Entry 14: November 30, 2010

Memories

In five very short days, I will be boarding an airplane and flying back to the United States. I am feeling a mixture of dread, happiness and sadness, all rolled into one. I am excited to see my parents and family, but I already know how much I am going to miss Italy. I came here with a romantic idea of Italy and I think it is fair to say that I am leaving with one as well. During the summer, whenever I thought of Italy I always imagined gelato, lots of sunshine and lots of loud voices. I did experience those things, but I experienced so much more. It is more difficult to name ways that I have changed versus what has remained the same. I feel as if I flew over to Italy as a naïve girl, but I am leaving more of an adult in attitude and temperament.

During my stay in Italy I learned so many things. Of course, I learned the basics of traveling such as being able to read a map, how to read a bus or train schedule and how to navigate cities. I also learned how to budget my time and my money for all of our travel breaks. I think the most impressive feat I managed was getting to Poland and back with only one other fellow traveling companion. That trip included a bus, two trains, four airplanes, ten shuttles and three taxis and over twenty hours of total travel time. The other things I learned here that aren’t necessarily in a school or guide book are things such as flexibility and adaptability when traveling, how to live with others in tight quarters and how to accept life’s challenges as they come. I came to Italy as a schedule-crazy control freak, and I am leaving much more relaxed and mellow, able to just let things happen.

I think it is also fair to say that I have really seen Italy. I have traveled to over twenty cities that include Florence, Rome, Assissi, Urbino, Pompeii, Capri, Sorrento, Venice, Verona, Siena, etc… Out of all these places, my favorite was Florence simply because it was the first major city I saw while in Italy. There was something so magical about being there, and I kept waiting for a director to yell “Cut!” and for the scenery flaps to roll away. Don’t misunderstand me, the other cities I visited were very magical as well, Florence was just the very first dip into Italy. After a while, some things just become habit and you get used to them, but in Florence everything was new and exciting.

Next to Florence, the other city that had the deepest impact on me was the Polish city of Oscweicim, which is where the concentration camps Auschwitz I and Auschwitz II, better known as Birkenau, are located. I had traveled to these places for a seminar and was given a tour through the concentration camps. The visits were then followed by dialogue between the students participating in the seminar, myself included. It was a very special and unique experience that I feel very blessed to have had. It was a very sad experience, but I came out of it more mature and with a new understanding and appreciation of life.

I will miss living in Italy and sharing a palazzo with ten others who have become my Italian family. I will miss strolling down the street looking into shops and stopping to have a cappuccino at the café. I will miss the beautiful landscape that can only be Italian because of all the different hues of green and the different shapes and sizes of the trees and bushes. I will miss seeing all the stores, cafes, and streets decorated for Christmastime and I will miss the crisp, Italian winter air. Before I flew to Italy, America was my only home. Now, Italy is my second.

Entry 13: November 23, 2010

A Unique Experience

As our time in Italy is winding down, we are encountering a great many number of “lasts.” For example, this past weekend marked our last travel excursion. For our last excursion my travel companions and I chose a destination that is often thought of as a place to relax and get away from life’s stresses, and is known as one of the most beautiful places in Italy. I traveled down to the South of Italy and stayed in Sorrento, and took day trips to Pompeii and to the island of Capri.

Sorrento was a beautiful place teeming with stores and restaurants, and unfortunately, tourists. One of the first things that my travel companions and I noticed was that all the signs and menus were in English. We searched high and low for a restaurant that seemed truly Italian and not so touristy, but one could not be found. Somewhat dejected, but still upbeat, we finally came to the conclusion that this would be our “touristy” travel excursion.

Our first day was spent seeing the sights of Pompeii and exploring the ruins of the once great city. I think it is amazing how well the city has been preserved and protected by the ash that had actually killed it. Some of the frescoes on the walls are still intact along with interior features such as old tubs. The neatest thing for me was seeing the roads that still had ruts that had been worn down by the wheels constantly driving up and down the street. There are stepping stones, so to say, that were used as crosswalks for the townsfolk to avoid horse manure while crossing the street. It is around these stepping stones that the road has been worn down by all the wheels maneuvering around the stones. The saddest part of Pompeii was seeing the thirteen human molds that were taken from where the skeletons had been found in the ash. Archaeologists had seen the skeletons and the place where the body had been when the ash was molded and hardened, and from that spot the archaeologists made a mold of the human figure. There are thirteen in all, and they range from tiny babies and toddlers to full adults. Seeing the human molds and their contorted figures, one really understands the full impact of what happened that fateful day.

The next day was spent at Capri, or at least we attempted to spend the day there. We had sailed to the island under clear skies and with a weather forecast of 66 degrees and sunny. Mother Nature, however, had very different intentions for us. We had just been browsing through some of the stores, when we noticed that the clouds were becoming more and more dark and ominous. We quickly decided that it was time for lunch, and found a restaurant to take refuge in, should rain decide to fall. Not a moment after we sat down, the heavens unleashed and rain came pouring down. We kept our hopes up that it would be over soon enough, and didn’t worry too much. Then the lightning and thunder started, we started to get a little worried. We were determined to remain in Capri though, and see what we came to see, which was the gorgeous view of the island. Once again, Mother Nature did not like our plans. We had finished lunch and stepped outside when it started hailing! Great amounts of dime sized hail fell from the sky. I think that is the first time I have just seen a bus and hopped on it without regard to where it was actually going. Lucky for us, it was the right bus and we made our way back to the marina. Needless to say, it wasn’t the typical experience a person normally has at Capri, but who wants the same old experience as everyone else?

