Rome'in

Vienna e Amsterdam

2007-12-30T10:56:00.000-08:00

I am a delinquent blogger. E vero. Mi dispiace.

Here of photos from Amsterdam and Vienna!

Posts to follow.

Amo Londra

2007-12-13T08:53:00.000-08:00

Click here for pictures from my lovely weekend in London.

I am almost done with exams (last two tomorrow) and then on Saturday I am off to Amsterdam. I will be there until Tuesday and then move on to Vienna before landing in JFK on Saturday the 22nd.

I'll be home soon.

Sono Stanca

2007-12-07T16:53:00.001-08:00

Let me begin by telling you that my study abroad program is not a joke. We don't do coloring books and "group trips".

My week has been as follows:

Sunday night: 2 hours of sleep

Monday: 10 pager due for Egypt. It was a critical analysis of the representation of Egyptian death rituals in The Mummy. Yes, one can write at least 10 pages on the subject.

5 hours of sleep

Tuesday: Used to write the Archaeology of Rome paper that was due Wednesday.

45 minutes of sleep

Wednesday: 10 pager for Arch of Rome. This gem was on Pompeii, it was a refutal of "The Pompeii Premise."

Wednesday night was spent writing the paper that was due Thursday

2 hours of sleep

Thursday: 10 pager due for Arts of Antiquity. It was a critical analysis and evaluation of the Nile Mosaic at Palestrina. I argued in favor of the mosaic as an image of exoticism.

Thursday night was spent writing the myth that was due on Friday.

Sadly, there was not enough time to write both the myth and Roman political paper.

3 hours of sleep

Friday: 10 page myth and analysis due for Mythology. Mine was an allegory for the oil crisis.

also due was a 10 page paper on the role that soft power played in the Roman Republic for Caesar, Cicero, and the Collapse of the Roman Republic. After missing the 3:30 pm deadline, I spent from 6:00pm to 12:30 am finishing.

I am now off to pack for my weekend in London during which I intend to do nothing but wander, sleep, and enjoy myself. Well, maybe study a little because...

in case 5 papers weren't enough, I still have the pleasure of 4 finals next week.

Grand.

However, after finals I am off to Amsterdam and Vienna!

La Greccia

2007-12-03T11:44:00.000-08:00

Click here for pictures from my weekend in Athens!

Il Giorno del Tacchino (Pt. 2)

2007-12-03T11:32:00.000-08:00

To keep it short and sweet, the recipe for a perfect Thanksgiving across the pond:

1 Nathaniel imported from Florence
1 Alison imported from Barcelona
1 Justine imported from DC
1 room filled with friends and guests

1 batch of Melanie's stuffing
1 mind blowing zucchini bread
2 huge tins of mashed potatoes
2 interesting plates of turkey
several bottles of 1,20 E wine from Todis
1 huge platter of 5-cheese macaroni and cheese

Combine gradually, mixing in conversation, travel stories, and a pinch of reminiscing.

Consume slowly and submit to the food coma that will ensue.

Follow with dancing in Testacchio the next night.

Il Giorno del Tacchino (Pt.1)

2007-11-24T14:55:00.000-08:00

Here are a few pictures from our crazy, fun, yummy weekend. Post to follow.

Verità Circa Gli Uomini

2007-11-20T03:40:00.000-08:00

The rumor of perfect, tall, dark, and handsome men in Italy is just that. A rumor. A myth. A dirty trick. A lie.

Here is the truth:

You will never meet a man in Italy, because you will pass out from the body odor before he can even say his name.
If you make it past the introduction, you will probably fall off of his scooter before arriving at the restaurant at which you are supposed to eat dinner.
Skinny men in skinny jeans are just wrong.
They have no idea what attractive hair looks like.

Mullets are not attractive. Never have been, never will be.
Rat tails are even worse than mullets.
What is worse than the two styles above is the slicked-over bangs look with the back teased out like a peacock.

