To Northern Italy and Beyond!

My sister told me it was time to update my blog. Well, I do what she says.

If you're an avid reader of my work, you'll know from the last creative writing piece (is it fact or fiction?!?!?! we'll never know!!!!!) that I went to northern Italy to Milan. Did I happen to mention that not one of us who went to Milan got pick-pocketed? Well now you know! Very proud, of me and my friends, I am! (cockney accent). ANYWAYS: We were given Friday off for Thanksgiving, and there was a lot of discussion as to what were we should go. First, after getting extremely close to Switzerland (when we visited Lake Como for a day), we were sure that Zurich was our destination. Woah! That was expensive! Readers: If you want to get to Zurich, become one of Berlusconi's mistresses first. No just kidding, please don't do that. I really don't endorse that statement. Plus, I don't think it's worth it.

So Zurich didn't happen, sadly. And I'm not extremely sure where this came from, I can't remember if I just shouted it out, or after some research we decided, or if someone was like well, can't go to Zurich, next best thing is....well, we decided on Turin. Now, there were a few "haters", if you will, people who just didn't think there was much to the place. And for a while, it seemed like everything would fall apart, because we had no idea what was in Turin.

You see, though, there is a moment. You realize how much time is left, and you have this one opportunity. In all other circumstances, I probably would've stayed on the couch in Winchester, MA and not have gone bowling. But this is no bowling my friend. So, a round trip train ticket later, and a hostel booked, we were on our way. Of course, though, the school set up a nice little Thanksgiving dinner for us first:

 

So we took off Thursday night (had the dinner Wednesday), and arrived in Turin around 7pm, and finally found the hostel.  What can I say? Turin was probably my favorite city. There are multiple factors in this: It isn't tourist season in most of Italy. It was Christmas time, there were a million lights up everywhere. In fact 20 different artists every year design lights to be put up. It wasn't raining, as it was everywhere else in Italy. And I really love Milan, it was my favorite for quite a bit. But it rained the entire time we were there. Turin, it was cold, but very dry. And Sunday? Oh yeah! It snowed! 

There were in fact, a million things to do. First, the cinema museum, then the panoramic view on top of said cinematic masterpiece museum and fantasticness. Did I mention also, we arrived just in time, without planning a thing, for the Turino Film Festivcal? So Heck Yeah, we got to see a movie at a film festival. Before we got to the film festival, though, we visited a small town in the alps called Bardonecchia.

Panoramic view!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THIS EXISTS: B-Town

So, what can I say? I had a wonderful time. Now though, classes are winding down. We've stopped learning things in Italian, and have resorted to try and tell long stories, and the main objective is to repeat the entire story before you add your new part. It's interesting. At college, that's a drinking game. Here, it's to help you learn a language. Sometimes we describe a picture, while someone else has to draw it. Other times it's charades. Sometimes it's 20 questions. Now though, comes all the review. The final papers, big projects, and the complete realization that it's all stopping. 

I don't know what it is, I don't know if I feel settled here. I don't know if it's really that I think I belong, because more than ever I feel like I belong somewhere else. But in some weird way, this room feels like my room. Of all the things I'm leaving, I feel the weirdest about leaving my bright red desk. 

Until next time.

Well, I've realized, I mean I've actually known all along, I'm not very good at this blog thing. For one, I've completely forgotten about food. That could be because it gets a little weary, not bad, just a little weary. Or it could be because my photography professor told me to get into it more, and I immediately lost interest. Why does that happen? My mom probably knows the answer better than I do, having dealt with me for so many years...but I can guess the answer. Stubbornness? Rebellion? I'll take it, it's cool--I've really always been that way.

But now, I'm back in Siena, having traveled to the north of Italy and all the way to London. It's amazing how smoothly it went, actually. If traveling didn't just stress the hell out of me in general, I would say that it was easy! It practically was.

So break started off with almost a 'fake out': a trip to Florence for a Art History field trip, so there are no classes (wooo!!! vacation!!!), but from 9 am until about 6 pm you're being flung from museum to museum (not vacation). The first time I did this, it was amazing, read my last blog, it'll say I was excited for the second Friday. Well, I was. Until it got to be right after lunch, something switched off...well it was maybe more like standby. So from Florence on Saturday morning we finally took off for Milan, where we stayed for 4 days and 3 nights.

