Arrivederci, Roma!

Just as I had finally come to love the bright Italian sun, it disappeared. In its place were layers of grey clouds hanging over the entire city. It was two days before I was to board a Continental Airlines flight back to the states, and I had the day to myself. Being sentimental, I wanted to bid Roma arrivederci somehow. Its ruins, monuments, fountains, churches, and dusty history had revealed itself so fully to me throughout the semester, embracing me as its own little Roman citizen, that the city deserved this final attention

Boarding the 280 bus—the one with the longest route—my destination was unknown. The bus was crowded, which seemed appropriate for my final day out and about; it was reminiscent of life in this city. Italians pressed into my sides, frighteningly unaware of a sense of personal space. As the crowd dispersed, I followed the flow and descended to meander around Trastevere.

Medieval styled homes and popular restaurants rose along my sides. Ivy gathered as thickly around corners as the locals did to smoke and chat. Meanwhile, my feet drummed against the cobblestone of the narrows streets. Despite the fact that I had to avoid speeding motorini, I could not help but feel as though I was traveling through time.

Eventually my feet led me to the Church of Saint Cecilia where the famed statue of the saint, by Stefano Maderno, is housed. This Church, also home to a convent of Byzantine nuns, is preceded by a large, walled courtyard with luscious grass, a circular fountain, and palm trees—all popular Christian symbols of the afterlife, markings habitual to the Eternal City. I walk through the area, marveling that the fountain has not yet frozen over in this early winter weather. My eyes are next drawn to the colossal doors of the church’s marble façade. They have been left open and I proceed into the narthex. Having expected a normal Baroque-style interior, I am surprised when it is not my ears but my eyes that are pricked. Before me, thirty nuns stood upon the altar, their voices more consoling than the smoothest instrumental tunes could ever be. I backed away, afraid to interrupt their ceremony and yet pleased to discover that their song followed me out of doors. Situating myself on the corner of a column’s podium, I pulled out my guide about Rome and began to read about the church that awaited me.

Deeply entranced by the information about the church, my eyes followed line after line. I was startled out of my trance by a distant scream; it is high pitched and joyful. “Neve!! Oh mio dio, neve! Neve, neve, neve!” My mind quickly processes the Italian and my eyes are drawn towards the heavens above the fountain of the squared courtyard. The children whom I have heard are correct; it is indeed snowing.

This moment seems romantic to me and it will be one of the most cherished ones that I bring home. It was the perfect summary of my experience this semester: I sat in the courtyard of paradise, a Roman column at my back, an immovable, marble church looming beyond, a book in my hands, and snow falling gently above my head. All I could do was smile at the sky.

Climbing Mount Vesuvius

Looming over the towns that surround the Bay of Naples, Mount Vesuvius appears to be an imposing force. As the only active volcano in the European continent, the Italians know the danger it poses but are willing to take the risk in order to utilize the fertile soil along its slopes. However, they did not always know that it used to be a volcano. Instead, before 79AD, most people thought that Vesuvius was simply a very high mountain. It did indeed appear so for it had a high pointed top. However, in 79AD, Vesuvius exploded, destroying its pointed top and famously covering Pompeii and Herculaneum in several feet of ash and magma. Overall only 2000 of 20,000 people in Pompeii died, but the city itself was devastated. Human remains, pottery, whole buildings, and art were preserved because of the magma that formed around it and carbonized. Faces writhing in pain and fear are viewable at Pompeii. The last major eruption occurred in 1944.

During my visit last weekend to Napoli, Pompeii, and Sorrento, I had the opportunity to climb Mount Vesuvius. Since its slopes are steep, the roads that lead to the Vesuvius National Park are twisting and winding ones that overlook drops of 360 degrees at any given s-curve. Loaded tightly into a van with about nine others, we ascended these free-inspiring roads. Our driver was cheerful though and paused at the points that offered the best view over the towns, mountains, and bay below.

When I finally reached the top, I climbed even higher along the trails, stumbling on maroon volcanic dirt and rock through the Vesuvius National Park.

The only barrier between myself and a long fall was a wooden fence that appeared as though it had just been raised yesterday. I thought that all of the walking that I had been doing around Rome had gotten me into better shape but I was wrong. I huffed and puffed my way up the long trail and finally reached the top.

The view into the volcano was as spectacular as the view over the land below. I was over 4000 feet above sea level. As I gazed into the core of the volcano, the air smelled slightly of sulfur. Meanwhile the walls of the volcano smoked because of the gases and heat within. Very little vegetation existed within it. The lava, I was told, bubbled layers beneath the surface for the time being. What I could see of the lava were its remnants; along the wall of the core of Vesuvius, the two dark lines were visible marking the points that the lava had reached during the last two explosions.

It was only slightly frightening to be up that high on an active volcano that could have exploded at any moment. However as I learned, many scientists monitored the volcano’s activity. Either their machines would get set off or we would have experienced major earthquakes if Vesuvius was about to explode. Still, I like to think that I was at least in some danger!