They know nothing about approaching women. For example:

"Ciao Ciao" is not a successful pickup line, especially when hollered out a window, from scaffolding, from a garbage truck, etc.
"Ciao Ciao" accompanied with kissing noises is no more attractive than the phrase by itself.

They missed the memo that women are not dogs, and should not be whistled at as such.
They all have dandruff. There is not enough Head and Shoulders in the world for this country.
They refuse to accept that purses are for women.

This rant was inspired by me simply trying to walk down the street to the open-air market.

Sente Come La Casa a Me

2007-11-19T13:31:00.000-08:00

As Thanksgiving rapidly approaches, we are all growing increasingly anxious for the familiar faces that will be waiting at the arrival gates of our respective cities in one month's time. I, however, was lucky enough to see my favorite faces last week. Mom, Dad, Rebecca, and Henry hopped the pond to join me for their, well, our first European vacation.

School took a backseat to the last outdoor dinners of the season and the essential, day-ending, gelato with the fam. I have met incredible people during my time in Rome, but still no one compares to family, to that feeling of home that lies in the people, not the place.

We conquered the hot spots, with Mom and Dad exploring public transportation on their first and second attempts at the Vatican as well as Villa Borgese, and Rebecca enjoying the outdoor sightseeing (An hour in any given museum will put her over the edge). We spent just enough time each afternoon sipping caffe lattes as Mom consulted Rick Steves for our next stop and even got the Christmas card picture in front of the Colosseum.

Rebecca, in an amazing burst of maturity managed to make her way through not only St. Peter's Basilica, but also the Vatican Museums in order to see the Sistine Chapel. Both, I believe are noteworthy feats.

Intoxicated by Italy's ubiquitous and magical (yes, magical) leather, Mom, Rebecca, and Henry all left with hand bags. (Have no fear, Henry did not catch the man-purse syndrome, his bag was for his mother.) Rebecca even fell for a pair of boots.

We ended each day in a carb coma after sampling gnocchi, pizza, and just about every sauce we could find. We even ended up at the same neighborhood restaurant two nights in a row because the cuisine (and server for that matter) was so delectable. Our two-night stint proved that the best food comes from the restaurants with no English on the menu.

Mom and Dad experienced my open-air market, quickly fell for the fresh mozzarella di buffalo from my bakery, and even made friends with my little fruitteria guy downstairs who only sells fruit, water, wine, and beer.

So, save a minor pickpocketing attempt that Dad quickly squashed, a grand time was had by all. While I am sad that I am missing my first Norwalk Thanksgiving football game in 20 years and am angry that the stupid Italians haven't heard of a whole turkey, I feel refreshed and ready to plow through my last month having spent a great week with the people I love.

Come un Roamer (Pt. 2)

2007-11-14T12:19:00.000-08:00

So yet again, I have put up pictures and left you hanging on the post. My apologies.

Fall break ended up being even more productive than we expected. Kyle and I managed to explore Rome, Pompeii, Venice, and Milan in 11 days.

After meeting Kyle in the airport, we returned home to drop his stuff and meet the room mates before we headed out for the first of what would be many rounds of gelato. Over the course of the week we developed a process known as Strategic Gelato Acquisition (SGA). It involves an evaluation of geographic location, presentation, texture, and flavor of gelato. He covered chocolate and coffee while I concentrated on raspberry, strawberry, and frutti di bosco. I think we have developed the hot spots of each of our destinations.

The next few days were spent visiting the Trevi Fountain, Spanish Steps, Vatican Museums, St. Peter's Basilica, Capitoline Hill, Forum, Colosseum, Pantheon, Vittorio Emanuele, Via del Corso, Trastevere, and Campo di Fiori.

We then decided to do a day trip to Pompeii. While I was thrilled to get a Harry Potter compartment on the train to Naples, I quickly realized that they are less fun when you share them with four strangers rather than Ron and Hermione.

