Arrivederci!

I’m sitting in the Fiumicino Airport, with a Prada on one side and a Gucci on the other, drinking my last Fanta (somehow, they are way more delicious in Europe than in the states) and getting my last view of Rome. Or, rather, my last view of Italy, because Rome is about 40 minutes away and this doesn’t really count. And as my last view of Italy, it doesn’t really count either, because it is an airport like most airports, with an uninspiring view of the tarmac. (The best airport I’ve seen was in Zurich, because the Swiss Alps are all around and it’s gorgeous despite its airport status. Also, they gave me free chocolate on my flight, so I’m a fan. Yes, I can be easily swayed/bought by chocolate. Keep that in mind, politicians.)

I’m experiencing severe withdrawal right now; I spent most of yesterday either wandering around lugging ridiculously heavy suitcases over cobblestone (regrets…so many regrets…) or sitting in my hotel room watching you-tube videos. (It was the airport hotel, so it would have cost at least 14 euros to get back to the city center and I was pretty wiped out once I checked in after waiting in line for an hour.) My friends are nowhere to be seen; they’re either exploring a new country or already back in the states. This is what I get for leaving on Sunday, not Saturday when they kicked us out of our apartments - no one to talk to in the airport. I miss everyone already. I find myself wishing I had someone’s story from class to critique/read, because I need some connection to these people that I met and fell in deep platonic love with over the last five weeks.

However, I guess the lack of friends in the airport gives me time to write this potentially final travel blog post, updating you all with my adventures from the last week. I’ve still got forty minutes until my flight boards, which allows me to type and enjoy my final Fanta in peace. (So good…)

But where to begin? So much has happened in the time since I last posted, and so there are many adventures to recollect. I guess I shall start with a brief description of my excellent trip to Milan and Cremona, because chronologically that came first.

When I come back to Italy (not if, when. I tossed a second coin into the Trevi Fountain Tuesday night, so it shall come to pass) I am spending at least a good three days in Milan. Everything about it was sparkling and wonderful and beautiful, from the glorious rows of glistening shops to the incredible beauty of their duomo that greets you in all of its shining splendor as you walk up the metro steps. It was a truly breathtaking sight to behold, my first few minutes in Milan.

The shopping, as well, was fantastic. I was disheartened by the fact that the “reasonably priced” shops that I found described still far surpassed my budget, but I still found a few excellent gems to serve as souvenirs for me and friends. (You’re welcome!) I also found the first opera house in Italy (and the most famous), the Teatro Alla Scala (or La Scala for short), which was super exciting. There wasn’t time to see a show, but I took some photos and ate at a caffè nearby - the Caffè Verdi! That was my second musically-related caffè of the day; I stopped in the Caffè Stradivari in Cremona that morning.

Cremona was also beautiful, at least in the center of town. This was one of my favorite places that I visited during these five weeks, because it was the home of the best violin makers in history - the Guarneri family, the Amati family, and of course, Stradivari himself. I walked through a quaint market area, bustling on a Saturday morning, and found my museums of choice. Unfortunately, I only got to go through one of the ones I found, because a private tour was going through one of them and the lady selling tickets was unsure of when the tour would be done, and I had a train to catch back to Milan. I was disappointed, but the other museum was so fun that I definitely got over the lack of the other. The museum I did get to tour was the Stradivari Museum, which was part of the main museum of Milan. This meant that I had to trek through all the other exhibits quickly (ignoring a lot of art, sadly) to see what I really wanted to see. But the Strad exhibit did not disappoint.

The museum had dozens of old instruments on display, including some by Guarneri and Amati. But the highlight of the exhibit were the beautiful Strad violins, some of which were ornately carved and decorated and looked incredibly lovely. I have never been more tempted to steal something from a museum before, or more tempted to play a violin. (I wanted those Strads…they were gorgeous! One of the ornate ones was from his golden period, and that was my favorite. I was in intense lust for those beautiful instruments.)

I would have been content with just the instrument displays, but the museum also had an incredible collection of tools from Stradivari’s workshop. There were patterns that he used to carve his wood, metal tools used to cut wood and craft the instruments, bridges and tuning pegs, and even part of the sign from his shop. There were letters written in his own hand to patrons, and it was all very, very exciting. I took lots of pictures - flash off, of course - and it was fantastic.

