June 23, 2007
I won't be able to update for at least a week, I think, because this is my last day in Lugano, Switzerland. Tomorrow we say our last goodbyes to the half-program members of Summer Abroad and head out into the Continent. Bekah, Crystal, and I will be spending two nights in Salzburg, Austria; two nights in Lucerne, Switzerland (where Crystal will then leave us and head to Zurich to fly back to the USA); one night in Paris, France; and one night in Calais, France, where we will then take the ferry across the English Channel to Dover and a train to London. One month in London and a week of travel in Scotland, and then I come home on August sixth. Pretty scarily quick!
Well, now that my travel plans have been laid out so cleanly, it's time to recount what happened today. Turns out that my journal was due at 8:30 AM, and I still had two requirements to fill! I visited the Parco di Florida, a second-story garden/park across the street from where I live. I was the only person there at 8 AM, and I spent some time wandering through the old marble archways and gardens, taking a few moments to play on the swingset. I felt more like a child, swinging back and forth with my backpack still on in a park in Switzerland at 8AM, than I have in quite a long time. It was wonderfully refreshing.
Nothing lasts forever, however, and I quickly realized that I was late to breakfast. I defeated the Hellish Hill and scarfed my croissant, cereal, and yogurt before heading to the cemetery on the hill. The Lorengo Cemetery is beautiful and simple, with detailed mausoleums and small in-ground graves the majority of the place. Next to it is the Santa Maria di Lorengo church, a beautiful but simple church that has mass mainly to bless the dead before they are interred. I spent the rest of the morning finishing my journal before turning it in for the final grade (I got an A! Be proud!) and relaxing with my friends. A basic shopping excursion was much-needed, even though I found only ONE shirt.
Lizzy made dinner for us, wonderfully delicious Penne alla Caprese, and then we played cards and listened to old-school Michael Jackson until the wee hours of the morning. Speed and War can get pretty intense, ya know!
domenica 24 giugno 2007
sabato 23 giugno 2007
The STUDY of Study Abroad
June 22, 2007
Happy Birthday, Laura Combs! Yeah cuz, the big TWO OH!
I sure hope you had a happy day, because those of us in Lugano realized why the program is called STUDY abroad. I had an exam in my History of Renaissance/Reformation class, and after that was done I had to write a research paper on how Ulrich Zwingli influenced the Reformation. I'm not quite sure how any of it turned out--I think my head exploded somewhere around "Please compare and contrast the different manifestations of the Radical Reformation," and I haven't been able to find it since. Whoops!
Happy Birthday, Laura Combs! Yeah cuz, the big TWO OH!
I sure hope you had a happy day, because those of us in Lugano realized why the program is called STUDY abroad. I had an exam in my History of Renaissance/Reformation class, and after that was done I had to write a research paper on how Ulrich Zwingli influenced the Reformation. I'm not quite sure how any of it turned out--I think my head exploded somewhere around "Please compare and contrast the different manifestations of the Radical Reformation," and I haven't been able to find it since. Whoops!
Flying House, Anyone?
June 21, 2007
I visited the Santa Maria di Loreto today, a beautiful stone church dedicated to the House of Mary (the Casa di Loreto). The church was a simple affair, with beautiful marble floors and remnants of a recent wedding. The chapel at the back had a stained glass window with a dove descending out of a cerulean sky, and I fell in love (pthelo, Mer?).
I found the legend of the Casa particularly fascinating. It holds that Mary and Joseph raised Jesus in a small, humble house in Nazareth. Three centuries later, Emperor Constantine built a basilica over it to honor and protect the abode. Threats from the crusades saw angels miraculously picking up the house and moving it to Romania in 1291. Muslim invasions caused the angels to move it again, this time to Italy, in 1294. A final move placed it in Loreto, Italy, where a startled parish priest saw it appear in an abandoned field. A vision of the Virgin telling him that it was her house caused him to venerate the site, and subsequent popes built basilicas over it to protect it.
Sounds like a load of nothing, right? Well, scientists have studied the composition of the house, and they have found two interesting things. Its materials are not found anywhere in this area--the building materials are those only found in the Middle East. Also, the house has absolutely no foundations in a place where buildings are liable to collapse without them. It truly looks as if it has just been plopped down on that spot and preserved. Maria di Loreto became the patron saint of pilots in the early 1900s in honor of the house's miraculous flights.
I love stories like this.
I visited the Santa Maria di Loreto today, a beautiful stone church dedicated to the House of Mary (the Casa di Loreto). The church was a simple affair, with beautiful marble floors and remnants of a recent wedding. The chapel at the back had a stained glass window with a dove descending out of a cerulean sky, and I fell in love (pthelo, Mer?).
I found the legend of the Casa particularly fascinating. It holds that Mary and Joseph raised Jesus in a small, humble house in Nazareth. Three centuries later, Emperor Constantine built a basilica over it to honor and protect the abode. Threats from the crusades saw angels miraculously picking up the house and moving it to Romania in 1291. Muslim invasions caused the angels to move it again, this time to Italy, in 1294. A final move placed it in Loreto, Italy, where a startled parish priest saw it appear in an abandoned field. A vision of the Virgin telling him that it was her house caused him to venerate the site, and subsequent popes built basilicas over it to protect it.
Sounds like a load of nothing, right? Well, scientists have studied the composition of the house, and they have found two interesting things. Its materials are not found anywhere in this area--the building materials are those only found in the Middle East. Also, the house has absolutely no foundations in a place where buildings are liable to collapse without them. It truly looks as if it has just been plopped down on that spot and preserved. Maria di Loreto became the patron saint of pilots in the early 1900s in honor of the house's miraculous flights.
I love stories like this.
It's...Naked Time!
June 20, 2007
I went to the pool in Lugano today, about a twenty minute walk from the Girasole residence where we're staying. The pool is, quite simply, awesome: it has lake access, restaurant/bar, a four-tiered diving board, two kiddy pools, a medium-sized swimming pool, and an olympic pool. It wasn't desperately crowded in the cool waters, and you wanna know why?
Because everybody and their GRANDPA is sitting in the park area, 98% naked and WAY more than I need to see! Lizzy and I were the ONLY two people under forty wearing one-piece bathing suits, and let me tell you that string bikinis are the DEVIL unless you are a negative zero in sizing. The men apparently find it fashionable to wear itty bitty speedos, including the oldest, frailest grandfathers I have ever seen. We sat in the pool for an hour and just watched the people walk by in their utter ridiculousness, occasionally gasping or cringing at the diving escapades of ten-year-old boys. I love Europe, don't get me wrong; it's a great place. However, surely these ancient civilizations have more sense than to walk around in pieces of STRING!
I went to the pool in Lugano today, about a twenty minute walk from the Girasole residence where we're staying. The pool is, quite simply, awesome: it has lake access, restaurant/bar, a four-tiered diving board, two kiddy pools, a medium-sized swimming pool, and an olympic pool. It wasn't desperately crowded in the cool waters, and you wanna know why?
Because everybody and their GRANDPA is sitting in the park area, 98% naked and WAY more than I need to see! Lizzy and I were the ONLY two people under forty wearing one-piece bathing suits, and let me tell you that string bikinis are the DEVIL unless you are a negative zero in sizing. The men apparently find it fashionable to wear itty bitty speedos, including the oldest, frailest grandfathers I have ever seen. We sat in the pool for an hour and just watched the people walk by in their utter ridiculousness, occasionally gasping or cringing at the diving escapades of ten-year-old boys. I love Europe, don't get me wrong; it's a great place. However, surely these ancient civilizations have more sense than to walk around in pieces of STRING!
When I Die, Cremate Me
June 19, 2007
Lugano is located on Lake Lugano in the Ticino Canton of Switzerland, the only Italian-speaking Canton in the country. We took a ferry to the another of the towns on the lake, a beautiful one named Morcote. It had actually been the most important city on the lake during the Middle Ages, but the Black Death killed everyone but seven families in the early 1400s, and the town never recovered. It remains a small, intimate place, with Patrician homes and cobbled alleyways everywhere. We got off the boat and, instead of exploring the hidden niches of the town, headed straight up the Biggest Staircase in the World (my poor calves!) to the Chiesa di Santa Maria dei Sasso, a beautiful renaissance church built where a man purportedly saw a vision of the Virgin Mary. The church was beautiful inside, with frescoes of female saints and beautiful marble mosaics on the floor. The baptistry was simple next door, the only true decoration being the elegant renaissance painting on the ceiling.
We headed to the cemetery next, but Brenda, Lizzy, and I found a secret staircase through an archway that Dr. O assured us would head straight into the cemetery. What she neglected to tell us, however, was that the staircase would head straight to the TOP of the cemetery--all the way to the ninth level (Dante, anyone?). That's right, this is a nine-level cemetery on the top of a mountain overlooking a lake. It's entirely pedestrian, and anytime someone is buried in one of the mausoleums, pallbearers have to cart that sucker up every staircase in existence to get there. I wouldn't do that to you guys--just cremate me and toss me in the lake. Expect the same treatment.