I had been to Pompeii once before with a geology course, but I had forgotten how incredible it is. (As it turns out, I had also forgotten where the site was.) While we were a bit nervous when the guy at the train station pointed us down a long, and fairly barren street, we knew we were headed in the right direction when we started to pass people with cameras and high white socks.

With relatively few areas roped off, the site is fairly interactive. We walked down the cobbled streets that still have the impressions of cart wheels and walked through houses with frescoes, reliefs, and mosaics still intact. While it would go against my archaeology thesis statement to say that you get a feeling that the houses seem to have been frozen in time, it is fair to say that Pompeii really is unique in the insight it gives you into the design of the houses and the lifestyles of their inhabitants. On the streets you can see temples, a laundromat, and food stations that would have been their equivalent of McDonalds.

As we reached the forum, we saw plaster casts of people choking on the volcanic fumes and shelves of pots, bowls, and treasures recovered from homes. Sadly, pillagers of the 1800's took a lot of the pieces of art and valuables that would have decorated the more impressive villas, however, I find that the daily materials and human remains are even more valuable and precious than the lost antiquities.

The sun set behind a temple as we wandered around the collapsed columns and dilapidated government offices, taking pictures of a world that we are incredibly fortunate to see, but may never fully understand.

The next day (Wednesday) we set off for Venice, this time on a Eurostar train that was not too shabby and a lot more efficient than the local trains. We ended up sitting with two very nice, tolerant men who thought it was just hysterical when Kyle decided to interrogate me about the necessity of my diffuser after taking it out of my bag to display for the whole train. The people across the aisle from us enjoyed the show as well and continued to chuckle for the remainder of the ride as he unplugged my iPod mid-song when I dozed off, etc. It is never too late for the pocket rule.

We arrived in Venice in time for dinner on the edge of one of the many canals. We returned in the morning and took the boat from Piazzale Roma all the way down the Grand Canal to San Marco. On the way, we made friends with a group of 10 year olds, two of which took interest in our English. The one that resembled Harry Potter spent the entire ride practicing the few words he knew (glasses, good morning, thank you) while keeping up with his friends as they yelled "ciao, ciao" and waved frantically to all passing boats, gondola or otherwise. He saved the best for last, however. As he was getting off and lagging behind his group, he turned to me, flashed an adorable freckled smile, and said "Hello!" before scurrying off.

When we landed in San Marco, we checked out the basilica and stood in line behind a 70 year-old woman who, upon seeing my Rick Steve's guide, informed me that she just loves to read about all of the sites before she sees them and that he is just the best, most thorough writer. Kyle informed me that I was on my way to being her. I promptly put my book away.

The inside was beautiful, however, I found the outside to be just as incredible. The square as a whole is mind blowing. I even caved and played with the pigeons. I know that they are the rats of the sky, but we had a good time. There are swarms of them that assemble each morning. When Kyle opened the package of food, they literally swarmed around him. (They actually put birth control in the feed to reduce the pigeon population.) And no, they do not poop on you. Surprising, I know, but it is as though they know that if they poop on their nice things, that will be the end of the feeding operation.

We then set out in search of St. Barnaba, as featured in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. While the outside is correct, much to Kyle's disappointment, the inside is not the library we envisioned, but rather a sanctuary. After a bit of pouting, we got gelato and headed to San Rocco to look at glass and masks. The day ended the way it began, in San Marco, this time with live music rather than pigeons.

The next day we returned to the city and wandered over the Rialto Bridge and through the maze before hopping a train to Milan.

Now leaving the train station we were not sure that we would be impressed by Milan, but as we emerged from the metro station, our jaws dropped as our eyes met the Duomo. Elaborate and massive, Duomo is unlike any architecture I have seen during my time in Italy. It looks almost like a 3-D puzzle that was built in Milan. The inside of the basilica was also impressive, however I have no pictures as they are forbidden. We even got to see a 500 year old dead Saint. The skull of a saint protruding from under his blood-red robes is not something you get to see everyday.