There are many things I could tell you about Milan. First, it rained a lot. And when I say a lot I mean to say that it didn't stop. Cool.
Second, if you're wondering where all the beautiful men live, it's there. Even the people at the hostel were model-esque. Imagine the bus drivers.

But that is besides the point (kind of). I really loved Milan. Maybe it would be a different story if I was living there for four months, but the break from Siena was welcome. It wasn't quite as intimidating as most people painted it, and I found it to have its own very unique and special charm. And not to mention, to all those haters out there, none of us were pick pocketed. And when I say haters, I mean very nice people who nicely warned us. And when I say they warned us, they made us plain paranoid. But, you know, paranoia ain't always a bad thing.

We also got to spend a day at Lake Como, where I met Erika, who has been a close friend of my mother for many years. Well, since I barely speak Italian, and she barely speaks English, we went with Italian. I was nervous at first, that there would be nothing for us to talk about, but in truth, there was plenty! Well when I say plenty I mean that I nodded and she did the talking.

Next stop was London, where my Aunt and Uncle let us crash at their house. My Uncle Jack came and picked us up at a meeting point, and just as I had made it ten feet in front of him, shouted, "BUONASERA!" What a welcome!

It was an amazing five days. I slept late, ate bagels for breakfast, wandered around London, got to go back to the house and sit and calmly hang out, have some chips and salsa and watch Law and Order. One night my family made us a steak dinner, with asparagus and bruschetta. The next few nights, we were all to cook for ourselves--taco night anyone?

I hadn't realized until I left Italy how nice it was to have other food. I'm not sick of pasta, I'm not really sick of anything here yet--though pesto for some reason has started to make my stomach turn--but it was amazing to have the option of something else. All in all it was an beautiful vacation, and I'm so glad I got to share it with my friends.

It hasn't been some sort of terrible transition back into Siena, but it's amazing how fast your brain switches off. Something that could simply be called "vacation mode" turns into "forget everything". It's easy, and it makes me nervous for what the future brings. How quickly will I forget the language or the customs?

But this is knowledge that will only come with time. For now I have to enjoy every moment as it comes--even when I want to collapse in my bed and sleep for ten hours straight.


Until next time!

Back on Track

I've realized I'm pretty terrible of keeping track of this thing...or actually, maybe even just writing about myself. I'm going to keep going though...

This week I had midterms, and of course, they were all on Wednesday, and for some reason (don't tell my parents) I wasn't too worried about them, so I kind of just let them pass as something I had to get done, but nothing I needed to freak out about. Maybe Italians are rubbing off on me. My biggest worry was Art History, but it went quite smoothly, because, well, I studied.

I was sitting in the library looking over notes when my friend came up to me and asked why I was doing that. I explained that if I didn't at least read over the notes five times and then silently recite it to myself, it would never stick. I believe her response was this:
"I thought that stuff would just be naturally ingrained in you." Interestingly enough, this is not the first time this has been said to me. And interestingly enough, it could not be further from the truth.
"Because my Mom is an art historian?"
"Well, yeah." Now, I'm not mad at my friend for suggesting this, and gosh! I'm totally flattered.  And of course, the test went well. Never for a moment, though, did I realize that the ability of soaking up a piece of artwork could be flowing through my veins--here or there. But still, I thank my mother for it all, it's true.

Tomorrow I go on my second trip for Art History to Florence, where we get to sit in front of the painting itself and take down everything single thing our teacher can through at us. I can't wait, honestly. Last Friday we saw Michelangelo's David. This week, we're going to see Botticelli's Venus di Milo. I don't know how I got to live such a life, but it's happened and don't you worry, I am soaking in every moment.

This weekend, though, begins my well deserved fall break, and I plan to write more after that! My friends and I are heading towards Milan, where I'll get to see more Michelangelo and a Dali exhibit! Sadly, though, there is a four month wait for Da Vinci's Last Supper. Next time, I think. And from Milan, we're on for a relaxing week in an English speaking country: London. Which, thanks to my wonderful Aunt, will be a homey stay, and a very comfortable one at that.

Until I write again! Hope you all are well!
Becca

My Word!

I am so sorry! It has been so long! The long and the short of my explanation is this: suddenley, without any warning (which is how these things often happen), my charger just up and broke, leaving me slightly crippled.
Well, thanks to my great parents, a new charger (plus some rainboots, plus a sweatshirt, plus some vitamin D pills which I just could not escape) is on it's merry old way! And to the wonderful generosity of friends at school, everyday I bring my computer and charge it there.