Lugano is located on Lake Lugano in the Ticino Canton of Switzerland, the only Italian-speaking Canton in the country. We took a ferry to the another of the towns on the lake, a beautiful one named Morcote. It had actually been the most important city on the lake during the Middle Ages, but the Black Death killed everyone but seven families in the early 1400s, and the town never recovered. It remains a small, intimate place, with Patrician homes and cobbled alleyways everywhere. We got off the boat and, instead of exploring the hidden niches of the town, headed straight up the Biggest Staircase in the World (my poor calves!) to the Chiesa di Santa Maria dei Sasso, a beautiful renaissance church built where a man purportedly saw a vision of the Virgin Mary. The church was beautiful inside, with frescoes of female saints and beautiful marble mosaics on the floor. The baptistry was simple next door, the only true decoration being the elegant renaissance painting on the ceiling.
We headed to the cemetery next, but Brenda, Lizzy, and I found a secret staircase through an archway that Dr. O assured us would head straight into the cemetery. What she neglected to tell us, however, was that the staircase would head straight to the TOP of the cemetery--all the way to the ninth level (Dante, anyone?). That's right, this is a nine-level cemetery on the top of a mountain overlooking a lake. It's entirely pedestrian, and anytime someone is buried in one of the mausoleums, pallbearers have to cart that sucker up every staircase in existence to get there. I wouldn't do that to you guys--just cremate me and toss me in the lake. Expect the same treatment.
lunedì 18 giugno 2007
Hiking for My Breakfast
June 18, 2007
We live in a residence of Franklin College near the lake of Lugano. It's a beautiful building, and I'm very thankful to live there--we even have AC! But could somebody tell me, please, why is it that I have to participate in a fifteen-minute hike up the side of a mountain to get any food or learn anything from class?! I'm pretty sure that I will not make it up the next one, but if you see a mound of panting floral prints and gaucho pants on the side of the road, just plop it in your car and take it to the cafeteria, cause it's me.
Franklin College is beautiful, but what a hike at 7:40 in the morning! We got our breakfast after I shoved my heaving lungs back in my body, and then we had library orientation and class. Computer time (thank the Lord, computers!) was followed by lunch, and then Bekah, Lizzy, and I went to the coop in the downtown area and grabbed some food for dinner. We stopped in at the San Angioli church, which has a massive anticlassicism painting by Luini. It's gorgeous, but it sure is distracting! In the far right chapel of the church, right by the altar, is a tiny area completely darkened from lack of lamps or sunlight. Bring a flashlight with you, because that insignificant area houses the skeleton of Saint Leo, still in his chain mail with his saint ointment by his side. I ended up showing some old German tourists the skeleton, and they exclaimed over it and smiled widely at me--we couldn't understand anything else. I got in my bones for the day!
Lizzy and I made cookies as an afternoon snack, and the professors have been in and out trying to steal them all day. I told them they could only have them if they gave me an A, but I don't think they believed me. Um, I'd like an A, hello! Penne alla Caprese is next on the menu if I can ever leave this computer, so you'll hear from me in the next few days!
We live in a residence of Franklin College near the lake of Lugano. It's a beautiful building, and I'm very thankful to live there--we even have AC! But could somebody tell me, please, why is it that I have to participate in a fifteen-minute hike up the side of a mountain to get any food or learn anything from class?! I'm pretty sure that I will not make it up the next one, but if you see a mound of panting floral prints and gaucho pants on the side of the road, just plop it in your car and take it to the cafeteria, cause it's me.
Franklin College is beautiful, but what a hike at 7:40 in the morning! We got our breakfast after I shoved my heaving lungs back in my body, and then we had library orientation and class. Computer time (thank the Lord, computers!) was followed by lunch, and then Bekah, Lizzy, and I went to the coop in the downtown area and grabbed some food for dinner. We stopped in at the San Angioli church, which has a massive anticlassicism painting by Luini. It's gorgeous, but it sure is distracting! In the far right chapel of the church, right by the altar, is a tiny area completely darkened from lack of lamps or sunlight. Bring a flashlight with you, because that insignificant area houses the skeleton of Saint Leo, still in his chain mail with his saint ointment by his side. I ended up showing some old German tourists the skeleton, and they exclaimed over it and smiled widely at me--we couldn't understand anything else. I got in my bones for the day!
Lizzy and I made cookies as an afternoon snack, and the professors have been in and out trying to steal them all day. I told them they could only have them if they gave me an A, but I don't think they believed me. Um, I'd like an A, hello! Penne alla Caprese is next on the menu if I can ever leave this computer, so you'll hear from me in the next few days!
Ho, Ho, Ho
June 17, 2007
Everyone else arrived today and chose their rooms, and Hillary became the fourth person in our area of the residence. We had promised Dr. Oatsvall that we would be the quiet corner, but we failed miserably in that respect. We made dinner and stole off each other's plates, we took crazy pictures for an hour or two, we told ridiculous stories and made up even more, and I taught Hillary how to play the Ho Ho Ho game.
If you've never played Ho, Ho, Ho, go grab a few friends and follow my instructions: everybody lie down on the floor with your head on another person's stomachs--one head per stomach. The first person says "Ho!" with as much gusto as possible, making her stomach bounce the friend's head up and down. The second person says "Ho! Ho!" and so on and so forth. The object is to make the other people laugh, and whoever laughs first fails. Let me just say that Bekah failed every single time.
Everyone else arrived today and chose their rooms, and Hillary became the fourth person in our area of the residence. We had promised Dr. Oatsvall that we would be the quiet corner, but we failed miserably in that respect. We made dinner and stole off each other's plates, we took crazy pictures for an hour or two, we told ridiculous stories and made up even more, and I taught Hillary how to play the Ho Ho Ho game.
If you've never played Ho, Ho, Ho, go grab a few friends and follow my instructions: everybody lie down on the floor with your head on another person's stomachs--one head per stomach. The first person says "Ho!" with as much gusto as possible, making her stomach bounce the friend's head up and down. The second person says "Ho! Ho!" and so on and so forth. The object is to make the other people laugh, and whoever laughs first fails. Let me just say that Bekah failed every single time.
Privacy Was Never So Sweet--Or So Lonely
June 16, 2007
We had reserved a place at the Hotel Primavera in Stressa, a beautiful Italian town on Lake Maggiore. However, my friend Lizzy had taken a tumble at Lake Como, and the hiking yesterday had her in tears because of her scoliosis. We ended up canceling our plans and heading straight to Lugano, and we've never been so happy with our flexibility before.
Dr. Oatsvall was able to let us into the rooms a day early so Lizzy could take her medicine and sleep off the pain, and I have the best room in the universe: a bed, a private bathroom, my own kitchen and desk, and my own veranda--holy cow! I made my own dinner last night (because everything in Lugano is ridiculously expensive, so I bought food from the BP and cooked), and I went to bed on my own time. However, it was really lonely--no Bekah to kick above me on the bunk bed, nobody to giggle with about nothing, just me and the bed and the ants. Ah, well. At least I've got the ants.
We had reserved a place at the Hotel Primavera in Stressa, a beautiful Italian town on Lake Maggiore. However, my friend Lizzy had taken a tumble at Lake Como, and the hiking yesterday had her in tears because of her scoliosis. We ended up canceling our plans and heading straight to Lugano, and we've never been so happy with our flexibility before.
Dr. Oatsvall was able to let us into the rooms a day early so Lizzy could take her medicine and sleep off the pain, and I have the best room in the universe: a bed, a private bathroom, my own kitchen and desk, and my own veranda--holy cow! I made my own dinner last night (because everything in Lugano is ridiculously expensive, so I bought food from the BP and cooked), and I went to bed on my own time. However, it was really lonely--no Bekah to kick above me on the bunk bed, nobody to giggle with about nothing, just me and the bed and the ants. Ah, well. At least I've got the ants.
Clouds Are Pretty--When You're Not INSIDE THEM!
June 15, 2007
Our agenda today was to hike up to Murren and then up a bit further to an even smaller town in the Alps, at about 6,000 feet. I had slathered myself in sunscreen and was prepared for a hot hike, but I opened up the window and--lo and behold--cloud comes in.
The clouds had drifted upward from Interlaken and had smothered us, and I didn't see the sun until about 9 pm. We hiked in the rain, looked at fat slugs in the rain, bought presents in the rain, and pretty much got soaked to the skin. My altitude sickness kicked in like nobody's business, however, and I could only hike up to Murren. I felt like my lungs were bursting and my heart was going to implode. I hopped on the furnicular with John Rose and the other gimps, and we took a lovely ride up to the top of the mountain before walking down a ways to the second hiking site. It was still raining and there wasn't a glacier in site, so Dr. Hartford bought us soup and hot chocolate, and we hid in there until time to hike down again. Cows and electric fences barred the way, but we manuevered and had a grand ol' time.