We concluded the night with gelato and a performance by local roller bladers. We heard the smooth tones of R.Kelly's "Step in the Name of Love" as we approached a street that ran between two churches. There we found a group of people rocking out on rollerblades. They eventually set up cones through which they wove, whizzed, zig-zagged, and danced until a large crowd had assembled. Some were still learning, others were pros that danced on their skates with each other as Biggie replaced R.Kelly; one thing that they all had in common was how much fun they were having.

Over the next day and a half, we moved up and down the streets around Duomo, did some shopping (this resulted in a lovely pair of green pumps), and got to explore Sforza Castle and its sprawling yard, complete with duck ponds and landscaped trees, flowers, and bushes. If I had lived there, I like to think that my room would have been the balcony that faced the inside of the courtyard.

We also spent some time looking at a National Geographic exhibit that was set up in the street. Some of the images were incredible. They included the famous "Refugee" photo as well as other shots of humans and animals in an equilibrium with the earth. Kyle looked a little too much like one of the pictures of a monkey with a snowball that was clearly up to no good.

In other news, we are sad to report that there are NO Milano cookies in Milan. We checked the grocery store.

After a long day of walking, we ended our Milan tour and travel-filled week with dinner out. The next day, Kyle hopped a plane back to Greece and I boarded a full train to Italy and finished my otherwise great week sitting in the stairwell and luggage compartment of a train for 4 1/2 hours. I then had the pleasure of battling the masses to get on the Body Odor Express at Termini, which I rode for an hour before finally arriving at my apartment that had never before seemed so homey.

Come un Roamer (Pt.1)

2007-11-04T12:44:00.000-08:00

Click here for a link to pictures from my fall break.

We covered Rome, Pompeii, Venice, and Milan.

Post to follow.

Infine

2007-10-24T15:06:00.000-07:00

After hours of studying, stress, and a session of retail therapy that yielded a marvelous pair of Nero Giardini brown leather boots, midterm week is over! I had Archaeology of Egypt on Tuesday, and Archaeology of Rome, The Collapse of the Roman Republic, and Mythology today. It was a tiring week, but none of them were especially brutal. The Arts of Antiquity exam that was scheduled for tomorrow was postponed until after break. I am thankful for the breath of fresh air and a night of cleaning and getting the house in order before the fall break.

I will be traveling around Italy for the next week. Definitely Milan, I am not sure where else. Pictures will follow.

Una Festa del Cioccolato

2007-10-21T03:51:00.000-07:00

Chocolate rocks my world.

Thanks to the Italian Culture Club, a bus of AUR students was able to go to the EuroChoc Festival in Perugia. I have never seen so much chocolate in my life.

After taking the ChocoTrain into Perugia, we climbed the hill up to a picturesque town with a view that looked like it was torn from the pages of a fairytale. Despite the crisp air that had already turned the leaves to shades of amber and red, we spent the day eating, dancing, and walking, the smell of melted chocolate consuming us all the while.

Part of the festival was within a castle, the other portion lined the main street. The vats of hot chocolate were filled with flavors ranging from milk chocolate, to amaretto, to orange, to dark chocolate. The only description that seems even comparable is that given in the Polar Express. It was like melted candy bars, but still thin enough to constitute hot chocolate. The juxtaposition of its warmth with the bite of the air was enough to send shivers up my spine. A marching band danced up and down the street with a wake of followers intoxicated by the ubiquitous creamy delights.

The chocolate on display was transformed into countless mediums. There was chocolate shaped as gardening tools, books, pills (still not sure if it was a joke or real), fruits, etc. There were chocolate covered fruits, nuts, and candies. The chocolate had been shipped from Venezuala, Equador, Switzerland, Italy, and over 20 other nations.

So with bags in hand and chocolate in my stomach, I got back on the Chocotrain and returned to Rome.

Click the picture link below for more photos.

Le Colline della Toscana

2007-10-20T16:47:00.000-07:00

I have climbed the hills of Tuscany in flip-flops. Really.

What began as a search for a wine tasting in Tuscany turned into both the longest and most rewarding day of my time in Italy (pictures). But first things first...