Entry 12: November 16, 2010

Lesson Learned

This weekend marked the final group excursion of our remaining time in Italy. While it was a very sad reminder of our dwindling days in this beautiful country, it was a beautiful day in a gorgeous town, Gubbio. We started our excursion with a trip to the Mausoleo 40 Martiri, the place where forty Italian citizens were shot by Nazis in revenge for two killed Nazi soldiers. The mausoleum is a beautiful white building, with forty surrounding trees to represent the martyrs. Inside the mausoleum are the names, ages and pictures of the forty martyrs. Thirty-eight of the martyrs were men who ranged in age from seventeen to sixty years old, and two were a mother and her daughter. The wall that the martyrs were shot in front of is still intact and one can still see where the bullets were shot into the wall. Being in that place gave me the same feeling I had back at Auschwitz, one of fear and immense sadness.

However, the saddest part of the excursion was the first, and we moved on to happier and more beautiful things. While in Gubbio we visited the Basilica of Sant’Ubaldo, which was incredible and very ornate. We were very shocked to see a crystal casket in front of the altar, which holds the deceased Sant’Ubaldo’s body. We took a gander through the museum of Sant’Ubaldo, and enjoyed watching a film that detailed the famous race that takes place in Gubbio every May. It is a race which involves the entire city of Gubbio, and people from all over come to watch. In my opinion, the race of Gubbio is very much like Cornhuskin’, in that one must experience it to understand it. Essentially, there are three teams who race around the town carrying a huge candle of sorts, and on top of the candle is a patron Saint. The most famous Saint would, of course, be Sant’Ubaldo. While seeing these buildings was very exciting and gave me new knowledge, the part I enjoyed was not academic, nor was it in any building.

In Gubbio, there is a special lift that takes people up the mountain to the Basilica of Sant’Ubaldo. It is a contraption that resembles a bird cage made for two people, and it ascends up the steep mountainside. In doing this, the lift allows the passengers to see the landscape of Italy and the panoramic view of Gubbio, and it is a sight to behold. Once again, I am amazed at just how many colors are in the landscape of Italy. I have never seen so many different hues of green all in one place before, nor have I seen the different types of landscapes all in one place before. There are so many different trees and bushes, the landscape could never be labeled as monotonous or identical. It was another rare moment of peace that I have never felt in America, only in scenic Italy. It would make sense that the landscape itself offers people that peace, as that is part of the culture of Italy. It is as if the scenery is saying to its inhabitants, “Stop. Take a breather. Nothing is as important as it seems.” If there is any one lesson to learn while in Italy, that should be it.

Entry 11: November 8, 2010

When in Rome

Americans know the famous saying “when in Rome” thanks to the cinemas and movie stars. Few, however, know what it actually implies or what Rome is all about. Being the great movie buff that I am, I was very excited and eager to take off to Rome for our second travel break. So, after classes were finished on Thursday, my travel companions and I grabbed our bagged lunches and hit the road to see the heart of Italy, Rome.

Rome is a flurry of tourists, residents, students and businessmen and women. It is the capital of Italy with all the history seeping from the architecture and surroundings, but is the host to other nationalities as well, featuring American and Chinese restaurants right beside the Italian gelaterie. Rome is the place where ancient meets modern and they coexist peacefully, rather than one presiding over the other. Rome is so different from the rest of Italy, that it almost appears to have its own unique culture and language. To be in Rome is to be in the most exhilarating and moving city in the world.

My travel companions and I did all the “touristy” things while in Rome: we saw the Pantheon, the Coliseum, the Roman Forum, and toured the Vatican City and attended mass at St. Peter’s Basilica. We traveled the way the native Romans did, by bus and by metro quickly, becoming experts on the different bus stops, numbers and metro lines. It was certainly the most crowded place I have been to on this great Italian adventure, as well as the most interesting. Before I had even flown over to Italy, I had heard that the men can sometimes be disrespectful towards women in terms of where their hands are and what is coming out of their mouths. I had not found this stereotype or rumor to be true, until I went to Rome. In Rome, it is a common theme with men that they will call to women and wolf-whistle, and that their hands will be touching places that they should not be. However, that is the only downside of Rome and does not detract from its appeal and culture.

While I enjoyed being in the heart of the city and being immersed into the crowd, my favorite spot was one of solitude and silence. We happened upon it accidentally on Sunday before our train back to Sansepolcro. We had intended to see the catacombs, only to discover that they were closed that day. Walking back to the bus stop, we decided to go into a random area that looked interesting. This area was the Villa di Massenzio, which is a big, open area with Roman ruins and lots of nature.

The Villa di Massenzio is an archeological complex that consists of three principal constructions: the Palace, the Roman Circus and the Dynastic Mausoleum. It dates back to the Republican Period in the second century B.C. and all these buildings were created to celebrate Emperor Maxentius, the vanquished adversary of Constantine the Great. The rediscovery of the site began in 1943 when the entire area had been expropriated by the Comune di Rome. Then in 1960, to prepare for the Olympic Games, the entire Roman Circus was excavated and the perimeter wall was reinforced. Along with this excavation came the excavations of the other two sites in the villa. The Roman Circus in the Villa is the only Roman Circus in existence in which all of the architectural components are still well preserved.