The sky cleared up around 9, after dinner was over and we had sung farewell to Walter. The sky turned robin's egg blue right behind the white peaks of the Alps, and we had 30 glorious seconds of photo opportunity before another cloud chased us back inside. And we thought NC weather was unpredictable!
Our agenda today was to hike up to Murren and then up a bit further to an even smaller town in the Alps, at about 6,000 feet. I had slathered myself in sunscreen and was prepared for a hot hike, but I opened up the window and--lo and behold--cloud comes in.
The clouds had drifted upward from Interlaken and had smothered us, and I didn't see the sun until about 9 pm. We hiked in the rain, looked at fat slugs in the rain, bought presents in the rain, and pretty much got soaked to the skin. My altitude sickness kicked in like nobody's business, however, and I could only hike up to Murren. I felt like my lungs were bursting and my heart was going to implode. I hopped on the furnicular with John Rose and the other gimps, and we took a lovely ride up to the top of the mountain before walking down a ways to the second hiking site. It was still raining and there wasn't a glacier in site, so Dr. Hartford bought us soup and hot chocolate, and we hid in there until time to hike down again. Cows and electric fences barred the way, but we manuevered and had a grand ol' time.
The sky cleared up around 9, after dinner was over and we had sung farewell to Walter. The sky turned robin's egg blue right behind the white peaks of the Alps, and we had 30 glorious seconds of photo opportunity before another cloud chased us back inside. And we thought NC weather was unpredictable!
Stricklands = Tardiness
June 14, 2007
So, nobody told us that Varenna doesn't exist as an actual train station anymore. The train stops there, sure, but only to go to Tirano or Milan--both the wrong way from where we needed to go. The station isn't actually open anymore, and you have to buy tickets from the conductors as soon as you get on the train. We ended up taking a train to Milan, then to Brig, then to somewhere else where somebody did something in history, and finally to Interlaken Ost. From Interlaken, where we stored our humongous bags, we took a small train to Lauterbrunnen, a bus to Stechelberg, and a gondola up a cliff face to the ridiculously tiny town of Gimmelwald.
Not Grindelwald, ladies and gentlemen. Gimmelwald.
It is an itty bitty town 4,600 feet in the Swiss Alps with about ten houses to its name. We stayed at Walter's Hotel, where the floors squeak and you have to pay to take a five-minute shower. It has wonderful charm, though, and I could look out from my balcony and see the most beautiful sites in the world. We were supposed to be there by five pm. My group, because it hadn't stayed in Interlaken the night before, got there around 7. Not bad! My sister, the previous Strickland, apparently didn't make it until the next day. Sorry, Mer, but I won! :D
So, nobody told us that Varenna doesn't exist as an actual train station anymore. The train stops there, sure, but only to go to Tirano or Milan--both the wrong way from where we needed to go. The station isn't actually open anymore, and you have to buy tickets from the conductors as soon as you get on the train. We ended up taking a train to Milan, then to Brig, then to somewhere else where somebody did something in history, and finally to Interlaken Ost. From Interlaken, where we stored our humongous bags, we took a small train to Lauterbrunnen, a bus to Stechelberg, and a gondola up a cliff face to the ridiculously tiny town of Gimmelwald.
Not Grindelwald, ladies and gentlemen. Gimmelwald.
It is an itty bitty town 4,600 feet in the Swiss Alps with about ten houses to its name. We stayed at Walter's Hotel, where the floors squeak and you have to pay to take a five-minute shower. It has wonderful charm, though, and I could look out from my balcony and see the most beautiful sites in the world. We were supposed to be there by five pm. My group, because it hadn't stayed in Interlaken the night before, got there around 7. Not bad! My sister, the previous Strickland, apparently didn't make it until the next day. Sorry, Mer, but I won! :D
George Clooney Lives Here!
June 13, 2007
I won't bore you with the details of our travels from Monterosso al Mare to Varenna, a small resort town on Lake Como, but I would like to point out that Italians ARE sometimes on time--the train pulled out of the Milano Centrale station as we were hobbling up to it, leaving us in the soot for another two hours.
The hotel was good, even if we did have to share a bathroom with the entire hall, including a couple on its honeymoon that thought they owned the bathroom. Lizzy and I went out for a look around, and it's no wonder that George Clooney lives in the area! The place is absolutely gorgeous, with mountains and glittering lakewater and carefully tended gardens and cobblestones everywhere you look. I also saw my first Italian ducks, and I kept hoping they would quack something in Italian. We've got the Aflak duck, so what have they got?
I won't bore you with the details of our travels from Monterosso al Mare to Varenna, a small resort town on Lake Como, but I would like to point out that Italians ARE sometimes on time--the train pulled out of the Milano Centrale station as we were hobbling up to it, leaving us in the soot for another two hours.
The hotel was good, even if we did have to share a bathroom with the entire hall, including a couple on its honeymoon that thought they owned the bathroom. Lizzy and I went out for a look around, and it's no wonder that George Clooney lives in the area! The place is absolutely gorgeous, with mountains and glittering lakewater and carefully tended gardens and cobblestones everywhere you look. I also saw my first Italian ducks, and I kept hoping they would quack something in Italian. We've got the Aflak duck, so what have they got?
TMI, Everyone!
June 12, 2007
Clouds made the morning an unreasonable time of day to jump in the sea, so we hiked up the mountain to the cemetery and poked around until lunch. After a lunch of Insalata di Mare (don't get that--it's a thin bed of lettuce covered in tentacles and squid. I'm good with it, but if you don't like things with suckers, then beware), we headed down to the beach and watched the sun come out. Time to swim!
Our art professor, Jamie Cuthrell, met us on the beach, and we joined up with some other Meredith girls for a fun swim. However, no one told us how pebbly that beach was going to be! It was ridiculously rocky, and they were just sharp enough to prick your feet without you needing a bandaid. Boy, did I feel that walk the next day! The water was cold, but it was immensely refreshing. The first few screeches got you into the freezing water, and the final screeches got you across the rocks to your towels.
My title comes from a rather ridiculous incident that occurred while I was in the water. Let me describe the scenic situation to you: we were at the free beach in front of the old town, and the beach is divided by a cliff into two coves. The cliff juts almost into the water, but you can access the second cove by walking in front of the rock. I was floating in the Ligurian, minding my own business, when three old men decided that the changing rooms were up too many flights of stairs (um, one) and that the cliff-face looked like a good place to hide. Before I could sew my eyes shut, they stood in front of the cliff, threw off their speedos, and took their sweet time drying every available part of them before laboriously getting dressed in regular clothes. AAAHHHHH!!!! Yes, I am officially scarred for life.
Shortly after my harrowing experience, we headed off the beach and back to our hotel room for steamy showers and the chance to dress up for a night on the town. Standing on our terrace, we were able to look over the entirety of the old town of Monterosso al Mare--and straight to the terrace of our professors! We realized it was them, all the way across town, and began waving until they noticed us. We then invited them to dinner with us, and we met them at a small restaurant off a side street.
I had the best pasta in the WORLD at this place, and everyone at the table was lusting after it the whole night. The description said "pasta with pear and cheese in chef's sauce." Okay, I thought. How often do you find pastas mixed with pear? I'll try it. It turned out to be handmade pasta filled with cooked pear and melted formaggio in a light butter sauce, and boy was it good! I would pay big bucks for somebody to come to my kitchen and cook that, let me tell you!
Clouds made the morning an unreasonable time of day to jump in the sea, so we hiked up the mountain to the cemetery and poked around until lunch. After a lunch of Insalata di Mare (don't get that--it's a thin bed of lettuce covered in tentacles and squid. I'm good with it, but if you don't like things with suckers, then beware), we headed down to the beach and watched the sun come out. Time to swim!
Our art professor, Jamie Cuthrell, met us on the beach, and we joined up with some other Meredith girls for a fun swim. However, no one told us how pebbly that beach was going to be! It was ridiculously rocky, and they were just sharp enough to prick your feet without you needing a bandaid. Boy, did I feel that walk the next day! The water was cold, but it was immensely refreshing. The first few screeches got you into the freezing water, and the final screeches got you across the rocks to your towels.
