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