I began my Tuscan tour in Florence with one of my best friends from high school, Ned. He is there for the semester and loving it, as well he should. It is much smaller than Rome, and easier to do on foot.

After two months of new faces, languages, and experiences, it was so nice to get to feel at home, even if it was for one day. He met me at the train station with a big hug and smile and led me through his new city to his monstrous apartment. He told me that they rarely use buses there, as the city is so accessible by foot. It is far quieter and cleaner than Rome and has its own charm. The little alleyways blend together with the buildings forming courtyard and passages. His apartment (which is across from Pitti Palace) looks over one such courtyard across which he and his friends talk to other students living in the complex (to the dismay of the Italian residents).

The entrance to the apartment was a stucco, arched hallway that was dimly lit by floor lights. There are eight boys living together in 3 or 4 rooms. Many of them were gone for their fall break by the time I arrived, but the ones I met were great guys. I got the tour of the apartment before we went out for Apertivo. This is an amazing phenomenon: you buy one drink at a bar and you are welcome to all of the food they put out. So for 9 euro, we enjoyed seafood pasta, a scrumptious tomato puree, prochiutto, cheese, bread, and excellent conversation including stories from home and abroad.

We then hit the streets. He led me down the Ponte Vecchio, which is the oldest bridge in the city that was the only bridge spared in WWII. It is now home to all of the gold stores. It literally shines in the evening. I have never seen that much gold in my life. Also along the street is the Vasari's elevated corridor, the tunnel used by the Medici family to get from the Pitti Palace to the Uffizi. Those Medicis were something else. (As Ned's professor told him, "ciao ciao, Medici, ciao ciao!")

We walked along L'Arno and checked out the massive structure that is Il Duomo. We also looked at the gold doors across from Santa Maria del Fiore. One of the Medici's held a competition for the design of the door panels. The architect who lost went on to design Il Duomo. Not too shabby.

We then saw Piazza della Signoria and Bartolomeo Ammanati's Fountain of Neptune that is fed by a still functional Roman aqueduct. This was followed by a stroll by the Bargello in the art district. We ended our night with Ned's friends at a bar and went to sleep so that he could get some rest before heading to Amsterdam for his fall break in the morning.

Early the next morning, I enjoyed a cappuccino and a chat with cafe owners who thought I was Italian (the hugest complement as far as I am concerned. Mostly because it means I didn't butcher their language too badly.) I then met my roommate, Ali, and began our adventure.

Our goal: Find a vineyard, do a wine tasting, and ship wine to her family. We had researched vineyards and found one that we could get to from Florence. It sounded reasonable enough....

Step 1: Buy a ticket at a Florence Tabacchi store and get lost trying to find the bus station that is around the corner, but tucked under a building and thus, difficult to find. We must have asked 4 people.

Step 2: Take said bus to Poggibonsi. Get off

Step 3: (Or so we thought) Follow directions that tell you to cross the street and wait for the next bus. Wrong.

What we found out after waiting for an hour (thinking there was only one bus per hour), is that you actually have to walk across the street, over a bridge, through a tunnel, down a hill and to a bus station. THEN get on the bus to Siena.

Step 4: Get off at San Gimignano and walk up the hill. (It was here that we took a lunch break and enjoyed Stortellata, a regional food that looks like a casserole, but is lasagna noodles, spinach, and ricotta. YUM.) Go up the hill to the town center, cross the garden, and start walking down the path next to the police station.

Step 5: Do not freak out when the pavement ends, the path keeps going, and you become engulfed by vineyards. Keep walking.

and walking.

and walking.

We walked for an hour up a Tuscan hill before finding one of the vineyards on our list. We were laughed at by three groups of workers on the way up. I guess they are not used to seeing two college girls with bags, flip-flops, and a whole lot of determination climbing up their hill. When we reached the vineyard, they told us that they could not do a tasting with us that day and that we should just climb back up on Monday. Well, that would be just lovely if we weren't leaving that night and if we had una macchina to take us back up the hill. But as we had neither the time, nor the resources to return, we continued our ascent.