My title comes from a rather ridiculous incident that occurred while I was in the water. Let me describe the scenic situation to you: we were at the free beach in front of the old town, and the beach is divided by a cliff into two coves. The cliff juts almost into the water, but you can access the second cove by walking in front of the rock. I was floating in the Ligurian, minding my own business, when three old men decided that the changing rooms were up too many flights of stairs (um, one) and that the cliff-face looked like a good place to hide. Before I could sew my eyes shut, they stood in front of the cliff, threw off their speedos, and took their sweet time drying every available part of them before laboriously getting dressed in regular clothes. AAAHHHHH!!!! Yes, I am officially scarred for life.
Shortly after my harrowing experience, we headed off the beach and back to our hotel room for steamy showers and the chance to dress up for a night on the town. Standing on our terrace, we were able to look over the entirety of the old town of Monterosso al Mare--and straight to the terrace of our professors! We realized it was them, all the way across town, and began waving until they noticed us. We then invited them to dinner with us, and we met them at a small restaurant off a side street.
I had the best pasta in the WORLD at this place, and everyone at the table was lusting after it the whole night. The description said "pasta with pear and cheese in chef's sauce." Okay, I thought. How often do you find pastas mixed with pear? I'll try it. It turned out to be handmade pasta filled with cooked pear and melted formaggio in a light butter sauce, and boy was it good! I would pay big bucks for somebody to come to my kitchen and cook that, let me tell you!
Ciao, Sansepolcro!
June 11, 2007
Farewell, Sansepolcro!
Classes, packing, and lunch preceded heavy bus and train delays. We had about fifty pounds on our backs, and we left Sansepolcro for good and began making our way to Switzerland. Sansepolcro was definitely home for me, and it was hard to see it go.
We eventually arrived in Monterosso al Mare, the fifth town of Cinque Terre. We stayed at the Hotel Souvenir, and they gave us a five-person room with a bathroom and a terrace the size of a house for 75 euros a night! SWEET! Cinque Terre is beautiful, five small towns where the mountains meet the Ligurian Sea. Monterosso is the beachiest town, and we made full use of it--as you'll read on the next segment of..."What Trouble Can Joy Get Into Today!"
Farewell, Sansepolcro!
Classes, packing, and lunch preceded heavy bus and train delays. We had about fifty pounds on our backs, and we left Sansepolcro for good and began making our way to Switzerland. Sansepolcro was definitely home for me, and it was hard to see it go.
We eventually arrived in Monterosso al Mare, the fifth town of Cinque Terre. We stayed at the Hotel Souvenir, and they gave us a five-person room with a bathroom and a terrace the size of a house for 75 euros a night! SWEET! Cinque Terre is beautiful, five small towns where the mountains meet the Ligurian Sea. Monterosso is the beachiest town, and we made full use of it--as you'll read on the next segment of..."What Trouble Can Joy Get Into Today!"
Medieval Tuscan Feasts (a.k.a., I Will Not Cry)
June 10, 2007
Dr. Webb drove four of us to Monte Cassali at 7:30 in the morning, and you had better believe that I was in the back of that car as soon as she pulled out of the driveway. Monte Cassali is a small monastery/church high in the Tuscan hillside, where St. Francis slept on a stone slab during his more ascetic years. The chapel is miniscule but beautiful, with a mosaic tympanum on the inside of the door. A monk turned on the light for us in the side room, and we saw the three stone stairs leading to the slab of rock that was Francis' bed. Um, ouch?
Classes, mass, lunch, and more class followed, and then President Hartford took several of us to the Palazzo Alberti, an old palace right on the Via XX Septembre street (mainstreet). This is where future Meredith students will stay when participating in the new semester-long Sansepolcro study abroad session. It won't be ready until after I graduate, but I offered to act as a test case for the building. You know, sacrifice for the good of all, that's me. ;) The building doesn't have much, yet, but it's large and spacious, and you can already envision Meredith girls cooking, learning, laughing, and having the time of their lives in the rooms. The best part is that the construction workers are uncovering original frescoes throughout the building, and the main room has a huge ceiling fresco by the Albertis. Lovely!
Our final family dinner occurred tonight, and Marguerita went above and beyond anything I have ever seen before. She decorated the fifteenth-century Servi in medieval banners, flowers, and candlelight, which highlighted the original fresco tympanums along the walls and made the entire place glow with warmth. Women in renaissance costumes greeted the guests, and we were dressed in our finery to do the same--I wore my last piece of clean clothing, a beautiful dress my mother bought me (thanks, Mom!). Luigina and Roberto met us inside, and they gave us the most wonderful present--Piero della Francesca's Madonna della Miseraccordia on burlap, which I had been eyeing heavily at the Museo Civico. It's absolutely beautiful!
The dinner was amazing, a multi-course medieval feast typical of wealthy Tuscan aristocrats. We had several courses, which I shall be happy to list for you and make you salivate with jealousy (*smirk*): fresh vegetables, meats, and breads; hearty soup; pasta with meat that reminded us heavily of fresh chicken and dumplings; grilled, spiced onions with pork in a rich sauce; and a fruity cake, dipped in Vinsanto, the Tuscan wine of the saints. Jealous? Don't deny!
Renaissance dancing followed, accompanied by gift-giving and the traditional singing of the Meredith girls. We sang "Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee," "Lean on Me," and "Carolina Girls." The last song definitely got a few ladies teary. I didn't want to leave my host family, and neither did Jen. We held up our facades long enough to bid Roberto and Luigina farewell, and then we both got teary and had to hide in a corner for a few minutes for it to pass. I miss them already, and it hasn't even been long!
Dr. Webb drove four of us to Monte Cassali at 7:30 in the morning, and you had better believe that I was in the back of that car as soon as she pulled out of the driveway. Monte Cassali is a small monastery/church high in the Tuscan hillside, where St. Francis slept on a stone slab during his more ascetic years. The chapel is miniscule but beautiful, with a mosaic tympanum on the inside of the door. A monk turned on the light for us in the side room, and we saw the three stone stairs leading to the slab of rock that was Francis' bed. Um, ouch?
Classes, mass, lunch, and more class followed, and then President Hartford took several of us to the Palazzo Alberti, an old palace right on the Via XX Septembre street (mainstreet). This is where future Meredith students will stay when participating in the new semester-long Sansepolcro study abroad session. It won't be ready until after I graduate, but I offered to act as a test case for the building. You know, sacrifice for the good of all, that's me. ;) The building doesn't have much, yet, but it's large and spacious, and you can already envision Meredith girls cooking, learning, laughing, and having the time of their lives in the rooms. The best part is that the construction workers are uncovering original frescoes throughout the building, and the main room has a huge ceiling fresco by the Albertis. Lovely!
Our final family dinner occurred tonight, and Marguerita went above and beyond anything I have ever seen before. She decorated the fifteenth-century Servi in medieval banners, flowers, and candlelight, which highlighted the original fresco tympanums along the walls and made the entire place glow with warmth. Women in renaissance costumes greeted the guests, and we were dressed in our finery to do the same--I wore my last piece of clean clothing, a beautiful dress my mother bought me (thanks, Mom!). Luigina and Roberto met us inside, and they gave us the most wonderful present--Piero della Francesca's Madonna della Miseraccordia on burlap, which I had been eyeing heavily at the Museo Civico. It's absolutely beautiful!
The dinner was amazing, a multi-course medieval feast typical of wealthy Tuscan aristocrats. We had several courses, which I shall be happy to list for you and make you salivate with jealousy (*smirk*): fresh vegetables, meats, and breads; hearty soup; pasta with meat that reminded us heavily of fresh chicken and dumplings; grilled, spiced onions with pork in a rich sauce; and a fruity cake, dipped in Vinsanto, the Tuscan wine of the saints. Jealous? Don't deny!
Renaissance dancing followed, accompanied by gift-giving and the traditional singing of the Meredith girls. We sang "Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee," "Lean on Me," and "Carolina Girls." The last song definitely got a few ladies teary. I didn't want to leave my host family, and neither did Jen. We held up our facades long enough to bid Roberto and Luigina farewell, and then we both got teary and had to hide in a corner for a few minutes for it to pass. I miss them already, and it hasn't even been long!
Decapitated Heads
June 9, 2007
Rick Steves says that "Siena seems to be every Italy connoisseur's favorite pet town."
For those of you who don't know (me included until I read Rick Steves), Siena was Florence's archrival during the Middle Ages. Its population of 60,000 people put it larger than Paris during the fourteenth century. However, the Black Death of 1348 ravaged the town and killed more than a third of the population. Florence conquered the city in the 1550s, and "its political and economic irrelevance pickled the city in a purely medieval brine." In other words, the city is perfect--as beautiful as Florence, it has only 60,000 people compared to Florence's 420,000. It IS Florence, just without the crowds.
We hopped on a bus at eight and headed the two hours to Siena, where we took in the Piazza Il Campo, the Duomo, the Museo dell'Opera, the crypt, the Baptistry, and the Chiesa di San Domenico. The Piazza is where the crayon gets the name "Burnt Siena"--the bricks are the same color of the city's soil. Within the piazza (the most beautiful square in Europe, according to Rick) is the Fonte Gaia, the Fountain of Joy (you know it!). It supposedly inspired Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel ceiling, especially where God reaches out to Adam.