The rest of my time was spent in Milan, shopping and eating. It was fantastic, but my feet - dressed in my flats, not sneakers, since I was in the fashion capital of the universe - were very unhappy with me.

After that weekend trip, I began my last weekend in Rome. I walked around a ton, spent a great deal of time editing my last drafts for my creative writing class, and hung out with my friends. Unlike most people, my class didn’t require a final on the exam day, so I didn’t have to spend my last week studying in my room like a lot of people, which was nice. On my own, I walked to the Vatican and saw St. Peter’s Basilica, with Michelangelo’s Pieta inside (it was magnificent), and explored the Vatican Museum, which was connected to the glorious Sistine Chapel. I cannot even recount how amazing both the Pieta and the Sistine Chapel were, but I’m not going to lie - I teared up a bit when I first saw both of them. That’s how incredible they were.

I also explored Rome at night with my friends, frequenting the Spanish Steppes and the Trevi Fountain, tossing in a coin to ensure that I will return to Italy. It was a great night, even if it was just a Tuesday.

On Wednesday, all the writing classes (fiction, poetry, and literary translation) had a reading. It was catered with food far more delicious than any of the summer’s cafeteria mess, along with wine and great entertainment. We all read parts from our work, including our professor, and although it lasted 2.5 hours, the time flew. I already miss my classmates and their excellent prose and our entertaining class discussions.

Thursday night, we had our final “family” potluck dinner. We had these once a week, and our final one consisted of leftovers and 3 different types of pasta, which was entertaining. We failed to open the only bottle of white wine we had (out of the 4 bottles at the table) even though there were 4 reasonably strong guys and some strong girls as well sitting at the table, trying to pull out the cork. We all failed and gave it up for a lost cause. We then played our last few rounds of cards (I am now well versed in the art of playing Hearts, Cucumber, and Asshole) and parted ways; most people had to study, and one person had an early Friday flight.

Friday night, five of us remaining went out to dinner and then hit the town. I had my final authentic pizza, final mixed drinks, and (the worst part) my final cone of gelato. I am definitely going to miss my favorite combination of flavors - Nocciola and Pistacchio, or hazelnut and (obviously) pistachio. I cannot get gelato this good anywhere in the states, especially in this best-of-best flavor combination.

Saturday consisted of packing like mad, throwing away 5 weeks worth of clutter, and washing dishes before departing. I’m going to miss my own personal kitchen, especially when school starts and all I will have will be a giant fridge and a microwave with which to cook.

I keep catching myself using the language, as well. I’ve gotten on my flight, and instinctively, every time someone hands me something (such as the stewardess), I immediately say “Grazie.” On this plane from Rome to D.C. Italian is obviously allowed, but I’m going to have to keep it in check once I get to the states. Ciao, Mi dispiace, si, and countless other words have wormed their way into my daily vocabulary, and it is going to be difficult to break the habit, especially because I don’t want to let the words go.

I guess this brings my travel blog to a close; I’m on a plane that will arrive in the states in 9 hours (and where, hopefully, I will find some wi-fi and post this so that you all can read it!) and I will have left my beloved Italy for good. For now. I swear that I will be back; the Trevi Fountain is calling for me.

Until I can return, I’ll busy myself with Italian language classes and the new Woody Allen movie, the title of which aptly fits my thoughts right now: To Rome, With Love.

Rome, my beautiful Italy, it’s been a blast. We will meet again, someday in the future.

Arrivederci, Roma.

Baci,

Giulia

The Highest of Italian Art Forms

I happen to have two main loves in this world - music and food. I happen to be studying abroad in a country that is not only famous for both, but presents some of the world’s finest creations in both fields. In the last week, I was able to experience these two art forms in new and remarkable ways, culminating in a week that stands out as one of the best here thus far.

First, I was given the opportunity through the university to attend an opera at the old opera house, the Teatro dell’Opera. I knew little about what was to come, except that my ticket seemed unusually expensive (although it also included bus transportation to and from the theatre) and that the opera to be performed was Verdi’s Attila.

Now, this was surprising for several reasons. First, I was going to get to see an opera by one of Italy’s most famous operatic composers, Giuseppe Verdi. Verdi (to give you non-musicians a bit of background) was an Italian Romantic composer of the 19th century who not only wrote memorable and long-lived operas but also was an influential figure in the long struggle and eventual success of Italian unification. For these reasons, Verdi is highly celebrated in this country, and so it is not unusual to see his operas performed with great frequency here.