However, this site was not special to me because of its historical value; I loved it for its peacefulness and serenity. On the grounds of the Villa, nature has taken over. Emerald green grass and flowers cover the ground, while the bricks of the ruins have been covered with ivy and vines, interspersed with more flowers. The area was filled with sunshine and the melody of birds chirping. It was a place where time stood still and a place where the city, grades and society did not exist. It was just you, your thoughts and nature. It was the first time during this entire adventure that I have not felt the need to document the experience with my camera. I almost felt as if taking pictures would spoil the moment and the atmosphere of the grounds. So, I simply sat on one of the brick mounds still intact, looked around and thought. It was the perfect moment of solitude and peace that is so rare to find in such a progressive and fast-paced world. For the first time since I can remember, I did not have a care in the world, nor did I think about all of life’s stresses. I had not physically left Rome, but mentally I was miles away from the city, from people and from the everyday grind and stress of life. It was a perfect moment in the perfect city.

Entry 10: November 2, 2010

“I am constantly amazed by man’s inhumanity to man.”
-Primo Levi

This past weekend I was lucky enough to have had the privilege to participate in the Auschwitz Jewish Center’s student conference. I was joined by twelve other students; one was my fellow traveler Meredith Hyatt, and all of us were American residents currently studying abroad in Europe. Meredith and I were in the minority both as the two youngest participants at the conference and as not Jewish, which nine out of the thirteen participants were. This setting provided us a unique insight into the religion and how young adults with different religious affiliations react to the Holocaust and World War II. The events for the weekend included a visit to Auschwitz I and Auschwitz II, more commonly known as Birkenau. The conference was primarily based in Krakow, Poland and we had a tour of the city including the Jewish museums and the local synagogues. We were also very fortunate to have the opportunity to hear from an Auschwitz survivor and from a “Righteous Among Nations” award recipient.

After a full day of traveling starting at 5:50 in the morning, Meredith and I finally arrived at the conference in time for dinner. We had a traditional Polish dinner which included soups and pierogies, Polish dumplings with assorted fillings. After the delicious meal, we had our first discussion on Poland today and just an introduction to each other and to the seminar. The next day was a very full day: we toured Krakow and had free time to explore. During our free time, Meredith and I wandered around the main square of Krakow, which is gorgeous. The architecture and colors are so different than those of Italy, and Meredith and I welcomed the change of scenery. The free time was pleasant, although both Meredith and I could hear John Rose’s voice in the back of our heads telling us to do something educational and studious during our time off. Needless to say, for a brief two hours we tuned his voice out and proceeded to enjoy our very non-studious free time.

After the group’s allotted free time, we met with the female Righteous Among Nations award recipient. It was a unique meeting because, unlike normal meetings in school lecture halls or classrooms, we met at a little coffee shop and had tea while listening to her talk. Her story is that of courage and bravery during a dark time of history. Her family had taken in a Jewish girl who had managed to escape selections, and hid her for the duration of the war, which was extremely risky. If anyone had found out about their hiding a Jew, the entire family would have been killed. At the end of her talk, we gave her a full round of applause and all gave her hugs. Despite the language barrier, for she spoke Polish and we English, every sentiment was felt in that hug and no words could have done it justice. It was a hug that crossed languages, cultures, and even different generations.

On Saturday, our group traveled to the Polish town of Osweicim, which everyone knows as Auschwitz. It is a small place that is almost like a ghost town. The town exists and is still there, but it has been frozen with tragedy and abandoned because of fear. Once in Osweicim, we toured Auschwitz I, which was the major work camp. It was not what I expected to see. Part of me was expecting it to be frozen as it was left once liberated, but it is more a museum than a fossil. There were lots of tourists and shuffling lines through the exhibits. I did not mind this as much as some of my fellow participants did, but it was slightly annoying at times. There was one thing that gave me the chills and transported me back into that time, though, and that was the sign Arbeit Macht Frei, which is German for “work makes free,” and it is the sign that Primo Levi writes about in his novel If This is a Man. After reading the novel and then seeing the sign, I could easily see in my head the picture Levi painted in his novel. Also, there is a hallway that has some of the mugshots, so to say, of the prisoners. Some prisoners are very serious and staring straight ahead, and others look positively frightened. It is the latter who I still cannot get out of my mind, and they have since haunted my dreams.

It was also on Saturday that we heard from a Polish survivor of Auschwitz. This woman had been taken to Birkenau at the age of 15 as a Polish political prisoner. I felt very privileged to hear from her, especially as she was not Jewish and that is who most people think of when they think of Auschwitz survivors. Her tale was very emotional and touching. She survived four years at Birkenau and had been on a march leaving the camp when liberated by the Allies. At this point in her story, she started tearing up and apologized to us, saying that this part always makes her emotional. Then she spoke the American soldier’s line, and I will never forget it to my dying day because of how much the line meant to her and how overcome with emotion she was so many years later. The American soldier walked into the barn and said “Mothers and sisters, I have brought you freedom.”

On Sunday, Halloween as it were, we visited the concentration camp Birkenau. Birkenau is much larger than Auschwitz I, held mostly women and children and was mostly an extermination camp. This camp was more what I had pictured Auschwitz I to be. It was as if time froze when the Allies liberated the camp. Or as if we had arrived before all the workers were up for the day. The fence was still erected, the buildings on the whole had not been restored or redone and there were still remains of the things the Germans had tried to destroy when evacuating the camp. There was mud everywhere and the coldness hung in the air. I couldn’t even imagine how cold the prisoners must have been because in my shirt, jacket, and heavy Northface jacket I was still freezing. There is a certain haunted feeling on the grounds of Birkenau that I highly doubt will fade with time. There are hardly words to describe this terrible place and the feeling that accompanies it. There is a monument on the grounds, written in all the languages of those who had been murdered, and I think the plaque summarized how the grounds of Birkenau feel. The plaque reads “Forever let this place be a cry of despair and a warning to humanity where the Nazis murdered about one and a half million men, women, and children, mainly Jews from various countries of Europe.”This held our group in a trance for some time before we could regain possession of our legs and move on towards other things.