The Duomo is the most beautiful church I have ever seen in my life. Made of marbles in whites and deep greens, the walls reach high above your head and the beautiful floor has reliefs depicting New Testament scenes, allegories, and other stories. Along the nave's upper part are the heads of 172 popes peering down at the crowds (however, the same four faces are repeated over and over again--somebody got lazy!). Florence may be the home of Renaissance art, but Siena also houses works by Michelangelo, Bernini, Donatello, and Duccio. Pretty awesome!
The Museo wasn't anything spectacular, except for the understated doorway at the end of the Byzantine statues room--it leads up a teeny tiny staircase onto a spectacular walkway with a view of the entire city. Don't ignore the staircase, because it is definitely one of the most rewarding things in Siena. The crypt was worthless and the Baptistry had incense in it that would give a man with a cold a migraine, so we left those pretty quick.
Becca Lewis, an English major at Meredith, met us in Siena for the afternoon. She had spent a semester in Ferrara, and her host family hooked her up with a family about 2 hours from Siena. She now lives in a castle and teaches the family English. Um, can I have that job? Please? She had coffee and gelato with us, and she took us to the Chiesa di San Domenico, which houses the head of St. Catherine. St. Catherine is the patron saint of Europe because she brought Pope Gregory XI back from Avignon to Rome and healed the Great Schism. Born to a Sienese cloth dyer, she was the youngest of twenty-five children (ouch!), and she became a nun at the age of sixteen after having spiritual visions. She received stigmata during Lent in 1375. The Chiesa now houses her thumb, the chain she used to flagellate herself, and her head. The head sits in the back of a small side chapel, a light underneath illuminating how small and odd the thing looks. It just sits there, harmlessly and rather creepily, and tour groups huddle around it in fascination as little boys try to jump over the railing and get smacked on the head. I amused myself for a good few minutes watching them and the head.
If you ever go to Italy, you have to visit Siena. Wear good shoes, though--the place is as hilly as Anghiari and not nearly so small.
Rick Steves says that "Siena seems to be every Italy connoisseur's favorite pet town."
For those of you who don't know (me included until I read Rick Steves), Siena was Florence's archrival during the Middle Ages. Its population of 60,000 people put it larger than Paris during the fourteenth century. However, the Black Death of 1348 ravaged the town and killed more than a third of the population. Florence conquered the city in the 1550s, and "its political and economic irrelevance pickled the city in a purely medieval brine." In other words, the city is perfect--as beautiful as Florence, it has only 60,000 people compared to Florence's 420,000. It IS Florence, just without the crowds.
We hopped on a bus at eight and headed the two hours to Siena, where we took in the Piazza Il Campo, the Duomo, the Museo dell'Opera, the crypt, the Baptistry, and the Chiesa di San Domenico. The Piazza is where the crayon gets the name "Burnt Siena"--the bricks are the same color of the city's soil. Within the piazza (the most beautiful square in Europe, according to Rick) is the Fonte Gaia, the Fountain of Joy (you know it!). It supposedly inspired Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel ceiling, especially where God reaches out to Adam.
The Duomo is the most beautiful church I have ever seen in my life. Made of marbles in whites and deep greens, the walls reach high above your head and the beautiful floor has reliefs depicting New Testament scenes, allegories, and other stories. Along the nave's upper part are the heads of 172 popes peering down at the crowds (however, the same four faces are repeated over and over again--somebody got lazy!). Florence may be the home of Renaissance art, but Siena also houses works by Michelangelo, Bernini, Donatello, and Duccio. Pretty awesome!
The Museo wasn't anything spectacular, except for the understated doorway at the end of the Byzantine statues room--it leads up a teeny tiny staircase onto a spectacular walkway with a view of the entire city. Don't ignore the staircase, because it is definitely one of the most rewarding things in Siena. The crypt was worthless and the Baptistry had incense in it that would give a man with a cold a migraine, so we left those pretty quick.
Becca Lewis, an English major at Meredith, met us in Siena for the afternoon. She had spent a semester in Ferrara, and her host family hooked her up with a family about 2 hours from Siena. She now lives in a castle and teaches the family English. Um, can I have that job? Please? She had coffee and gelato with us, and she took us to the Chiesa di San Domenico, which houses the head of St. Catherine. St. Catherine is the patron saint of Europe because she brought Pope Gregory XI back from Avignon to Rome and healed the Great Schism. Born to a Sienese cloth dyer, she was the youngest of twenty-five children (ouch!), and she became a nun at the age of sixteen after having spiritual visions. She received stigmata during Lent in 1375. The Chiesa now houses her thumb, the chain she used to flagellate herself, and her head. The head sits in the back of a small side chapel, a light underneath illuminating how small and odd the thing looks. It just sits there, harmlessly and rather creepily, and tour groups huddle around it in fascination as little boys try to jump over the railing and get smacked on the head. I amused myself for a good few minutes watching them and the head.
If you ever go to Italy, you have to visit Siena. Wear good shoes, though--the place is as hilly as Anghiari and not nearly so small.
I Love My Host Family!
June 8, 2007
Um, have I mentioned that Italian is not my forte? This was brought home to me by the most amazing host grandmother in the world. Luigina picked us up and drove us back to her home for our third family dinner, and she graciously reminded me how to spell her name correctly. Hey, even English majors need spelling help.
Jen and I joined together and bought Luigina flowers, and we presented them to her before she went inside; we offered to watch Andrea while Matteo and Loredana were at work, and Roberto got into every mischief available. Andrea, Luigina's seventeen-month-old grandson, is just about the cutest boy I have ever seen in my life. He ran after a soccer ball for close to forty-five mintues, and when he got tired of that he drew all over a table with his crayons set.
Luigina had fixed a feast! Our first course was delicious marinara ravioli, and we ate with gusto. This was followed by crostinis and several different types of kabobs: pomodoro e mozzarella; pear e formaggio; bread with meat; and cantaloupe e prosciutto. Delicious! Luigina had taken a class at Casa Buitoni, and she had learned how to make the bread with meat kabob there--it was thin bread and beef wrapped together around the stick and crisped to perfection, and I licked my fingers clean at the end. All this wonderful goodness was crowned with a pie made by Loredana's mother, and I savored the sweetness.
We had spent an evening filled with laughter, and Jen and I were getting ready to go when Luigina pulled out two videos. She showed us two of Clara's band recitals before she passed, and she played beautifully--she had a couple of flute solos that I would have loved to have on CD, she was so good. Clara was absolutely beautiful, with chestnut hair and pale skin that shone in the stage lights. She was very unassuming in the videos, but her talents as a flutist put her in centerstage.
Accompanying these performances was a video of Luigina and Roberto's wedding!!! It was gorgeous, and the video was really elegant--it showed pictures and clips of the wedding and reception, joined by upbeat music that emphasized the happiness of the day. This was followed by several short clips of Luigina and Roberto with young Clara and Matteo, and Matteo looked EXACTLY like Andrea was now--ADORABLE!!!!!!
Um, can I keep them? I miss them already!
Um, have I mentioned that Italian is not my forte? This was brought home to me by the most amazing host grandmother in the world. Luigina picked us up and drove us back to her home for our third family dinner, and she graciously reminded me how to spell her name correctly. Hey, even English majors need spelling help.
Jen and I joined together and bought Luigina flowers, and we presented them to her before she went inside; we offered to watch Andrea while Matteo and Loredana were at work, and Roberto got into every mischief available. Andrea, Luigina's seventeen-month-old grandson, is just about the cutest boy I have ever seen in my life. He ran after a soccer ball for close to forty-five mintues, and when he got tired of that he drew all over a table with his crayons set.
Luigina had fixed a feast! Our first course was delicious marinara ravioli, and we ate with gusto. This was followed by crostinis and several different types of kabobs: pomodoro e mozzarella; pear e formaggio; bread with meat; and cantaloupe e prosciutto. Delicious! Luigina had taken a class at Casa Buitoni, and she had learned how to make the bread with meat kabob there--it was thin bread and beef wrapped together around the stick and crisped to perfection, and I licked my fingers clean at the end. All this wonderful goodness was crowned with a pie made by Loredana's mother, and I savored the sweetness.
We had spent an evening filled with laughter, and Jen and I were getting ready to go when Luigina pulled out two videos. She showed us two of Clara's band recitals before she passed, and she played beautifully--she had a couple of flute solos that I would have loved to have on CD, she was so good. Clara was absolutely beautiful, with chestnut hair and pale skin that shone in the stage lights. She was very unassuming in the videos, but her talents as a flutist put her in centerstage.