However, the choice of this opera was surprising for the opera house, because it is not one of Verdi’s most famous (such as Aida or La Traviata). It is one of his less-performed works, so I went into the adventure knowing little except that it would clearly feature its titular character, Attila the Hun.

Luckily, when on a previous venture around Rome my friends and I came across an English book-store, I had purchased a book about Verdi’s operas, in order to feed my intrigue about this man and his works and to discover, exactly, the plot of this particular opera. But I did not get a chance, what with being busy with writing and other such things in Rome already, to look at this book ahead of time. So as I primped for the opera, adorned in elegant jewelry and my new dress from Sorrento purchased just for this occasion, I tucked the rather thick volume into my purse, hoping I would get a chance to read the synopsis before the performance.

Somehow, we got to the opera house an hour early, giving me plenty of time to take pictures and read my Verdi tome. I discovered that the plot of the opera was centered on four main characters, three of whom using trickery, betrayal, and disguises to murder the fourth, Attila, in order to avenge familial deaths and keep Attila from sacking Rome.

Easy enough, I thought. There were to be three acts plus an initial prologue, and the whole thing was only going to be two and a half hours. The plot was fairly easy to follow (the book laid it out scene by scene and clarified a major plot point confusedly presented by the opera itself) and so I felt fully prepared as I entered the opera house.

Ticket in hand, I braced myself to climb countless stairs on the way to what I presumed would be seats at least near, if not in, the nose-bleed section. To my complete surprise, I was ushered to the left side of the first floor and led to Box VII, which was not only a private box (I sat there with only one other person, who was also from my university) but offered an excellent view of the stage! To put it bluntly, I was freaking out with excitement.

I had to lean on the metal bar that I suppose was there to keep me from falling out of the box (although such a fall would hardly have been damaging) in order to get the best view of the entire stage, but after the first minute or so, I forgot that the bar was even there, so enraptured was I by the performance.

I was hooked immediately by the first notes of the orchestral overture, which was conducted with grace by the famous Riccardo Muti (the Italian conductor of the incredible Chicago Symphony). Once Attila appeared on stage, I was caught in a trance only Verdi could spin, unable to look away for the entire performance (except for one distinct moment, when Attila caught the unfortunate Odabella, with whom he has fallen in love without realizing that she is planning to kill him, in the world’s most uncomfortable, unwanted kiss, and I had to shoot a glance at my friend beside me, thinking that is so creepy).

However, I was incredibly glad that I had brought my book, however bulky, to the opera, because for the first time, I found myself watching an opera without an instant translation of the words! If I had not brought my summary with me to the theatre and read it before I entered, I would have been hopelessly lost, at least in the subtleties of the plot turns and twists, if not the general ideas. But because I knew the basic outline of the story, I was able to enjoy the entire performance without having to keep up with a constantly-moving printed libretto above the stage. I saw, in fact, Verdi’s opera the way that the first audience would have seen Verdi’s opera - completely in Italian. As it was, I was completely immersed in the experience, and I loved every bit of it. I have never felt so moved by a live operatic performance; it was simply incredible. It convinced me thoroughly that there is no opera quite as majestic as an Italian opera.

Also, I loved that the villain was the main character. Give me an attractive bass (or baritone, if you must) over a tenor any day of the week, especially one who can convey such power both physically and vocally like the Attila of that performance.

I was still in a daze over the amazing performance two nights later, when I embarked on my journey into my other favorite art form - Italian food.

I found myself in a small building of which the main features were a long table with chairs for nearly thirty, and a large kitchen. I was here, along with the other university students, to take an Italian cooking class from a married couple (the male Italian, the female American). I knew we would be making a four-course meal - appetizer, pasta, meat/side, and dessert - but I had no idea what we would be making specifically in each category.

Although I was disappointed to find out that we would not all be getting to make each type of food, as there were so many of us, I settled for knowing that we would be e-mailed all of the recipes used in that night’s class. I stayed outside the kitchen at first, because in the area outside the stove tops was where the dessert and pasta (first course) would be made.