Well things have been moving fast! Abbastanza rapido, certo! I didn't think my last entry was so long ago, but check it out! September! San Gimignano, feels like years a go! Since then my Italian has improved greatly, and having learned the past, and reflexive verbs, and just today having learned imperfect....woah! It Helps. Capitalized. And it's an especially great feeling when you're Italian sister stops you in the middle of a conversation: "You know a lot of Italian! When you came, just words, but now! You speak well!" I have no idea if I blushed, but I thanked her a million times. And tonight I was actually able to sneak past them and grab the plates to bring to the sink. They stopped me once I got that far. But hey! I'm getting a step farther each time.

 It feels as though a million things have happened--I've visited a few small hill towns surrounding the area of Siena. Just a bit of a day trip to get out of the city, and let me tell you, each is as cute as the next. And every single city has it's own bit of art and beautiful things to see. In truth, every single corner of Italy is something to observe, or to look carefully at. One of my favorites was Montelcino, which was a very small town at the very top of a hill, and with amazing views from every single angle.

 So, Tuscany is great. No arguments here. There is the rest of Italy out there, though! So my a few friends and myself made the promise to make it to Venice, and suddenly we were there, and my word. What an amazing city.

  My favorite of it all was the Scuola di San Rocco. It's the place in which Tinteretto spent the last years of his life, and it is from floor to ceiling covered in glorious masterpieces. In many ways my trip can be summed up in a few movements, and it's simply just when I turned the corner and first saw the great hall in the Scuola di San Rocco. 

The truth of the matter is, I cannot wait to get back to Venice. Being there not only made me feel like I made a childhood dream come true, but it sparked my interest in northern Italy. And, by a turn of events, I will be spending my first weekend of fall break in Milan, exploring a completely different city.

Below is a picture of the water lapping up onto Saint Mark's. A moment caught with luck, but nonetheless, a wonderful memory to have of how immersed the city is in it's water.

 

My life has been ordinary other than these very special things. Slowly I've seen the novelty of studying abroad fade, and as my language is improved upon more and more, I am tested. Suddenly the new bubble that I've formed is broken again, and I have to readjust. I am no longer a wide-eyed student, but someone trying to get by in their daily life.  There are moments when it is frustrating, and I want to collapse in my bed for the rest of the night. But my program is a wonderful support system, the other students I have befriended are unique, silly, generous people, and my host sisters have proven again and again how much they care for me, and how willing they are to help. 

So yes, there are hard days, and there are days when I bang out an email to my parents in complete frustration. But the same exact frustrations could be happening if I was back in dear old Wooster, Ohio, could it not? Only I would be sitting a slightly better heated building, (tile floors are devastating) and not getting to travel to all these magnificent places.

Well, anyways. I'm currently 50 pages away from the end of 1984, and really want to get back to it. I will try and keep better track my dear friends and family!

Ci vediamo a presto!

Baci! Rebecca

San Gimignano is Not, Repeat, NOT For the Faint-Hearted

Now, there are two reasons why I am giving such a warning. One, if shear, utter landscape-beauty hurts your eyes and makes you collapse upon the soft warm grassy knoll in fits of terrifying agony, then please, do not FORCE yourself to go to San Gimignano.

On the other hand, if you think landscapes are pretty groovy and are willing to commit at least 30 minutes to sitting right outside the wall, mostly keeping to yourself, and staring directly at the greenery in front of you, then by god with all your might, do not go to the torture museum.

It seems I have been dreaming of Tuscan landscapes,  though I don't think I ever knew that it was exactly what I was looking for. I'm not even sure if I knew it existed. You see, no matter what kind of photo I post, it is nothing like looking down over it, with your own two eyes. And even though my love of photography is indestructible, I believe with all my heart that there are things that simply cannot be photographed, and can only be seen and kept sacred through our memory. No worries though! I still tried:

So Saturday around 10:15 am, I boarded a bus headed for San Gimignano with about 13 other students, Fabio, our tour guide extraordinaire and Lisa, a woman working on developing The Siena School's art program. (You know I overheard something about a post-bac, but I don't want to spread any academic rumors.)

And of course, San Gimignano is wonderful. It's a lot smaller than Siena, but still has it's own unique charm. There was a quick second when I thought: "Well gosh! Why didn't I study here?"Don't worry though, no regrets coming from this ol' lady. 

