corner to the sounds of its roaring waters and bustling admirers got my heart racing, and I had to stop and take a deep breath to absorb the reality of it.  No picture can do it justice, no film and capture the emotion of standing in front of it.  I threw a coin into its clear waters with the hope that it will one day return me to Roma.

I have seen, heard, tasted and smelled so much in my short stay here.  What I have witnessed has only strengthened my love for this city and its inimitable culture that weaves together the antiquities of the past and the modernity of today.  There may be designer stores leading up to the Spanish Steps and a McDonald’s near the Pantheon, yet the way these incredible powerful structures integrate into present day Roma makes their presence even more awe-inspiring.  It is something that I cannot begin to describe but an exquisiteness that you must see for yourself.   

The Colosseum

The Spanish Steps

La Fontana di Trevi

You may have the universe if I may have Italy

Ciao! I have made it!  From the fading early morning layer of San Francisco fog to the snow covered runway of Atlanta to the sunny yet wintry chill of Rome, my arrival on the John Felice Rome Center campus has been long-awaited.  I have dreamt of this trip for months, for years really, but it has finally settled in that it is no longer a dream.  I have made it to Italy and there is no turning back.  In “De Gustibus,” Robert Browning wrote, “Open your heart and you will see graved inside of it,'Italy.' Such lovers old are I and she; So it always was, so it still shall be!” If at the end of this I can walk away saying close to the same thing, if I can fall in love as strongly with Italy as he did, then my trip will have been worthwhile.  And so, with two suitcases and a backpack containing as much of home as I could fit in them, I arrived as the sun was rising in Rome, passport in hand, extremely tired, slightly disheveled, and in need of a real meal.  I was dropped off at the gates to campus and buzzed in by the guard, and as I rolled my suitcase over the stone walkways littered with fallen oranges toward the great brick building that was now to be my home, it all hit me.  For the next four or five months, Italy is my playground and I get to explore as much as I desire.  Following a whirlwind of registration, I lugged my sixty pound suitcase up three flights of stairs (yes, I did almost topple over a few times) and pulled open the dusty shutters of my dorm room.  This semester will be life-changing – enlightening, instructive, adventurous, and terrifying.  I have chosen to trade in my USF student ID for a Loyola one, my apartment for a dorm room and rock-hard twin bed, my Muni pass for a visa, and have started my spring semester in Roma. 

My Professore Italiano explained today the lifestyle of Italians, something I have not had that much time to see for myself.  He said that they wake up, have coffee, think about what they will do for the day, have coffee, work for about an hour, have coffee, got to lunch, have coffee, work for another hour, have coffee, eat dinner, have coffee, and go to sleep.  While we in the United States live to work, they work to live – and take about eleven hours to complete what we would do in three.  Yet there are three times when this slow-paced “switch” is turned off.  1) When they drive.  In my forty minute drive from the airport I was convinced there were about five times we were going to die.  Not only was my taxi driver screaming on the phone in Italian, but he was swerving in and out of traffic, driving on the wrong side of the road, running red lights, and cutting off other traffic.  I have seen cars and motorcycles literally drive up onto the sidewalk to get through traffic.  And all of this is to get to work and…have a cup of coffee.  2) When they eat.  Forget if you have had their six courses already, apparently they will not take “no” for an answer.  And meals are on a completely different level and schedule here.  Breakfast usually consists of coffee and some sort of dolce – a sweet pastry (mine today was a warmed up chocolate croissant that was delizioso) that gives you just enough sugar to start your morning.  Some businesses shut down for hours at a time during lunch, and dinner is not until later, maybe around nine or ten at night.  3) Soccer.  I have been told that if there is absolutely one thing I must do while in Rome, it is to attend a soccer game.  Apparently, if I do not support AS Roma I will be shunned, and screaming FORZA ROMA in the hallways after quiet hours will not get me in trouble.  Yet for all this slow-paced to insanely fast mentality of Italian life, there is a quality of beauty that remains consistently strong.  Italians see beauty in everything, and hold it to a high standard.  Rome is a city with an extraordinarily rich history and culture, but above all it is a city steeped in beauty and teeming with life, and it is this that I have set out to find.

My dorm room

View from our window

Sunset from our window