Interestingly, the dessert was made first - a delicious-looking tiramisu that we chilled as we made the rest of the meal. Then we set to making the pasta, using only a special flour, some water, and of course a dash of olive oil. (What Italian recipe, really, would be complete without olio?) We kneaded the pasta dough on the tables, rolled it into long snakes, and then cut the snakes into small rectangular pieces. We took these pieces and rolled them along these special ridged wooden blocks, although we learned that we could do the exact same thing using the tines of a fork, and rolled the small pieces of dough across them to give the pasta ridges.

This took a ridiculously long time. But it was incredibly satisfying, if repetitive, to know that I was hand-crafting the very pasta that I would soon get to eat.

Once all the pasta was finally formed, the pasta group moved into the kitchen area. I wound up with the task of stirring the meatballs on the stove, making sure the mixtures of beef, pork, and cheese cooked evenly in their sauce of fresh-cut tomatoes and thick onions. Beside me, thinly-sliced potatoes slowly baked in the oven, marinating in olive oil and rosemary. Around the room, people were stirring pots of the spicy tomato pasta-sauce or arranging the bruschetta with either the tomato mixture or the arugala and soft cream-cheese-like-but-even-better cheese. The heat in the un-air-conditioned, fully packed kitchen was intense, but the smells were phenomenal. Everything was finishing around the same time; the stove area was crowded with people passing the sifted pasta to the boiling water, me alternating between the meatballs and stirring the pasta and its sauce while adding parmesan cheese with my other (third?) hand, and people grabbing the toasting bread for the appetizer.

Around 8:35, five minutes behind schedule, the male chef ushered us out of the kitchen, laden with platters of the bruschetta, and our feast began.

I now understand why Italians take so much time between their courses when they eat at restaurants - they have to let their large portions of each course digest properly before they even have room to eat more. I don’t think I have ever felt so stuffed after a meal. Our courses were brought out instantaneously - after at least three bruschetta pieces on my part, I devoured the delicious pasta, and then stuffed myself with the best potatoes of my life (from now on, I will be using only olive oil, not butter, to cook my potatoes). Following these, I ate as many meatballs as I could (six, and they were slightly smaller than apricots) because they were divine, but I had to stop, bursting with fullness. But there was still the final course - the perfect tiramisu. Not everyone was a fan (because they didn’t like either coffee or liquor in their desserts, the fools) and I was offered a piece of someone else’s, but unlike normal, when I would have devoured such a gift with immense satisfaction, I had to decline because I could eat no more after consuming my own. Walking afterward was unpleasant.

I was worried that after these two extraordinary nights, no other evenings in Rome would even begin to compare, but I have still enjoyed all of my adventures since. Even our weekly pot-luck dinners as a “family” where my friends and I all bring a meal-item for dinner are as enjoyable (if not more-so, because of company and frugality) as eating out, and our card games accompanied by sipping wine and water are also great fun.

But I am glad indeed that I got to enjoy beautiful music and the creation of fine food in this amazing country that is so skilled in both.

Baci,

Giulia

Julia Czechs Out Prague

So this past weekend, I left Rome for a brief excursion to my second favorite European country that I have visited, the Czech Republic. (The fact that I have only visited two European countries does not matter in this instance, as I adore the Czech Republic.) Going back to the country where I spent most of my last summer was amazing and full of reminiscing, because it was exactly like I remembered it.

There’s something interesting about the Czech culture that’s very unlike Italian. The Czech are somewhat less friendly than the Italians, although if you know a little bit of Czech, you gain favor in their eyes. I discovered a new appreciation for how much Italian I have actually learned, because every time I tried to figure out how to say something like, “Where is Old Time Square?” or or “How much is this scarf?” I could instantly figure out the Italian translation, but in Czech I was hopelessly lost. I know only seven phrases/words in Czech: 1. Good day 2. Yes 3. No 4. Thank you! 5. You’re welcome! 6. Excuse Me 7.Do you speak English? (I’m particularly fond of the last one; it took quite a bit to memorize that but came in handy.) Luckily, these seven phrases were more than enough to get by for two days in Prague.

There’s a distinct difference between Rome and Prague, even though they are both very large cities in their respective countries. Rome is all bustle and photo-snapping, with tourists every which way on the opposite side of the Tiber. (Trastevere, of course, is slightly less crowded, particularly my area of it, since it does not hold the major sites of Rome.) Prague, in contrast, seems far more empty except for the main tourist attractions: the Charles Bridge, the Old Town Square. However, plenty of native Czech speakers roam these same attractions, and so the feel of the city is much more intimate.