Let me restate once again, though, that if you please, do not even think about entering the torture museum.

You can see me here, being photographed by my friend Jeanie (yes that is my new backpack), and yes, it's true, we left just a bit early. As we reached the basement level, where 10 of us in a very small space saw a cloaked figure in front of a noose, and two other hideous bloody fake people that I actually cannot remember the exact position of because I have obviously blocked it from my memory, I turned to dear Jean, and said  "Andiamo," she nodded and said "Thank you for 'andiamo-ing' that." Thank goodness we left, because, you see, after just witnessing the horrific truths of the past, you walk outside, and find a charming medieval city, where, gosh I don't know, fairy tales take place or something. It's as if torture never existed. Honestly, there was violin music filtering down the hill. So we moved quickly and got a slice of delicious pizza. 

Then, with the smell of the museum finally moving away, we walked towards a garden, where, among other things, a man with a deep vibrato recited from memory Dante's Inferno.  With all of my heart I could not be making this up. Either the residents of San G. knew exactly the kind of tourists a Saturday would bring, or Italy in the summertime is just a place of pure magic.

I'll spare you the details of the second torture museum (oh yes, oh yes). Well just a quick explanation. The first museum was overall torture. People who stole bread, committed adultery, or gosh who knows, smiled on the wrong day--that was the first torture museum. The second was just for witches. Witches, i.e. women, i.e. beyond grotesque. The only slightly amusing thing about all of this was the chain necklace of joker cards a man was forced to wear if he was caught smoking without the proper license. 

But never mind all that--walking past the one man show, we entered the garden at the top of San Gimignano. Covered in olive trees it was some kind of Eden, and of course, after climbing stairs on the edge of the medieval walls, one could once again see the entire Tuscan region before them. And from another little corner, every single famous tower of the small town were in magnificent perspective. Well, that and someone's laundry.

Finally, I leave you with this chuckle-a-minute masterpiece. San Gimignano also has claim to the best gelato in the world, or as Fabio dubbed it "Super Gelato". One thing I know I will severly miss when I leave Italy is nocciola. 'Dunkin Donuts Hazelnut Iced Coffee' just doesn't do it for me, I'm afraid. So here I am, chowing down on gelato: nocciola, tirimisu, and fragola. Weird combination, I know, but hey, it was all delicious. I'm still working on being able to finish a whole cone, though. I eventually had to turn this one over to a few friends to finish it off. My schoolmate and friend, Devin Daugherty was able to capture this image before that.

So to wrap it up, no I have not yet had nightmares about torture instruments, and I'm trying to keep it that way. I'm working my way through the last week of intensive Italian, and studying a little extra bit every night for the big test coming up on Friday. Then I'm free as a bird and the real classes start! 

My love to all, and I hope September is being reasonable to all of you!

Becca

Extra Photos, Small Update

So I know I'm "studying abroad" and I'm trying to get hip to all of this "language immersion" and actually "speaking italian" but honestly, it's really hard enough to know how to use a blog in my own birth language as well as having to work my way through Italian computer language, which in truth makes no sense. But I keep trying, and with two weeks down and one week remaining of intensive Italian, I am praying that I'll be able to communicate my way through this gosh darn website.

Last night there was a grand discussion at the dinner table about whether or not leather was made from cows. First, I tried to convey to them that "domani io compro (un sac, oh Hello French!) per me. Now, that really makes no sense. Tomorrow I buy a backpack for me. Okay whatever I tried, they got it. Then I tried to describe leather, because they didn't know that word. And the only way I could think of it was this way: cow. Tizie, from upstairs (she had run to get her dictionary/iPhone) and Rita sitting at the dinner table, at the same time screamed: MUCCA?! Well in Italian, cow is mucca, and my two sisters had no idea that leather (pelle) comes from cows.
I felt like such a jerk to be the first one to tell them. Well, the discussion went on, Rita gave me a short lecture on how they don't own much leather, and that if the clerk at a store ever said "This is cow leather", she would throw up her hands and refuse it. Suddenly Tizie perks up from her iPhone: "A COW HAS FOUR STOMACH!" And the laughter ensues.
Finally, we get to the answer. Leather as they knew it, yes, came from animals, but not specifically "cows"--and more specifically, they come from bovine!

I did not have the heart to tell them, though, exactly what bovines are.