Accompanying these performances was a video of Luigina and Roberto's wedding!!! It was gorgeous, and the video was really elegant--it showed pictures and clips of the wedding and reception, joined by upbeat music that emphasized the happiness of the day. This was followed by several short clips of Luigina and Roberto with young Clara and Matteo, and Matteo looked EXACTLY like Andrea was now--ADORABLE!!!!!!
Um, can I keep them? I miss them already!
Umbrellas and One-Legged Pigeons
June 7, 2007
The trains from Verona back to Sansepolcro were hectic and full of adventures, which I won't get into now--needless to say, they involved gypsies, stinky breaks, and the longest arm hair I have ever seen on a woman (*full body shudder*). However, there is one character I met on the journey about whom I would like to tell.
We named him Pinocchio, but for no specific reason; it just seemed like a funny name after four hours on a stuffy train. He was balding and fat, rather squat, and his head bobbed as he jumped around. He was a grey pigeon, covered in the dirt of the train station and the squalor of his kind--and he had only one leg. We figure it got ripped off by a passing train or a cleaning machine, or maybe he was a daredevil who took it too far one day. Needless to say, he hopped around on that one leg like he owned the place.
Hillary was fascinated by him and wanted to reward his amazing survival skills, so she dug half a tuna sandwich from the trashcan that she had just thrown away and threw it at him. He jumped over to it and began digging in, but he wasn't the only one impressed by her generosity. Every pigeon in the Bologna Centrale station hopped onto our end of the platform and began shoving Pinocchio out of the way in an effort to grab hold of that sandwich and feast. There's a reason that bird has survived so long with only one leg, though--he's got more brains than your average featherhead. He would rip off large chunks of the sandwich and, anytime a bird got too close, he would fling it in the opposite direction and every pigeon in the vicinity would follow it, leaving him to his large piece of bread, fish, and mayonaisse. Yeah, Pinocchio!
Our train eventually arrived in Arezzo, and an ocean had begun to pour itself on our heads, our bags, our everything. It was ridiculous! We hauled buggy to the bus and hopped on, and Hillary, Bekah, and I snagged the back five seats. It was only once the bus had begun to move, however, that we realized our problem: the ceiling emergency exit door leaked right on us. Other Meredith girls in the front of the bus had the same problem, and they squealed and hid underneath their rainjackets. Hillary is a certified genius, however, and she opened up her umbrella (does a bus count as inside?) and wedged it between the overhead compartments, and we had a mini-ceiling that kept us dry for the hour-ride home. The whole situation could have turned out terribly--the girls could have complained about the state of Italian buses, which would have made the Italians on the bus angry, and we could have offended a whole nation over a bus and some water. Our humorous look at the situation created comraderie with the Italians, however, and the whole bus had a wonderful ride home as we laughed at ourselves and each other.
When it Italy, remember to smile--it's the most effective language out there.
The trains from Verona back to Sansepolcro were hectic and full of adventures, which I won't get into now--needless to say, they involved gypsies, stinky breaks, and the longest arm hair I have ever seen on a woman (*full body shudder*). However, there is one character I met on the journey about whom I would like to tell.
We named him Pinocchio, but for no specific reason; it just seemed like a funny name after four hours on a stuffy train. He was balding and fat, rather squat, and his head bobbed as he jumped around. He was a grey pigeon, covered in the dirt of the train station and the squalor of his kind--and he had only one leg. We figure it got ripped off by a passing train or a cleaning machine, or maybe he was a daredevil who took it too far one day. Needless to say, he hopped around on that one leg like he owned the place.
Hillary was fascinated by him and wanted to reward his amazing survival skills, so she dug half a tuna sandwich from the trashcan that she had just thrown away and threw it at him. He jumped over to it and began digging in, but he wasn't the only one impressed by her generosity. Every pigeon in the Bologna Centrale station hopped onto our end of the platform and began shoving Pinocchio out of the way in an effort to grab hold of that sandwich and feast. There's a reason that bird has survived so long with only one leg, though--he's got more brains than your average featherhead. He would rip off large chunks of the sandwich and, anytime a bird got too close, he would fling it in the opposite direction and every pigeon in the vicinity would follow it, leaving him to his large piece of bread, fish, and mayonaisse. Yeah, Pinocchio!
Our train eventually arrived in Arezzo, and an ocean had begun to pour itself on our heads, our bags, our everything. It was ridiculous! We hauled buggy to the bus and hopped on, and Hillary, Bekah, and I snagged the back five seats. It was only once the bus had begun to move, however, that we realized our problem: the ceiling emergency exit door leaked right on us. Other Meredith girls in the front of the bus had the same problem, and they squealed and hid underneath their rainjackets. Hillary is a certified genius, however, and she opened up her umbrella (does a bus count as inside?) and wedged it between the overhead compartments, and we had a mini-ceiling that kept us dry for the hour-ride home. The whole situation could have turned out terribly--the girls could have complained about the state of Italian buses, which would have made the Italians on the bus angry, and we could have offended a whole nation over a bus and some water. Our humorous look at the situation created comraderie with the Italians, however, and the whole bus had a wonderful ride home as we laughed at ourselves and each other.
When it Italy, remember to smile--it's the most effective language out there.
Mecca for English Majors
June 6, 2007
Two households, both alike in dignity,
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene...
We certainly laid our scene today in the beautiful and not-so-touristy town of Verona today, which I recommend highly if you want a lovely side trip from Venice. Hillary and Bekah weren't feeling well, so Crystal and I headed out after a sumptuous buffet breakfast for some sightseeing. Bus 13 took us to Piazza Bra, where we visited the Arena.
Built in 1 AD, the Verona Arena was the third largest in the Roman world, its 466X400ft body made up of pink marble. It held 25,000 spectators, and it's still used today for concerts and performances. We hiked to the top and walked along its rim, capturing some stunning views of the town on our cameras. After an interesting method of getting down (Joy doesn't do heights, so sitting and scooting seemed to be the best bet), we headed down the Via Mazzini, the shopping district, got lost, and headed back through the Piazza to the Via Roma.
Via Roma is a street just beyond the river-front, and we headed into the Chiesa di San Lorenzo. It had heavy Romanesque architecture and beautiful golden candelabras, but the best part of the excursion was meeting two Canadian women who wanted to go home with us when they found out we had the movie Casanova. We smiled politely and refused, practically fleeing when they wouldn't leave us alone. Just a little ways down the street is the Castelvecchio, a castle built from 1343-1356 by the della Scala family as a residence and a fortress. The bottom floor housed early Christian statues and sculptures, and the second floor presented late medieval and early renaissance paintings. I wasn't particularly impressed with the artwork, but Crystal and I had fun trying to sneak pictures when we weren't supposed to--we're so easily amused :)
We met up with Hillary and Bekah in the Piazza Bra after sharing a bench with two old German women and a ton of pigeons attempting their mating dances, and we ate at a self-serve restaurant that reminded me highly of an Italian K&S (fond memories, Granddaddy). We shopped in a tiny open-air market at the Piazza Erbe, which has a high arch famous for the whale bone dangling from it. It has been hanging there for 1,000 years, apparently, and it will only fall when someone who has never lied walks beneath it. It sure stayed up when we went under it!
Juliet's house was next on our list, and it was kind of a disappointment except for the Juliet statue where you rub her right breast for romantic luck (the men sure enjoyed that one) and the Greek man inside who wouldn't stop taking our pictures. He was hilarious! He took our picture with a bust of Shakespeare, at first, and he kissed me on the cheek when I offered to take one of him with his wife. The second floor of the house has Juliet's balcony, and he kicked everyone off so he could take a picture of us on there. The rest of the house had dinky little paintings and a couple of costumes, so not too much to see. If you're reading this, Catherine, then we got a couple of pictures of gnomes for you there! (though I don't know why there were gnomes in Juliet's house...)
Two households, both alike in dignity,
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene...
We certainly laid our scene today in the beautiful and not-so-touristy town of Verona today, which I recommend highly if you want a lovely side trip from Venice. Hillary and Bekah weren't feeling well, so Crystal and I headed out after a sumptuous buffet breakfast for some sightseeing. Bus 13 took us to Piazza Bra, where we visited the Arena.
Built in 1 AD, the Verona Arena was the third largest in the Roman world, its 466X400ft body made up of pink marble. It held 25,000 spectators, and it's still used today for concerts and performances. We hiked to the top and walked along its rim, capturing some stunning views of the town on our cameras. After an interesting method of getting down (Joy doesn't do heights, so sitting and scooting seemed to be the best bet), we headed down the Via Mazzini, the shopping district, got lost, and headed back through the Piazza to the Via Roma.