Prague’s metro system is also much easier to navigate than Rome’s. I’m still doing my best to figure out the complicated bus/tram/train system in Rome, but Prague’s is incredibly simple and reminds me of the ease of tram traveling my summer in Pilsen. I felt free and powerful in the streets of Prague, unlike my usual hurried frustration on the busses in Rome.

Prague (and the Czech Republic) are also purely picturesque. It is stunning there, with bright-colored houses and elegant shop fronts and buildings designed in every era’s architectural style. It’s dazzling in its gorgeousness; I got fantastic pictures everywhere I walked.

The night life in Prague is more invigorating than what I’ve experienced in Rome so far, not that I’ve gone out much in Rome yet. But with my girlfriends we danced the nights away in busy, crowded clubs filled with people speaking dozens of languages, from Czech to German, in dozens of accents, from Irish to Australian. We quickly learned that in the Czech Republic, at clubs, men wait for the women to approach them, not the other way around. This was somewhat enjoyable, because we could easily choose our dance partners or simply dance in a clustered group.

The rest of Prague involved walking tours around the major sites, quick shopping sprees, and foot-resting in our elegant hostel. Although it was apparently the nicest hostel most people had ever stayed at, I was not a fan of the communal bathrooms/showers. I intentionally avoided that at my university; I did not want to deal with that overseas either. However, I moved past my spoiled American preferences and made it work, although I was pleased to return to my private apartment bathroom back in Rome. I did, however, enjoy the soft mattress and giant pillow which exceeded the quality of that in my apartment.

I got to see excellent things in Prague: the elegant castle, the Lennon Wall, the stands of jewelry and paintings framing the Charles Bridge, the opera house where Don Giovanni was first premiered, my old pal Dvorak (in statue form, of course), and Mozart’s house (from the film, Amadeus). It was wonderful walking semi-familiar streets and remembering things from the past summer. The food - the goulash, the fried cheese, the yeasty pastries sold in stands in the middle of the square - was absolutely delicious and just as I remembered it.

Returning to the Czech Republic was like visiting an old friend, one I cannot wait to visit again in the future. But once again, it was comforting to return to Trastevere, where the cobblestones and the shop owners are familiar and friendly, and the food is distinctly Italian.

This weekend, I’m heading off to Venice and Verona with friends, and I shall update shortly with my experiences there as well as my reflections on the opera (it was more than amazing) and my Italian cooking class!

Baci,

Giulia

Caffè Writing

It’s a warm Tuesday afternoon as I write this, sitting in one of my many preferred caffè, alternating sipping on a pudding-like thick ciocolatta calda and a refreshing bottle of acqua frizzante. I’m full from my free but still disappointing cafeteria lunch, the like of which have not improved since my previous post, but I would feel awkward sitting at a table, a service which at this coffee shop costs but a half euro, without ordering something. And this is my first European hot chocolate, and I am enjoying it so far. It is a refreshing change from my usual cappuccino and my favorite shop’s cappuccino freddo; I’ve had one of each of those already today, and I don’t need any more espresso right now.

In case you’re concerned about my caffeine intake, don’t be. I’m in Rome, heart of the country with the best coffee in the world. I have a warm cappuccino and a croissant (here called a cornetto) before my 9:00 AM class each morning, and immediately after class I cross the Tiber River to one of the best caffè in Rome, the Bar della Cappuccino. It’s a five minute walk from campus, if you count waiting for the lights to turn at the crosswalks, and it has the most delicious drink I’ve had in my life: the cold cappuccino. Somehow, they make it better than any other caffè I’ve tried; there’s something special about this shop’s rich flavor and dark color that far surpasses any other. It’s sweet, as well, even though I don’t add sugar. I take my cappuccini here black (well, without extra milk or any sugar) unless it is subpar. If that’s the case, I drown it in sugar to mask the terrible taste, and the next time I order something different.

After I’m fully awake after my delicious coffee breaks, I either start writing for the day, go to the grocery store, or shop until lunchtime. Immediately after lunch, most days I go to a caffè, sit at a table, order, and write. This, of course, is what I am doing now. Between posts for two blogs, long letters to my best friend, and short stories for my creative writing class, I’m writing on average about 1,500 words a day. Not bad, not bad at all.