This was by far the most intense and overwhelming weekend of my life. I learned so much and saw the horrors of history. After visiting the two camps, it is hard to see the world as I used to see it. I feel as if I have aged more in the past four days than I have at any other point in my life. I am glad and feel very fortunate that I was able to travel to these places and to see them with my own two eyes. It is one thing to see a place or image through a filter and an entirely other thing to witness it in person. This weekend was incredible in the most horrible of ways.

Entry 7: October 17, 2010

When in Perugia, Eat Chocolate!

We are halfway through our adventure in Italy, as marked by our final exams that took place this past week. The classes of art history and intensive Italian were courses that only met for the first part of the semester, thus we had the final examinations in those. Unfortunately for the other girls and me, we had to stay indoors to study and work on assignments for the better part of the week. We were all stressed to the max with our own assignments and tasks that needed completion. I had some extra stress because I had to make travel arrangements for a trip to Poland for a seminar. However, stress can be a good thing, for everyone knows that stressed spelled backwards is desserts!

This weekend we had a group excursion to Perugia, which is yet another gorgeous city in Italy. I am beginning to think that there are no ugly places in Italy. We took a local train from Sansepolcro to Perugia, which was a lovely ride. The train pulled into the station and we all clambered off of the train and gathered our bearings. We had to take two long ascending escalators in order to reach our destination. The escalators were fascinating because they were built in a very historic catacomb. As I was ascending upwards, I could practically see the history on the walls and I was awestruck. I don’t think I will ever get used to the wonder of the history behind Italy. As we made our way through the catacomb, which had also been transformed into a type of museum/shop, we finally reached our destination: the Eurochocolate festival.

Eurochocolate is an event that is held annually in Perugia during the month of October, and features chocolate brands and companies from all over the world. Anything one can think of is there, and even more. Lindt, Willy Wonka, Toblerone, Banci, Nutella, and multiple others all were present at this event. There were truffles, huge blocks of chocolate, chocolate in the form of household items such as wrenches, scissors, and irons, small chocolates, crepes, and even chocolate kebabs! There were no plain chocolate bars to be seen; all had some flavor in them whether it was coffee, banana, coconut, or any type of fruit flavor. It was a chocoholic’s heaven. There were shelves after shelves packed with different types of chocolate and all the streets were filled with vendors selling their goods. One thing I noticed that is drastically different between Italy and America is the hot chocolate. Whereas in America our hot chocolate is made with milk and is more of a beverage, in Italy hot chocolate is more like a pudding and is offered in twenty-three plus flavors ranging from mint to banana. Differences aside, chocolate is chocolate and we were all in paradise.

This event started in 1994 with the current President of Eurochocolate, Eugenio Guarducci. He was hit with inspiration at the age of eighteen when he attended Oktoberfest in Munich, Germany and decided to create a festival that focused on chocolate. The event includes over a hundred and forty chocolate shows for the most important international and domestic chocolate brands. There are also special shows and activities for the public to participate in which change from year to year with the different themes of the festival. My personal favorite this year was to watch the chocolate being produced and wrapped by the cooks. There was a machine set up so that the audience could see all the inner workings of the machine and the different phases of the making of chocolate. Finally, there are master courses offered to the public to learn how to make the scrumptious delights.

Because of the festival’s major success, there are now chocolate festivals held during the year in different parts of Italy, although they are not as popular as the Eurochocolate festival in Perugia. After a long and stressful week, this was exactly the excursion that our group needed. We all showed up to the festival a little haggard and tired from a long week, but left rejuvenated with the medication of chocolate and all the wonders it brings. So I guess the saying is right, stressed spelled backwards is desserts. Dig in!

Entry #6: 10/11/10

“I came to dance, dance, dance…
‘Cause we gon’ rock this club
We con’ go all night
We con’ light it up
Like it’s dynamite.”
-Taio Cruz

I have never been out of the country before. I have never been away from my parents for more than a month before. I have never traveled to another city in the United States without an adult, let alone to a city in Italy. Needless to say, this past month and upcoming two months have been a lot of “firsts” for me. I feel as if I have grown as a person more in this past month than I have in the past four years. I feel more independent and aware than I have ever felt in my life. There is something intensely satisfying to be able to walk into a pub and get an adult beverage and not be carded or frowned upon. There is also something intensely satisfying in being able to budget money, plan my own trips, and take the trips without an adult monitoring my every move. I realize that I am only twenty years old and still considered naïve and young, but I feel like an adult. And it feels good.

It so happened that this past week was one of the girls’ birthday. To celebrate, Margherita, our amazing chef whom we would not and could not survive without, made a stupendous lunch and dessert. After the school day had ended and our weekend had begun, however, we decided to go out as a group and get pizza and go to the local discotheque, which we had heard so much about but had never visited. For all those who don’t live in Italy, the discotheque is the equivalent of an American club. Once again, I had the very satisfied feeling of being able to go out on my own and have a girls’ night. It was thrilling. We all got dressed up in our best clothes (which to be honest, weren’t much because of the one suitcase per person limit) and hit the town. But oh boy, were we in for a surprise.