Nevertheless, it all ended in laughter, and I promised to show them the bag the next day, so they could fully examine the "cow-leather-bag" I was treating myself to.

(read backwards) Italian: Espresso! (blue beginners version)

So hopefully with my new cow leather bag, I can give up any attempts at being true to animal activism, and I maybe even brush up on some more Italian.

So along with all these exciting adventures that make normal life in Italy extraordinary to the American abroad, I have some extra photos from the cooking class I took last Thursday, in which we made all kinds of pasta, pasta, pasta! (As seen in my last post)

Hands of the owner, who spoke no English--but luckily, folding tortelli is pretty straight forward.

And so it all comes together, gnocchi, tortelli, biscotti, and pici! It was really a delicious meal. 

Tomorrow I head with my school to the wonderful town of San Gimignano, so hopefully you'll seeing another post from me soon!

Greetings and Salutations,
(Re)Becca

One Week Down

This evening, when I asked my brother if he felt exhausted at first when he was abroad, he responded: "Oh yeah, for, like, the first two months." Well isn't that just grand.
I've heard it from every corner of the Siena School, though, that the first few weeks you will feel overly exhausted, and though you go to bed at 10 and wake up at 8 and get much more sleep than you ever would in any other circumstance, you'll still find yourself sitting in front of your Italian teacher Deborah, just on the brink of closing your eyes for good when suddenly, you need to introduce Caterina, using new vocab you should have just picked up on.
It's all coming together slowly, though. After just one week immersed in the culture, I can understand most of what my host sisters say, and work my way through the bank, farmacia and the tabbachi. And truth be told, it isn't the worst to be clueless in Italy, because people have such patience, and of course, everyone is great at playing charades.

My school is located at the (what feels like) the top of the tallest hill in Siena. It's a fifteen minute walk straight up from the bus station, and then a climb to the third floor. So, usually, by the time I get into the classroom, I've pretty much walked off my breakfast.

This is the view from the student lounge.

None of that matters, though---the view is worth every step you take.

Basically my day starts as such: I get up and find breakfast waiting for me on the kitchen table. Things seem to run very smoothly in an Italian household, and it is simply because my host sisters take control of every little thing. Any small offer to help with a chore is automatically shot down, and there is no way to argue around it.  My routine has become a yogurt with a banana, some tea, and though they always put out some sort of cake or cookie for me, I usually don't eat much of that. Tonight actually, I received my first comment about it all. 

Basically, to sum it up quickly, they think I hate their food because I can't pack away three plates of pasta. And this was one of the most frustrating moments, trying to explain how much I love the food, but how I just couldn't stomach so much pasta. And then the dreaded moment came. They offered to make me authentic American food. I guess I could regret this later, but motioning my hands as loud as I could, I threw my right hand in a lateral motion, and then lightly but firmly banged fist against the table saying: "No american food!"

Luckily, they laughed. I think they get it, though they are not shy about commenting on how "little" I eat, and how much they make for me. Even with all of those comments, though, I appreciate every thing they do for me, and how helpful they've been these first weeks. Friday night, as I left to go into the center of Siena, Tizie exclaimed: "Good! Go! Enjoy! Have fun!" And all it does is plaster a smile on to my face. 

So far, I think one of the highlights of my time here has been the cooking class that myself and all of the other 14 students took at a local restaurant. Here, we were taught by a very kind man who showed us how to fold perfect tortelli and tortellini, how to make biscotti by hand, and then served us every single piece of pasta that we made ourselves. 

I made some more photos of the process on another friends camera (mine was too bulky to carry around as I covered myself in flour and eggs), so hopefully I'll be able to add those soon. All in all, it was an amazing meal, though it was nonstop pasta. Slowly, I'm getting used to how meal time works. Breakfast just barely holds me until lunch, and though sometimes it feels like I'm begging for dinner to come, most nights my hunger doesn't lurch until I smell the delicious fumes twirling downstairs.

This is a dish that Rita, the younger sister, made on Saturday night. It's a tomato and cream sauce, with mushrooms and sausage. This is the first dish where I asked for seconds. I did regret it, though, when she pulled out the onion frittata.

And it's amazing that only a week ago I was scared about getting an authentic experience with my two sisters. I couldn't ask for better cooks, more patient people, and two women who are truly interested in my life. Sometimes it's hard to see if they like me enough, but I'm definitely on my way into their hearts---I've promised to make them pancakes.