Via Roma is a street just beyond the river-front, and we headed into the Chiesa di San Lorenzo. It had heavy Romanesque architecture and beautiful golden candelabras, but the best part of the excursion was meeting two Canadian women who wanted to go home with us when they found out we had the movie Casanova. We smiled politely and refused, practically fleeing when they wouldn't leave us alone. Just a little ways down the street is the Castelvecchio, a castle built from 1343-1356 by the della Scala family as a residence and a fortress. The bottom floor housed early Christian statues and sculptures, and the second floor presented late medieval and early renaissance paintings. I wasn't particularly impressed with the artwork, but Crystal and I had fun trying to sneak pictures when we weren't supposed to--we're so easily amused :)
We met up with Hillary and Bekah in the Piazza Bra after sharing a bench with two old German women and a ton of pigeons attempting their mating dances, and we ate at a self-serve restaurant that reminded me highly of an Italian K&S (fond memories, Granddaddy). We shopped in a tiny open-air market at the Piazza Erbe, which has a high arch famous for the whale bone dangling from it. It has been hanging there for 1,000 years, apparently, and it will only fall when someone who has never lied walks beneath it. It sure stayed up when we went under it!
Juliet's house was next on our list, and it was kind of a disappointment except for the Juliet statue where you rub her right breast for romantic luck (the men sure enjoyed that one) and the Greek man inside who wouldn't stop taking our pictures. He was hilarious! He took our picture with a bust of Shakespeare, at first, and he kissed me on the cheek when I offered to take one of him with his wife. The second floor of the house has Juliet's balcony, and he kicked everyone off so he could take a picture of us on there. The rest of the house had dinky little paintings and a couple of costumes, so not too much to see. If you're reading this, Catherine, then we got a couple of pictures of gnomes for you there! (though I don't know why there were gnomes in Juliet's house...)
sabato 9 giugno 2007
Four Women of Verona
June 5, 2007
"Joy, you're snoring. Turn over. No, don't go back to sleep--turn over. By the way, my lymph nodes are swollen and there are white spots on the back of my throat. I think I've got strep."
Hillary woke me up at three AM with that statement, at which I thought, "Oh no, I'm going to be up all night worryi--zzzzzzzz." The next morning, it was more than apparent that she was sick. However, how do you get antibiotics in a foreign country where nobody speaks your language?
We tried to find Mr. Grumpy-Pants for help, but instead we ran into the hotel housekeeper, a lovely older woman whose enthusiasm for spoiling people was quite welcome after the night before. She brought us breakfast and, upon hearing that Hillary was sick, declared herself Hillary's "nonna" (grandmother) and checked her for fever, sweating, etc. She couldn't speak English, but these are the times that kind actions speak far, far louder than words.
We couldn't get a doctor through the health insurance, so Crystal went downstairs to ask Mr. Grumpy-Pants for help. He promptly informed her that pharmacists are actually doctors in Italy, and he took her to a nearby farmacia for help. She just told them Hillary's symptoms, and they gave her amoxicyllin for only 5 €! That would never have happened in the US, but we sure were glad for it!
Room checkout was at 10:30, and we were out of there by 10. We then hopped on a vaporetto, a water-bus, and cruised down the Grand Canal to Piazza San Marco. The square hadn't changed much--pigeons jumped on people, tourists flocked everywhere, and pickpockets flocked after the tourists. We visited San Marco's Basilica, filled with gold mosaics made from stolen goods, and shopped for a bit behind the square. Hillary was feeling worse, so we headed back to the station and hopped on the train to Verona.
Verona was LOVELY!!!! I recommend it as a must-see place for anyone interested in Italy. It was just a larger Sansepolcro, to be honest, and I loved it. We stayed at the Hotel Brandoli, which I'm naming because I recommend it to everyone. A quick jaunt on Bus 13 gets you there, and it's in one of the outlying neighborhoods of Verona. It was like an American hotel, and after Mr. Grumpy-Pants I couldn't be more excited. Air conditioning! Extra blankets! TOWELS!!!!! We ate a delicious meal in the hotel restaurant and, after some wonderful showers, hunkered down for some much-deserved rest.
Hillary the Ill was out cold by 8 pm.
"Joy, you're snoring. Turn over. No, don't go back to sleep--turn over. By the way, my lymph nodes are swollen and there are white spots on the back of my throat. I think I've got strep."
Hillary woke me up at three AM with that statement, at which I thought, "Oh no, I'm going to be up all night worryi--zzzzzzzz." The next morning, it was more than apparent that she was sick. However, how do you get antibiotics in a foreign country where nobody speaks your language?
We tried to find Mr. Grumpy-Pants for help, but instead we ran into the hotel housekeeper, a lovely older woman whose enthusiasm for spoiling people was quite welcome after the night before. She brought us breakfast and, upon hearing that Hillary was sick, declared herself Hillary's "nonna" (grandmother) and checked her for fever, sweating, etc. She couldn't speak English, but these are the times that kind actions speak far, far louder than words.
We couldn't get a doctor through the health insurance, so Crystal went downstairs to ask Mr. Grumpy-Pants for help. He promptly informed her that pharmacists are actually doctors in Italy, and he took her to a nearby farmacia for help. She just told them Hillary's symptoms, and they gave her amoxicyllin for only 5 €! That would never have happened in the US, but we sure were glad for it!
Room checkout was at 10:30, and we were out of there by 10. We then hopped on a vaporetto, a water-bus, and cruised down the Grand Canal to Piazza San Marco. The square hadn't changed much--pigeons jumped on people, tourists flocked everywhere, and pickpockets flocked after the tourists. We visited San Marco's Basilica, filled with gold mosaics made from stolen goods, and shopped for a bit behind the square. Hillary was feeling worse, so we headed back to the station and hopped on the train to Verona.
Verona was LOVELY!!!! I recommend it as a must-see place for anyone interested in Italy. It was just a larger Sansepolcro, to be honest, and I loved it. We stayed at the Hotel Brandoli, which I'm naming because I recommend it to everyone. A quick jaunt on Bus 13 gets you there, and it's in one of the outlying neighborhoods of Verona. It was like an American hotel, and after Mr. Grumpy-Pants I couldn't be more excited. Air conditioning! Extra blankets! TOWELS!!!!! We ate a delicious meal in the hotel restaurant and, after some wonderful showers, hunkered down for some much-deserved rest.
Hillary the Ill was out cold by 8 pm.
Mr. Grumpy-Pants
June 4, 2007
I had visited Venice in the summer of 2005 with a group of fellow Millbrook High graduates. We were there for an afternoon, hitting St. Mark's Square and cruising on the vaporetti. I remembered the city fondly, and couldn't wait to return.
I could have waited.
After a long day on delayed buses and trains from Sansepolcro to Arezzo to Bologna to Venice, we stepped off the train at the Santa Lucia station at almost 9 pm. The lady at the information desk helped us buy a map and showed us where our hotel was on there, and we headed out into Venice proper. A canal sits right in front of the station, with a large white bridge arching over its green waters and gondolas and vaporetti lining its sides. The ancient buildings were beautiful, their facades slightly dirty but still splendid in their elegance.
We stepped over the bridge, darting past pushy men who tried to sell stolen Louis Vitton purses, and headed for our hotel--problem was, we couldn't find it. After perhaps half an hour of wandering Venezia's confusing streets, we called the hotel manager and let him know we were lost. He promptly began yelling at us and telling us to stay put, that he would find us a bring us back. Excuse me?! Four girls, tired and alone in a confusing city, with a strange man looking for us--we'd never seen him, he'd never seen us. This didn't sound like a smart plan.
He had told us the hotel was not five minutes from where we were, but he didn't show even fifteen minutes after the phonecall. Feeling mightily abandoned, we ended up asking some waiters for directions, and we found it tucked away in a back alley. The hotel itself was absolutely beautiful, but there was no hotel manager! Turns out he HAD gone out looking for us, but our paths never crossed.
We went back to the mouth of the alley to wait for the mysterious concierge, and a tall, lanky, older man in a powder-blue jacket came upon us. His long face was made longer by his scowl, and he spoke to us sarcastically, presuming that we had tricked him into coming to look for us. He then proceeded to curse us in Italian and, after letting us into the hotel, BERATED US! EXCUSE ME, I don't remember signing up for this!
He growled at us about "obligations" we had failed to perform about (1) calling to let him know we'd arrive after 8 pm--which we did; (2) printing off the map from Venere.com to find the hotel--which never showed up and our printer didn't work if it had; and (3) staying put until he found us--which is just creepy in a city after dark, and he didn't find us!
He FINALLY let us into our room and promptly told us that he didn't stay at the hotel at night--we had it to ourselves. Sketch or WHAT! We found dinner and came back for bed, and I was out by 10:30 pm. Even though Mr. Grumpy-Pants was awful, the hotel itself was wonderful.