Discotheque arrived on the scene in the early 1970s, and is generally defined as the time when clubs or music venues began playing records or recorded music by disc jockeys through a speaker system instead of a live band performing at the venue. When the discotheque was in the process of becoming a popular event, the music had a much slower tempo, or a slow beat in other words. The beat of the music did not increase to the tempo played today until the 1990s. It was also during this time that songs became longer due to the invention of the “remix.” A song is considered a remix when the song has been spliced in different parts and recomposed to change the song pattern and tempo. Another form of remix is when different songs are spliced and combined together to create one extensive song. With the upbeat tempo and the remixes, the discotheques and clubs became very popular scenes for people to go. The predominant age groups to attend the discotheques and clubs are, of course, younger people in their thirties and twenties.

A big difference between the discotheques in Italy and the clubs in America is that the discotheque involves a much younger clientele. In America, one will rarely see teenagers in a club unless it is a youth club, which is a club that is for teenagers only. In Italy, Friday nights are the unspoken adult nights for the discotheque, and Saturday is the unspoken night for the teenagers to go to the discotheque. The reason for this is because the teenagers have school on Saturday, so they cannot stay out late on Friday nights.
Unfortunately for myself and my group, we chose the wrong night to attend the discotheque. We went on a Friday night to find ourselves surrounded by an older, classier group of people. The girls were wearing nice cocktail dresses with stilettos versus my jeans, shirt, and boots ensemble, which I had been so proud of twenty minutes earlier. All the confidence I had built up in my system from traveling by myself and having adult privileges quickly and efficiently vanished. I had been transformed back into my ten year old self. Or so I felt. However, we were able to push all such thoughts and feelings aside and have an enjoyable night out. My group and I all made mental notes as to what the attire should be for the next time we decide to make an appearance. This was also around the time we figured out that our age group generally goes to the discotheque on Saturday nights. All in all, it was a fun and entertaining night out at the discotheque that taught us a few more lessons on life in Italy.

Entry 5: October 4, 2010

The Alleyway

“I don’t know what is greater, life or death. But love is more so than all.” -Tristan & Isolde

The first time I read about Juliet and her Romeo, I was hooked. Being the stereotypical female, I love a beautiful love story with a leading lady and her Casanova, Romeo, Jack Dawson, Prince Eric, or even just plain old Brad Pitt. The idea of a passion so deep that individuals will do anything and everything to attain and preserve it is a theme that still holds the world captivated. For women, this is a particular favorite of ours, and it knows no age limits. For the more seasoned women there are characters such as Indiana Jones or James Bond, Pierce Brosnan style. For the mature females there are the eternal characters of Jack Dawson and James Bond, Daniel Craig style. And for the teenage females there is always the eternal debate between Team Edward and Team Jacob, while the kids prefer Prince Eric or John Smith. Naturally, when I saw a commercial for the upcoming movie Letters to Juliet, I automatically knew I wanted to see it. Displaying the gorgeous Amanda Seyfried on a quest to find answers with a handsome young gentleman and playing Taylor Swift’s “Love Story” in the background, the preview commanded all the females in the audience to mark their calendars and preorder their tickets.

At that point in time I knew that I was going to be studying abroad in Italy during the fall semester, so I was doubly excited to see the movie. During the movie, I was enthralled with the scenic views and majesty of Italy. The movie was wonderful, but knowing that I would soon enough be having my own personal adventure in Italy made the movie even better. In Letters to Juliet, Amanda Seyfried’s character falls upon an alleyway that houses all the letters that are written to the literary character. Seyfried’s character meets “Juliet,” or the five elderly women who answer all the letters, and is given the privilege of responding to a letter. From there the story takes off with the usual plotline; girl meets boy, girl likes boy, girl has conflict with boy, and finally, conflict is solved and girl lives happily ever after with said boy. The movie was cute, but what really held my attention was the alleyway which housed the letters to Juliet.

Fast forward to six months later, I am in Italy and I am busy planning my first independent travel weekend. My travel companions and I already knew our main destinations for the weekend; Verona and Venice. After a busy week filled with homework and making travel preparations, we were finally ready to set our course for Verona. We were only planning on spending a couple of hours in Verona; Venice was the main attraction for the weekend. It was a splendid weekend consisting of vaporetti, shops, and lots and lots of tourists. Whereas my travel companions fell in love with Venice, I fell in love with the other part of our trip: Verona.

The reason we had decided to spend only a couple of hours in Verona was because there was only one attraction that appealed to us: Juliet’s alleyway and balcony.

We had two goals for this particular destination; one was to leave Juliet a letter and the other was to rub the statue’s right bosom in order to have luck in love. In my head I kept replaying scenes from the movie I fell in love with, only replacing myself with the main character. Letters to the fictitious Shakespearean character originated in the late nineteenth century with the aid of the custodian who kept Juliet’s symbolic tomb. It is said that the custodian was not satisfied with just selling tickets to the visitors. Instead he invented a series of rituals which included visitors holding hands, making a wish, and promising that that wish would come true. This also led to several notes being left on the tomb for advice from the literary character, or just thoughts that needed to be expressed. The custodian started replying to these notes and would sign them as “Juliet’s secretary.” As the word spread on the response to letters left, more letters were left and some were sent addressed as Juliet, Verona, Italy. When the custodian retired in the 1950’s, an art history professor took over the job for four years.