Of course, I’m in Rome, so I haven’t stuck to my average schedule every single day. I’m here for five weeks (four weeks to go!) and so I’m doing a little bit of sightseeing every few days. Tomorrow I’m headed to the Vatican for the first time; my friends and I are visiting St. Peter’s Basilica, the Vatican Museum, and the Sistine Chapel and I’ve been mentally freaking out in excitement for the chance to see masterpieces by Michaelangelo, da Vinci, Raphael, and many others up close and in person! If I wasn’t a music major and I enjoyed doing research more, I would be taking multiple art history classes. As it is, I’m content with reading my Rick Steves guide and supplementing it with internet searches.

In the meantime, I’ve already explored some of the most historic sites of Rome: I’ve marveled at the Pantheon, tossed a coin into the Trevi Fountain, climbed the Spanish Steppes, traversed the Piazza Novanna, explored the Roman Forums, and ventured inside the Colosseum. All of these were really, really fun, and I would try to visit them every week if there weren’t so many tourists taking up space!

Tourists are really the only thing I don’t really like about Rome right now, which sounds absolutely silly until you consider that for my stay here, I’m more than just an American student. I’m a student studying at a university in Italy for the summer, and I’m living in an apartment complex in the middle of Trastevere. It hasn’t taken me and my friends very long to feel like we belong here far more than the tourists that plague the streets. The shop owners recognize us in an inviting way reserved for near-Italian visitors; we blend in well after a week here, and slowly we’re fitting into the Roman culture around us.

I’m marveling as well at how quickly I’ve grown comfortable walking the streets here. The first few days, I rarely strayed across the Tiber; home was the small area between the residence and the campus, bridged by the Tiber river and the street of my school. Walking outside of this area, especially across the river, still felt like I was venturing into a very foreign country. But after a week, and a few hours spent exploring most of Trastevere by wandering around looking at shops down whichever street I pleased (but always keeping track of the location of the river), I’ve expanded my boundaries. I can cross the river with ease now, although I don’t do it very often yet. Rome is slowly becoming a giant-city home.

The traffic still is terrible, but I’m slowly getting used to it. Part of my difficulty adapting to it, I believe, lies in my upbringing in a college town lacking in huge population, manic drivers of this intensity, and a mass public transport system. Rome is a large city similar, I hear, to Boston and New York City, both places where I would be just as uncomfortable in relation to traffic, at least for a while. So my alarm is almost understandable.

In addition to exploring Rome, I spent this weekend traveling in the area of Campania. I got to see the ruined city of Pompeii, the touristy but beautiful island of Capri, and Napoli, the home of pizza. (I got to see very little of Naples, but I did get some very delicious pizza and a tasty fruit tart afterward.) Pompeii was fascinating, but it would have been more enjoyable if we could have explored it in small groups as opposed to in a giant tour. But I did learn that, interestingly, one of the best preserved buildings, in regards to the art still on the walls, was clearly a brothel. Not able to hear the tour leader well before entering the building, I was startled by the detailed paintings on the walls. In Capri, I went on a chair-lift to the highest point on the whole island, which happened to be the very top of an extremely tall mountain. Having never been skiing, I had no idea what to expect from the chair-lift, which suspended me several hundred feet above the ground and rocky shore of the ocean. I was mildly freaked out before getting on the lift, but I had three of my new good friends with me who all, having experience with this kind of thing, couldn’t understand why I would be freaking out about something so easy and calm.

They were totally right; once I was up in the air, the lift was slow (it took 13 minutes to get to the top of the mountain) and wonderful. I could see practically the whole island, and it was absolutely gorgeous! The white stone buildings became tiny roofs dotting a green, hilly landscape circled by clear blue ocean, and in the background through the fog and clouds stood a beautiful volcano. Sadly, I didn’t get a whole lot of pictures from this “flight” because my camera died right before I reached the top, but my other friends captured photos for me, and the sight was breathtaking. The chair-lift up and the top of Capri were probably the most enjoyable things of the whole weekend trip.

Little else occurred of importance; I bought a dress in Sorrento to wear to the opera, I bought a “lava-rock” bracelet in Pompeii because I wanted a souvenir from there, I attempted to make garlic bread but just buttered warm bread instead because cutting each garlic clove would have taken forever for eight people during our Thursday night pot-luck dinner, which is now a tradition but will be taking place tomorrow night, and I ate a bunch of tasty Italian food.