I didn't enjoy the experience at the time, but how many people can say that they have been yelled at by their hotel concierge? Yeah, hindsight stories are pretty awesome.
I had visited Venice in the summer of 2005 with a group of fellow Millbrook High graduates. We were there for an afternoon, hitting St. Mark's Square and cruising on the vaporetti. I remembered the city fondly, and couldn't wait to return.
I could have waited.
After a long day on delayed buses and trains from Sansepolcro to Arezzo to Bologna to Venice, we stepped off the train at the Santa Lucia station at almost 9 pm. The lady at the information desk helped us buy a map and showed us where our hotel was on there, and we headed out into Venice proper. A canal sits right in front of the station, with a large white bridge arching over its green waters and gondolas and vaporetti lining its sides. The ancient buildings were beautiful, their facades slightly dirty but still splendid in their elegance.
We stepped over the bridge, darting past pushy men who tried to sell stolen Louis Vitton purses, and headed for our hotel--problem was, we couldn't find it. After perhaps half an hour of wandering Venezia's confusing streets, we called the hotel manager and let him know we were lost. He promptly began yelling at us and telling us to stay put, that he would find us a bring us back. Excuse me?! Four girls, tired and alone in a confusing city, with a strange man looking for us--we'd never seen him, he'd never seen us. This didn't sound like a smart plan.
He had told us the hotel was not five minutes from where we were, but he didn't show even fifteen minutes after the phonecall. Feeling mightily abandoned, we ended up asking some waiters for directions, and we found it tucked away in a back alley. The hotel itself was absolutely beautiful, but there was no hotel manager! Turns out he HAD gone out looking for us, but our paths never crossed.
We went back to the mouth of the alley to wait for the mysterious concierge, and a tall, lanky, older man in a powder-blue jacket came upon us. His long face was made longer by his scowl, and he spoke to us sarcastically, presuming that we had tricked him into coming to look for us. He then proceeded to curse us in Italian and, after letting us into the hotel, BERATED US! EXCUSE ME, I don't remember signing up for this!
He growled at us about "obligations" we had failed to perform about (1) calling to let him know we'd arrive after 8 pm--which we did; (2) printing off the map from Venere.com to find the hotel--which never showed up and our printer didn't work if it had; and (3) staying put until he found us--which is just creepy in a city after dark, and he didn't find us!
He FINALLY let us into our room and promptly told us that he didn't stay at the hotel at night--we had it to ourselves. Sketch or WHAT! We found dinner and came back for bed, and I was out by 10:30 pm. Even though Mr. Grumpy-Pants was awful, the hotel itself was wonderful.
I didn't enjoy the experience at the time, but how many people can say that they have been yelled at by their hotel concierge? Yeah, hindsight stories are pretty awesome.
giovedì 7 giugno 2007
Who Steals Mummified Hands?
June 3, 2007
Our Italian teacher's father, Luigi, has become an expert on the churches of Sansepolcro, and he has even written a book about them. We were privileged enough to receive a private tour of two of the town's most beautiful churches, and he showed us things that most people never even know exist.
We met him in front of the Santa Maria delle Grazie, founded in 1518 by the Friends of Death. The group was dedicated to burying those too poor to receive Christian burials, and many of the symbols in the church involve death in some manner. The company's main symbol is a crowned skull and crossbones with "M" on one side and "G" on the other for Maria delle Grazie, or Maria of Grace. The church is small, with tiny pews and just a couple of paintings on the walls. The altar-piece and ceiling make it exceptional, however. The altarpiece is a tri-fold diptych painting, with a rare depiction of a pregnant St. Mary on the inside and saints on the outside. It used to be opened only in May, the time of St. Mary. The ceiling is covered in hand-done carvings of pomegrenates, Death, Christ, and Mary, and it is made of poplar. GORGEOUS!
The second church we entered was right across the street from the delle Grazie, and it is called the Chiesa di San Francesco. Built in the thirteenth century, only the outside remains original; the inside was redone during the eighteenth century. It was one of the most important churches in Sansepolcro because of its altar, which was created in Gothic style in honor of Beato Ranieri, a saint of the church--sixty miracles are credited to him, I think. His mummified body still rests in a crypt beneath the altar, and Luigi took us under and opened the coffin!!!! I am a huge fan of Ancient Egypt and all things mummified, and it was amazing to see him so close up. However, the pull of relics is still strong today, and someone stole Beato's hand one time during a period of prayer. Um, who steals mummified hands? I mean, honestly!
Our Italian teacher's father, Luigi, has become an expert on the churches of Sansepolcro, and he has even written a book about them. We were privileged enough to receive a private tour of two of the town's most beautiful churches, and he showed us things that most people never even know exist.
We met him in front of the Santa Maria delle Grazie, founded in 1518 by the Friends of Death. The group was dedicated to burying those too poor to receive Christian burials, and many of the symbols in the church involve death in some manner. The company's main symbol is a crowned skull and crossbones with "M" on one side and "G" on the other for Maria delle Grazie, or Maria of Grace. The church is small, with tiny pews and just a couple of paintings on the walls. The altar-piece and ceiling make it exceptional, however. The altarpiece is a tri-fold diptych painting, with a rare depiction of a pregnant St. Mary on the inside and saints on the outside. It used to be opened only in May, the time of St. Mary. The ceiling is covered in hand-done carvings of pomegrenates, Death, Christ, and Mary, and it is made of poplar. GORGEOUS!
The second church we entered was right across the street from the delle Grazie, and it is called the Chiesa di San Francesco. Built in the thirteenth century, only the outside remains original; the inside was redone during the eighteenth century. It was one of the most important churches in Sansepolcro because of its altar, which was created in Gothic style in honor of Beato Ranieri, a saint of the church--sixty miracles are credited to him, I think. His mummified body still rests in a crypt beneath the altar, and Luigi took us under and opened the coffin!!!! I am a huge fan of Ancient Egypt and all things mummified, and it was amazing to see him so close up. However, the pull of relics is still strong today, and someone stole Beato's hand one time during a period of prayer. Um, who steals mummified hands? I mean, honestly!
"Gir-af-e!"
June 1, 2007
Our second family dinner was AMAZING! We met our hosts in the square and they drove us back to their house again for a spectacular fish dinner. I was wrong about their names before, though, so I will now correct it: Roberto is married to Luiggiana; Roberto's sister lives with them (still don't know her name); their son, Matteo, is married to Lorredagna; and Matteo's son is Andrea.
My title comes from Andrea, tonight, the seventeen-month-old grandson of Roberto and Luiggiana. Andrea has been reading the interactive Lion King book, and his favorite animals are the giraffe and the toucan. Every few minutes he put his hand to his neck, stretched his head up, and gurgled at me. The whole family would then chorus, "Giraffe!" (with the Italian inflections on the vowels), and he would grin widely behind his pacifier. They would yell the word for "toucan" whenever he put his hand over his nose and mouth. It was adorable!
Luiggiana has been studying English for ten years, and she invited a friend from her English class for dinner. His name was Michele (ME-KE-LAY), and he came late enough that he stayed one course behind us all throughout the meal. He was a bit nervous with his English at first, but we butchered Italian so much trying to speak to him that he was happy to oblige us. He would talk very loudly and very rapidly in Italian, and then he would tell the same story in English for our benefit. Michele is an artist, and he presented Jen and me with hand-made/hand-drawn pen and ink postcards of Tuscany, which are absolutely beautiful! Mer, I think you could make a killing in the postcard business.
Our second family dinner was AMAZING! We met our hosts in the square and they drove us back to their house again for a spectacular fish dinner. I was wrong about their names before, though, so I will now correct it: Roberto is married to Luiggiana; Roberto's sister lives with them (still don't know her name); their son, Matteo, is married to Lorredagna; and Matteo's son is Andrea.
My title comes from Andrea, tonight, the seventeen-month-old grandson of Roberto and Luiggiana. Andrea has been reading the interactive Lion King book, and his favorite animals are the giraffe and the toucan. Every few minutes he put his hand to his neck, stretched his head up, and gurgled at me. The whole family would then chorus, "Giraffe!" (with the Italian inflections on the vowels), and he would grin widely behind his pacifier. They would yell the word for "toucan" whenever he put his hand over his nose and mouth. It was adorable!
Luiggiana has been studying English for ten years, and she invited a friend from her English class for dinner. His name was Michele (ME-KE-LAY), and he came late enough that he stayed one course behind us all throughout the meal. He was a bit nervous with his English at first, but we butchered Italian so much trying to speak to him that he was happy to oblige us. He would talk very loudly and very rapidly in Italian, and then he would tell the same story in English for our benefit. Michele is an artist, and he presented Jen and me with hand-made/hand-drawn pen and ink postcards of Tuscany, which are absolutely beautiful! Mer, I think you could make a killing in the postcard business.
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