After his identity was discovered the job fell to a city worker who wrote responses for several years. In the late 1980’s “Club di Giulietta” was created and the women’s sole purpose were to be Juliet’s secretaries for letters left behind in Juliet’s alleyway. To this day, they are a group of fifteen self-appointed ladies who still handwrite responses to the letters. The statistics show that the predominant age group to leave letters are adolescents, the predominant gender is female, and the predominant nationality is American. Thousands of letters full of love and heartbreak are left in this alleyway, even though the character of Juliet is not real, nor is the alleyway the real place where she stood on her balcony while Romeo professed his love. To the secretaries themselves, the fact that Juliet never existed is unimportant. One of Juliet’s secretaries, Giovanna Tamassia, stated “even if she is a literary figure, she has become real.”

The alleyway was different from how I had imagined it to be, but it still filled me with awe to see an alleyway so devoted to love and passion. As a warning to others, the movie version of the alleyway compared to the real life alleyway is like a comparison of grits to hash browns; there is no comparison. Whereas in the movie the alleyway was a very clean, non-cluttered place, this alleyway was jammed with a gift shop, the balcony, graffiti, and the actual statue of Juliet. Also, whereas in the movie the alleyway was devoid of people and a quiet, reflecting place, in real life it is teeming with tourists of all ages and genders, giggling as they placed their hands on Juliet’s bosom for good luck and posed for a picture. I loved it. The walls were written with love notes in all colors and with whatever was handy to use as a writing utensil. Letters were stuck to the wall with anything readily available, whether that was a nail or a piece of gum. I had assumed that I would see only females at this particular tourist attraction, but there were large groups of men and boys present, all of whom were waiting their turn to get some luck from Lady Juliet. There were over thirty people of all nationalities and speaking in all languages who had traveled and crammed into this small alleyway to leave their letters of love or heartbreak, to get some luck, or to simply leave their mark of love on the wall. This scene showed me that beneath all the differences, race, gender, culture, nationality, all human beings are consumed and filled with one thing; love.

Entry 4: 9/26/10

Picturesque Anghiari

A couple days after my adventure in Florence, I was catching up on sleep and spending most of my time fixing the precarious situation that had become my homework. At the beginning of the week, I would sigh to myself, look longingly out the window at the beautiful, sunshine-filled day and would then resign myself to the completion of homework versus a day out exploring and sipping a cappuccino at the local café. Friday, I had promised myself, would be the day of no homework and of exploration. After making this promise to myself, I then migrated to the student lounge, surrounded myself with my studies and pursued the completion of my homework. Resisting the outside world and beautiful day was difficult, but I concentrated on the promise I made to myself of an adventure on Friday.

This scene repeated itself Monday through Thursday, and once Friday arrived I was quite impatient to get going. It was the perfect day for an exploration because the sky was a crisp blue, with pure white clouds moving lazily through it, and the road had a certain vibrancy that called out for me to leave behind my studies and to wander down it. My companions and I had already discussed what we wanted to do for that Friday, and had decided on visiting Anghiari.

Anghiari is a town about fifteen minutes outside of Sansepolcro that offers a picturesque view of breathtaking architecture, at least for the passengers on the bus who happen to look out of their window as the town passes by. Anghiari is a small town that dates back to the Middle Ages. It is situated on a perch that overlooks the beautiful Tiber Valley. Anghiari is most famous and recognized due to Leonardo Da Vinci’s painting Battle of Anghiari. The Battle of Anghiari is a historical event that took place in the 1440’s, when the Milanese fought the Florentines over land throughout Tuscany and other parts of Italy. The Florentines were victorious, and legend has it that there was only one casualty, which happened by accident.

It is not difficult to imagine the history behind this town because the town still maintains the magnificent architecture, quaint stores and shops, antique alleyways, and worn paths and stairs that have been there since the Middle Ages. With the curving alleys, steep roads, and the scenic landscapes, Anghiari is the most photogenic town I have ever seen. The town itself is gorgeous to behold, but the overlooking view of the landscape makes it easy for one to see why Italy is considered to be one of the most beautiful countries in the world. Looking at the countryside it is also very easy to see why the Italian colors are white, green, and red; closest to the ground are the different hues of emerald green, followed by the white palazzos and other buildings, and at the very top are the red shingles of the mission tile roofs. After walking through the town for a couple of hours, I was still awestruck by the beauty and grace of the town. There are no bad angles or bad viewpoints of Anghiari. It was as if I had stepped off the bus and onto a movie set, and with an art director, who had strategically placed all the scenery for grand effect. Rather, I stepped into a small, medieval town that is picturesque in quality and has history that seeps out of its walls, windows, and doors. One cannot travel to Anghiari and not feel the history and the beauty that is this small Tuscan town.

Entry 3: September 20, 2010

David: In the Marble

“Every block of stone has a statue inside it and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it.”
-Michelangelo

As a marker to my third weekend in Italy, my fellow European travelers and I all packed our bags and boarded a train, where we spent a three day weekend exploring the history and wonder that is Firenze. To all those who are not currently living or traveling in Italy, Firenze is the bustling city of Florence. It is a city teeming with life of residents and tourists alike from many different parts of the world. While in Firenze I had the good fortune to have dialogue with a man from Colorado, a woman from England, another woman from Australia; and those are just the people who introduced themselves. There is a huge market in the middle of the city that draws all the tourists in with its scintillating scarves, handsome leather goods, and the typical souvenir shirts. This scene would not be complete without the sale of boxers with David’s genitalia printed on them, waiting for a woman to buy them for her significant other. Although the overwhelming amount of nude statues, people wandering to and fro, and the many street vendors are a sight to behold, the museums are the truly fascinating and awe-inspiring places in this historical city.