I’ve also been writing, and it’s wonderful. I love having so much free time to write, but it’s also very strange, because I’m so used to spending my days in a practice room. I miss my violin, which is encouraging, but it is nice having hours to myself. However, I don’t really know what to do with all my free hours; I spent two straight hours yesterday writing, and it felt like nothing. I wrote two detailed scenes and called it a day; if I’d used that to practice, I would have just gotten started! But I can’t help but miss my violin; I’m careful to stretch every day to keep my body limber, and I do my pencil-push-ups so my bow hand doesn’t completely fall apart when I get back. I’ve also been on the lookout for violin shops in Rome, and I’m planning an expedition to Cremona so I can visit the city where Stradivari, Amati, and Guarneri all built their violini famosi. I am content, here, though, writing all the time. I read the beginning of a short story yesterday by one of the other students in my class, and it was so excellent that it reminded me why I want to be a writer, and especially why I want to be an editor.

Well, after an hour and more than 1.5k words, I’d better bring this blog post to a close. I’ll update soon; I’ll try to before Saturday, as I’ll be wanting to gush about the Vatican and everything else.

Baci,

Giulia

First Impressions

When I arrived in Rome, my first impression was perfection: perfetto. Three days later, still somewhat jet-lagged and trying to adjust to the ordeal of walking for hours on end on uneven stone, I still find it perfetto. Rome is everything I wanted it to be, and it keeps surprising me in ridiculous ways.

After 26 hours of travel and about 4 hours of uncomfortable airplane sleep, I exited the Fiumicino Airport on Thursday at around 3:30 (my flight got in at 2:00; getting bags felt like it took my whole life) and was immediately amazed. The airport wasn’t anything spectacular or Romanesque, but the temperature outside was, again, perfetto. Unlike the raging, dusty winds and the scalding, dry heat I’m used to, Rome had a slight breeze complimenting its 72 degree weather. This breath of fresh air was exactly what I needed to get me through the following frenzy of forms and information thrown at me. I’d been awake far too long-this was a bit much for me to process immediately.

The registration process and such was mostly a blur, but I do remember the shuttle ride from the airport to our residence. Rome at first seemed like any other large city, with gas stations and billboards decorating instead of gorgeous architecture. I was sitting in the front seat of the shuttle, so I had a fantastic view of the landscape, but I also had a mildly terrifying view of the traffic. Rome traffic is indescribably bad. Or, rather, it’s impossible to comprehend by American standards. Cars and motorini weave in and out without any regard for actual space, pedestrians, or collision-avoidance. If I hadn’t been in the front seat, I definitely would have gotten sick. Instead, I could only stare in semi-frozen horror, as we narrowly escaped crashing into the tiny cars that make my Prius look like a monster truck.

I was so distracted by the driving that I missed the transition from outskirts to actual Rome. In what seemed like the blink of an eye, the gas stations and billboards were gone, replaced by ancient buildings made of classic brick and stone, transporting me into a land where I was hurdling down streets Romans had traveled thousands of years ago. It was breathtaking; captivated by the view, I was unaffected by the rushing traffic the rest of the ride. A forty minute ride to our residence passed in what felt like just ten.

But once we reached the residence, I was brought back into reality. I soon realized that while wheeled suitcases are excellent for airport and city travel, they do not hold up well on cobblestone streets. Luckily, I wound up with a room on the ground floor (not the first floor, which in American terms would be the second floor…), so I didn’t have to deal with too many steps or the unreliable elevator. This elevator is worth its own interesting side note: it is turned off between the hours of 11:30 PM and 7:00 AM, and it only holds about 300 lbs.

My ground floor room turned out to be one of the nicer apartments in the complex. I have only one roommate (some people have nine!) and a large living area plus a reasonable-sized kitchen. I’m not sure how often I plan on using the kitchen, as the food here is way better than anything I could make, but the refrigerator has become quite useful for storing fruit and water and leftovers. The wi-fi is a great addition; internet caffè (coffee shops) are hard to come by, and it’s nice to be able to Skype in the comfort of my own apartment.