A New Role

All this time I have been relaxing and enjoying myself, happily being led along by those more knowledgeable than I am in all things Rome; my home stay mother, my program director, my program director’s assistant, and my professors. However, when my parents arrived fully prepared to enjoy the activities planned for Family Week, my role switched drastically in two ways. Suddenly I was the omnipotent professor and dependable parent leading around my awe-struck parents. It made me laugh at first, cringe when our travels became stressful because of time constraints, and frustrated when buses were late or any more walking was impossible. Despite it all, we roved all around parts of Rome that were both new and old to me, experiencing every piece of the city except for one.

Since I am somewhat experienced with the important parts of Rome, I naturally made sure that my parents spent time at the Trevi Fountain, the Roman Forum, the Colosseum, the Pantheon, and the Vatican. Yet there were a few other activities that I view as special that we did because not many people that I know have taken the time to experience them.

First, we went to the Quirinal Palace which throughout time has been used as a home by the popes, Napoleon Bonaparte, and the Presidents of Italy. It was simultaneously beautiful and intimidating. Situated on a hill, my mother and I walked a steep staircase behind a flock of Italian tourists. Once we reached the top we were greeted by the sight of a monumental obelisk and fountain. After taking in its size and significance, we took our places in line and realized that everyone around us could only speak Italian. “Va be’, posso farlo,” or “Whatever, I can do it,” I thought. After the man at the front desk gave me a bit of hard time, asking if I was truly a student, I managed to get in for free and my mother only had to pay five Euro! Then we followed the long line of people, weaving in and out of gilded rooms decorated with sculptures, oil paintings, tapestries, antique furniture, and gold. To witness the glory of this old Italian Palace, we were blown away.

Another day, my mother, my father, and I ventured into the Monument of Victor Emmanuel II, the first king of Italy who fought to unite the country during the Risorgimento. After climbing several flights of steps and admiring a gigantic equestrian statue of Victor Emmanuel II, we made it to the entrance. Within was the Museum of the Risorgimento, filled with swords, guns, oil paintings, bronze busts, and photographs all dedicated to the efforts of the Risorgimento. It was all something that my father particularly enjoyed because as a history buff, he naturally has a passion for it. Yet what surprised us all was the glass elevator –very reminiscent of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory—that took us to the very peek of the monument.From there we had a 360 degree view of the city. None of us had ever been so high above Rome before! The photos do not do it justice, but it was beyond gorgeous and breath-taking.

During the rest of the week we enjoyed Italain cappuccino, croissants, pasta, meats, and wines. With satisfied stomachs we would continue to trapse around museums, fountains, churches, and piazzas, completely content to be in Rome together, even when it rained or we did not feel well.

Overall, Family Week helped me to see Rome from the eyes of the touristic industry for the first time. Before, I had viewed myself as separate from the tourists; I was living in Rome, not visiting it! So by being simultaneously a guide or a tourist, Rome appeared new to me. I rediscovered its beauty and history with the people that are as precious to me as all of my experiences in this city have been.

In the Land of the Etruscans...Tuscany!

Welcome to Tuscany!

Although the Tuscan sun hid from us at times and was replaced by small rain showers, Tuscany did indeed prove to be just as beautiful as movies and novels portray it. Unlike Rome, Tuscany's most exciting past took place during medieval times. For me, this was a refreshing difference from the antiquity of Rome. Instead of Greek inspired statues and architecture, the notable churches, museums, homes, and other public places that we visited echoed Gothic and Renaissance architecture.

The Gothic era architecture desired to remind people of heaven and accomplished this by constantly drawing the eye upwards with either horizontal or vertical lines.

A little later down history's road, Renaissance era art and architecture focused more on the light of God within individuals, individuals who, working alongside of God's will, could control their fate.

Most of what I saw seemed to possess a certain charm that I have yet to find in America. Whether that is because Tuscany and Rome are new to me, or whether there is so much more history contained within the very essence of the land and buildings, I do not know. Most likely, it is a combination of the two. However, what is interesting is that I am finding the people who live in such places are completely different as well. Not only do they vary from Americans, but the people vary from one place (within Italy) from another. Enter residence and workers at the Castel del Trebbio. These down to earth Tuscans raise grapes and olives on their land to produce Italian specialties of extra virgin olive oil and Chianti wine. Their personalities echoed their livelihood and they treated the group of noisy Americans with kindness, humor, and respect. We reflected this attitude and behavior and in turn bought out most of the wine and olive oil in their shop.

Yet at the same time, perhaps I better understand why Romans focus on their personal beauty and the beauty of their city so much; As a city, they are lacking the beauty of nature. Meanwhile, as my mind reflected and sought to make connections, my mind's eye struggled to absorb all of the sights and information that I had seen in the other small Tuscan towns...

Sienna, home of St. Catherine of Sienna, Il Duomo of Siena, the oldest bank building, and the Civico Museo, is a wonderful place to begin a weekend exploration of Tuscany. The most interesting sight by far here was the view from the top of the Civico Museo, as well as the view within the Museum as well. Following closely behind this was the preserved head of St. Catherine of Siena that is housed in the Church of San Dominico.