I was fortunate enough to be able to see the view from atop the Duomo and to visit the Uffizi, think the Birth of Venus, and the Museo Nazionale at Bargello, which is home to Donatello’s David. These museums and works of art all left me with a sense of wonderment and inspiration because of the talent behind the works of art, and their timelessness. I could use my imagination and see the artists laboring over their pieces, completely unaware of how monumental and salient their works would become. It was as if the paintings and sculptures had transported me back into time, and I could see and understand the world in which they were conceived. Seeing Botticelli’s Primavera, Birth of Venus, and Donatello’s David, were inspiring moments to be sure, but there was one work of art that would inspire and move me to a greater extent than the other historical works had.

It was the last day of our trip to Firenze. I was extremely sore, I was sure my legs were simply going to fall off any minute, I was hungry, and I was tired. And I had been waiting in a line outside for two and a half hours and counting. The company wasn’t bad, my friends and I had a very nice conversation with a woman from Australia, but my legs hurt to kingdom come and there were hardly any benches outside. What were you standing in line for, you ask? We were waiting to enter the Galleria dell’Accademia, home to Michelangelo’s David.

David was made in Firenze by Michelangelo between the years 1501-1504. Around this time, many Davids were cropping up, including Donatello’s sassy portrayal of the Biblical character, which I referred to earlier. While many sculptors had created a triumphant David after the battle, and normally with Goliath’s slain head below his feet, Michelangelo took a different approach. His version of David is David before the battle, in a contemplative manner. The slingshot is not easily seen, and David’s body is relaxed, while his gaze is intense with concentration. This pose is thought to emphasize the fact that David won his battle with Goliath out of cleverness, not out of sheer force or manpower. During the time in which Michelangelo’s David was created, Florence was a small city that was being overrun by the bigger cities surrounding it. When David was placed in front of City Hall in Firenze, it was a symbol of strength to the citizens because Michelangelo’s depiction showed that David’s resolve and readiness to fight is more important than his victory.

Understandably, one simply cannot travel to Firenze, and not see David, as my companions and I had dubbed him. After three hours, it seemed as if everything had suddenly gone into hyper drive when the security officer lifted up the rope and ushered us into the museum. We blew through security and hurriedly paid for our tickets. I went into the first room, expecting to see David, only to discover that he wasn’t in the room. I kept entering rooms until to discover, to my disappointment, that David was not there. Finally, I had slowed my pace in understanding that I would see David when I saw him, when I rounded the corner and there he was. Tall and magnificent, I just stopped in my tracks and stared at him for a solid two minutes before I continued forward to get a better look. For all those wondering, the rumors are true, Michelangelo’s David is truly the epitome of the perfect male. He is sculpted to perfection with veins starting in his hands and working their way up his arms, the muscles clearly pronounced in the light that pours down on him, and his face is full of concentration as he looks off into the distance. To date, seeing Michelangelo’s David is one of the most pivotal and magical moments in my life. I can wholeheartedly say that waiting in line for three hours was completely worth it, and I would do it again in a heartbeat.

Entry 2: September 10, 2010

“You can see she’s a beautiful girl
She’s a beautiful girl
And everything around her is a silver pool of light
The people who surround her feel the benefit of it
It makes you calm
She holds you captivated in her palm”
-KT Tunstall

My second week in the beautiful town of Sansepolcro is drawing to a close, or at least today is, and is drawing my weekend closer and closer. I am getting more and more adapted to life in this small Italian town and the ways of life for an Italian, or the ways of life for a European traveler. I now reach up automatically to flush the toilet, I can understand how much money I owe for my purchases (so does my budget unfortunately), and I can now orient myself from the palazzo and know where my destination is and how to get back home. I am also getting used to the schedule in this part of the world. I would think it is fair to say that Italy, or at least Sansepolcro, is a “night” place.

About an hour before midnight, the masses come out to socialize in the streets, get a late-night cappuccino or gelato, or to have a nice glass of wine with friends. Then, about a couple hours after midnight the masses leave, to presumably get some sleep and then repeat everything the next day. How do I know this, you ask? I know this because all of that friendly chatter and the casual conversations from the street drift up into the air, traipse through the window, and land right in the middle of my bedroom in the Palazzo Alberti. It is not that I don’t enjoy the scene of everyone on the street, or that I don’t enjoy joining them during a lapse in homework. However, when one has an early morning filled with classes and is somewhat sleep deprived, the fact that the palazzo is on the most popular street in Sansepolcro can be a bit irksome. Irksome, but in the most entertaining way of course.

The Palazzo Alberti is a sixteenth century palace that was originally built in the late 1500’s for Signor Cherubino, who was a great artist and entrepreneur. Since Cherubino’s name includes the word “cherub,” in it, there are many decorations of cherubs throughout the palazzo, especially in the chapel. It is only fitting that now the Meredith Angels now inhabit the palazzo.

A fun fact about the Palazzo Alberti is its location on Via XX Settembre, which is not only a very popular street name, but also is the date of the Risorgimento. The Risorgimento is when the different states formally became the nation of Italy, which was on September 20, 1870. Many people are surprised to learn that Italy is in fact a very young nation, younger even than the United States. Until 1870, Italy was just a network of regions and states, which are still very different due to the varied cultures and even more distinct dialects. The Risorgimento came about with the help of Guiseppe Mazzini, who was an Italian patriot and firmly believed in the unification of Italy. Unfortunately, the Risorgimento movement was mostly supported by the political and intellectual elite, and was largely ignored by the agricultural sector of the country. This contributed to the result of the Risorgimento being a failed revolution. It took many, many years for Italy to rise above difficult political standing and a ruined economy, and to make up for ground lost during the Fascist movement and World War II.