The few days after have been wonderful so far, although I could have done without the endless orientation sessions and the less-than-ideal cafeteria food. I regret having a meal plan, although hopefully the cafeteria’s preference for excessive salt will not extend to its breakfast croissants, as I plan on grabbing a bit of colazione (perhaps just a roll and a small cappuccino) on my way to my 9:00 class.

I have enjoyed feasting on gelato throughout the city so far, though, and I have definitely appreciated my meals (outside of the cafeteria) thus far. I’ve tried a few pastas and some pizza-by-the-slice (a delightful Eggplant and Mozzarella concoction I ordered by mistake) and I cannot wait to partake in the rest of the city’s edible offerings. I haven’t had gnocchi once yet, but that’s soon to come. I’ve missed my European Fanta (ten thousand times better than the American product) and my acqua frizzante that, unlike the rest of the students here, only I seem to love. I’m still getting used to the late dinners, however, and I may need to purchase afternoon pizza slices in order to get by until 10:00 PM, the time my pasta was served last night.

I’ve been trying to order interesting, unfamiliar, and non-repetitive items thus far, and I think I’m going to have difficulty ordering gelato other than nocciola (hazelnut), although I got to try a flavor named Mozart which was a mix of peanut-butter, vanilla, chocolate, and a bunch of other unidentifiable but tasty flavors. My pasta choices have been quite successful, and I can’t get enough of the buffalo mozzarella, which is possibly my favorite thing in the whole world.

Once I put down my fork, my thoughts turn to sight-seeing. I’m staying in the part of Rome known as Trastevere, south of the Tiber River. There are a few things of great interest that I’ve yet to explore here, but the main attractions of Rome are across the river and quite a bit further from my apartment than I’m willing or able to just walk. However, I’m planning on exploring the Colosseum and the Forum and the Pantheon and of course the Vatican just as soon as it stops raining. (I love rain, but I don’t want to walk around for five hours in it when I’ve got five weeks to explore.) I was supposed to go on a tour of Ancient Rome today organized by my university, but I set my alarm incorrectly and woke up twenty-five minutes after the tour started. I was quite disappointed, but it gave me a day to figure out exactly what I’m going to do with the rest of my week. Also, I got to see quite a bit of Rome yesterday during an orientation tour, and my feet are still recovering from that, so maybe this all worked out for the better.

Now that I’ve been in Rome a few days, I’m actually quite excited to begin my class in Creative Writing. It takes place from 9 to 11 Monday through Thursday, giving me plenty of time to write, blog, and explore Rome during my afternoons and extended weekends. In addition, it gives me time to figure out my napping schedule should I need one. (Rome has, by law, designated quiet hours from 1 to 4 PM and from 11 PM to 7:00 AM.)

However, I’m still trying to figure out exactly how to spend all this free time. My fingers are going crazy; I don’t have my violin and my body isn’t entirely sure what to do about it. It’s so strange to know that I’m going to have hours and hours to spare during the day that cannot be filled with practicing!!! I’ve already been looking through guide books and online catalogs, trying to find classical music concerts I can attend without breaking my budget, and I’m attending an opera in June. It’s sponsored by the university, and I’m just hoping people will actually buy tickets for it, since I’m not sure how most people would feel about attending an Italian opera in Italy, where there will be no English subtitles (the only thing that holds the average viewer’s attention). I, on the other hand, can hardly contain my excitement to see the opera, and the lack of subtitles makes the entire experience even more intriguing. Perhaps, without their aid, I will be able to more easily capture the storyline and key Italian phrases.

Speaking of Italian phrases, my year of Italian equipped me to conjugate tenses but did not entirely prepare me to plunge into a fast-speaking, hand-gesturing country. I love the language and how it rolls off the tongues of the natives, but I had difficulty ordering my slice of pizza for dinner tonight, and was only saved by the cameriere taking pity on me and voicing my options in English. However, my grasp on the language seems stronger than 9/10 of the summer session students, and so I feel more confident about this. After all, confidence is key to public speaking, whether it be in English or a foreign language. And I’m doing pretty well with my Italian, my pizza order aside. I can only hope it will continue to improve the longer I spend around locals during these next few weeks.

Although there are dozens of additional things I could write about, I’ve reached the limit of what I can type tonight before I go to sleep. I’m starting to get sleepy at a reasonable hour, although I’m still not totally adjusted from the states, and I have to get plenty of sleep before my exciting first day of class in the morning. So until next time, buonanotte!

Baci,

Giulia