San Donato, or Il Duomo di Arezzo, was just a starting point for the town of Arezzo. This church houses a terracotta image of Mary that has supposedly protected the area ever since the image survived a fire and transformed into vibrant colors. In fact, Arezzo was full of small surprises such as the house of Petrach and The Well of Tofano. The town itself also served as the setting for classic film "La Vita e' Bella".

Pienza and Orvieto were the smallest of the towns that we visited in Tuscany. Situated on hilltops, they were windy but had gorgeous views of Tuscan farmlands and distant towns. Il Duomo di Orvieto was even more breath taking with its shining mosaics and high ceilinged exterior. The towns each also possessed specialty stores selling cheese, marmalades, wine, and pottery. It was difficult to walk away without having experienced the local specialties and sites!

“Fai con comodo”…

...or "Take your time," I tell my homestay mother. Her reaction is one that I just can't help but smile at: "Madonna mia! Che cultura! What culture, what culture!" Even though she had been making fun of my accent when I speak Italian not but five minutes earlier, Mary appreciates the times when I do use what she has taught me. Although, I have probably taken more away from the idiom "Fai con comodo" than she realizes.

"Fai con comodo" (literal translation "[You,]Do it with comfort") truly is an idiom full of culture. In fact, taking one’s time is the culture. The Italian culture is not one that generally rushes around. Instead, as far as I have observed, the present moment is always first. That is, all that occurs now is what matters; not the past, not the future, but this moment right now. This allows the Italians to love and enjoy their food, family, friends, and all other aspects of their life today, just as they are, just as they may not be tomorrow. Their passion and zeal for life abounds.

This contrasts sharply with the mentality of most Americans. In America, we are constantly preoccupied by our future plans. We are always in a rush to grow up, to move away from our families, to graduate, to immediately obtain a job, to earn money for the future. Will I have enough money for my wedding? Will I be okay if I lose my job? What can I do with the money that I save for retirement? Etcetera.

There is no use for such thoughts. We have no certain control over our futures. Who can say that you will get married? Who can say that you will even get a job? Who can say that you will live long enough to enjoy your retirement funds? No one on Earth.

I am calling for a lifestyle change for myself. Rather, perhaps it is best to approach this slowly, to take my time. In this case, I am calling for a change in my frame of mind, my mentality. As I spend more and more time in Italy, my mind is opening. I will be absorbing this new approach to life: I will take my time. I will live this present moment to its fullest. I will be completely aware that it will soon be the past and that the next second, that which once was the future, will be gone too. It would be a waste to worry about the past and future. The opportunity that is before me—my life—is now.

After reading Michael Shapiro’s interview with Isabel Allende in A Sense of Place, I felt enlightened; someone else, another traveler, had experienced the same thoughts that I have had. Allende describes it in “At Home with the Spirits”:

There is no space between notes. Music is about silence also. Life is about pause. In India, in the cities, everything happens in an intense way and there is no respite: the noise, the crowd, the things that happen, the images, the color, the textures. One pattern on top of another pattern on top of another one. So there’s never a blank space. That was a shock, a wonderful shock, because it made me feel like a fly, totally unimportant, totally…who cares if your daughter died? You think that my daughter didn’t? Who cares if you’re in pain—do you think that we are not in pain? Life is pain. Life is about loss, life is about decadence, and this rotten cow in the middle of the street and the vultures eating the cow, that’s what life is about. And get up, come on, get a life. (125)

By worrying about the past and future, as Americans we restrain ourselves and do not experience intense emotions as they should be felt. Yet intense emotions, the moments of now, deserve time! They are what can unify humans, no matter the individual, the country, or the culture.all feel intense emotions. The high points, the low points, and the level ground should all feel intense. It’s happening now! Feel pain. Feel joy. Feel sorrow. Feel contentment. Feel nervous. Why hold back? No, in fact, do not even worry about the why, just live.

This of course, does not mean that I will throw all my former self into a nifty Italian dumpster. I will still hold onto the experiences that I have learned from, my morals, my aspirations, and my passions. It means that I will live this:

The Colosseum

I exited the overwhelming metro station on one of my first days in Rome, only to be greeted by the sight of the famous Colosseum. It's size and sudden appearance made this famous site all the power inspiring. I am still in awe that its arched architecture of concrete and marble has helped it to remain standing.

Ponza

Although the trip to this Mediterranean island was disorganized and stressful, none of it mattered; they were fleeting moments and the gorgeous natural beauties were a better focus.

Mia Famiglia

My Roman family (Mary, Kristin, Figlio [pictured], Lala, and Cucula) have all made me feel loved and very Roman. Our dinners together are usually the highlight of my day. We take our time during our four course meal. There is nothing I enjoy more than practicing my growing Italian vocabulary, sharing the details of my day, and hearing about everyone else's day.