While the street and address of the Palazzo Alberti are named after a rough patch in Italian history, one would never know because of the happy citizens and lively community. The street is almost always a hustle-and-bustle of activity, which starts around mid-morning and lasts until the early hours of the morning as well. As I have already stated, it can get quite noisy sometimes. However, while it can be irksome to sleep in the noise, it is rather enjoyable to join in! At night, the streets fill up with all the young people, and some of the not-so-young join in as well. It feels as if this small, Italian town is now a part of New York City with all the late-night cafes and shops buzzing with people. It is a very enriching experience because there are so many different types of people who are out and mingling; the teenagers, the artists, the rockers, the fashion-conscious, just to name a few.

However, there is one group that manages to always catch my eye, and everyone else’s I am sure, and that group is the gorgeous and beautifully dressed Italian women. In the silver pool of moonlight, they are all dressed to perfection, which is not a generalization. There seems to be some innate sense in this community, or maybe just Italy in general, on how to dress and how to exude a certain air of glamour that embodies the women and the people around them.

America is sorely missing this sense. Whereas the American mentality is “they don’t pay me for how I look,” Italy’s is “I will force you to look at me and my fabulousness.”All the women go out at night and walk with a special grace that I feel only belongs to these Italian women, especially a grace while walking in five inch stilettos. Every time I go out at night, I see these women and they always remind me of the women in movies who teenage girls emulate and want to be when grown up. The woman, where upon her arrival, everything in the background goes into slow-motion, the music starts up, and even though she is just walking, she is the most beautiful and fluid person in the movie. That woman is what the women of Sansepolcro remind me off. There is an aura around these women that resonate with almost everyone around them, and even people around the world. It is an aura which truly holds the world captivated in their palms.

Entry 1: September 5, 2010

Men in Tights

Performance: the action of representing a character in a play

It is the end of the first week of my Italian adventure, as I like to call my “attraversiamo.” Anyone who has seen the movie Eat Pray Love knows that this means “to cross over” in Italian. I have literally crossed over the Atlantic Ocean to a new country, new language, and new culture to cross over metaphorically into a different chapter in the story of my life. Or so my thinking goes. Typically, when I first arrived in Rome and then again in Sansepolcro, I was overwhelmed with all things new; Euros, a new language, palazzos versus piazzas, cars whizzing everywhere, and the list can continue for days. After a few days of soaking in the glory that comes with a new home and new adventures, I was becoming acquainted with everyday life in this small Italian town. However, like many new adventures, as soon as you think you have it figured out, something happens that brings you right back to the original buzz of wonder and excitement. For me, this was the event of Palio della Balestra.

Palio della Balestra, literally translated as “Palio of the Crossbow,” is a Renaissance themed festival that celebrates the “race of the crossbow” between Sansepolcro and a neighboring town, Gubbio. This event was to encourage the training and shooting of crossbows. The event’s goal was hopefully to produce battle companies formed by free citizens, which would then allow for the town to have a bigger reserve for the military defense of the city. The “race of the crossbow” has been documented since 1594, but there is evidence that even before that time the event had occurred. The winner of the Palio was given a prize of a woolen cloth, “pallium,” which was used to pack his suit of armor. This is a tradition which has survived and evolved with the town of Sansepolcro.

I was fortunate enough to be able to participate in the Palio della Balestra. I was in a floor-length, off the shoulder lilac dress accompanied by flowers in my hair. It very much reminded me of a fairy costume out of A Midsummer’s Night Dream. The parade featured people of all ages and had all the traditional characters such as drummers, peasants, royalty, and bagpipe players. It was a sight to behold as we paraded through town to the sound of live drums. We marched through the streets and into the main piazza, which had bleachers set up for the occasion. It was a packed house. Everyone in the town made an appearance at the Palio. Once the whole procession was introduced and seated, the performances started which, included dancers, horses, stilt-walkers, opera singers, drummers, and of course the sword fighting competition. It was a phenomenal event, and certainly was a grand welcome to Sansepolcro.

I was a dancer for sixteen years. I have been in more shows than I can remember, or count; on stage as well as off the stage. Each year I assist in the production of The Nutcracker. There is a moral to this story, I promise. Each year rolls around, and it is always the same question: “Who is going to be the Prince?” Each year, my brother gets dragged and ordered into being the Prince, and he hates every moment. Why? Because in America, for the most part, it is unacceptable for men to be performers, or heaven forbid, wear tights. The horror! And if a boy or man loves to dance and is a ballet dancer? Oh, they’re gay. When, nine times out of ten, some are as macho and straight as the NFL football players. Compare the American mentality to men in tights to the Sansepolcro mentality. Almost every single male participant in the Palio della Balestra wore tights. Colorful ones! Neon orange, yellow, blue, purple, white, black. You name it, they wore it. Not one of the males hung their heads in shame or disgrace. There were no pointing fingers in the crowd or laughter at the men wearing tights. To me, it seemed that the male performers were very dignified and proud to be in the festival and to be in their costumes. If my hometown of New Bern, North Carolina, had tried to host such a performance as the Palio, they wouldn’t be able to pay ten males willing to put on tights and march through town, let alone have them volunteer for the part. I appreciate and enjoy this part of the Italian culture. I appreciate that the men and boys of the town come out and perform for this traditional festival. I enjoyed watching them all perform their different acts, whether it was sword fighting, playing the drums, or even just walking around smiling. It was all a part of the grand performance that is the Palio della Balestra, and the men were happy to be in it.