After the next half mile, it all paid off.

We were met by a worker, who brought out his boss, the co-owner of the company (the main owner being his wife). Sergio was both the cutest and most kind man we have met. He smiled as he showed us the process of compressing the grapes, filtering the white wine, allowing it to sit in barrels and bottling it. He explained the importance of temperature in making wine. The barn is temperature controlled, especially as the days get cooler.

He then led us in to the tasting room that looked like a family-style table with a hutch of glasses. Between his broken English, and my broken Italian, we had a great conversation about school, his life and career, and the process of making both wine and olive oil. He even answered some of our questions about social tendencies, and the clarity of what we say.

He told us that it takes four years to even grow enough grapes for a round of wine; it takes eight years to begin to make olive oil. He and his wife had been running the business for forty years. He and his wife, Maria Elisabetta Fagiuoli, distribute their Montenidoli wine throughout the world, however, as a smaller company, 40% of their sales are within Italy.

The three of us sat at the large wooden table (presumably hand made) and tasted a rosé, three whites, and a red as the sun set over the hills.

He showed us his house that dates back to the 12th century and smiled as we took pictures from his roof. They were even kind enough to offer us a ride down the hill. This greatly accelerated our trip home, as it would have taken twice as long to get down in the dark with three cases of wine. He took a picture with us and smiled, telling us that we were strong girls, not in the physical sense, but within.

He didn't charge us for the tasting and told us that he doesn't advertise the vineyard along the path, as he doesn't want a lot of tourists to find them. He said, "If you want to come, you will find us. We will be here." And that is exactly what we had done.

La Bella Barcelona (Pt.2)

2007-10-20T16:09:00.000-07:00

I apologize for both the lateness and brevity of this entry. Just a quick overview of my time in the Barc.

For my first excursion outside of Italy, I chose Barcelona. It had been far too long since I had seen Alison (my roommate from school who is studying there), and it was time for a change of food, culture, and scenery.

Thanks to Ryan Air which was cheap, quick, and efficient (from what I hear, you either hit it just right or not at all) and delivered me on time and in one piece. I arrived at Alison's large and lovely apartment just in time to get ready for a night of friends and fun. It was great to catch up and share our adventures.

The next day we headed for the Gaudi exhibit/property/park. It is an amazing area that was originally designed as a residential area for the wealthy. The concept never really took off, but Gaudi, himself lived there and his residence is now a museum. The poor fellow was hit by a tram. What a way to go. To make matters worse, because of the common way he was dressed, no one knew who he was and, thus, he was taken to a poorer hospital. By the time his friends realized where he was, he wasn't doing too well, and refused to move to a hospital where he could get better care. He said "I belong here among the poor." His work is all over the city of Barcelona.

So after poking around, admiring the tile mosaics, church, landscape, and most of all the tunnels (they were featured in America's Next Top Model during the scary bride photo shoot), we moved on to our next stop: tapas!

What a novel concept. For those of us who are indecisive, they are ideal. We ordered ten of the little buggers between the three of us. They are basically bite-size appetizer-esque finger food. They range from grilled vegetables, to spicy potatoes, to fried food, to strange and delicious combinations of just about anything you can imagine. By the time we thought to take a picture, we had scarfed down half of them.

After tapas, we wandered around the Catalunya plaza area (apparently the whole city used to be Catalunya and Catalonians are still a little bitter about it) and enjoyed watching the science that is fake purse selling. They display them on sheets just like in New York, however, they travel in groups with strings that they hold on to and can quickly tug to hide their display when police are sighted. And when those police come closer, those men can run like the wind. We also meandered down La Rambla, the main strip of vendors, spray painted posers, and (oddly enough) pet stores. We also stopped in the HUGE fresh market that had everything from fruits to fresh juices, sea food, cheese, live chickens, etc.

We then headed to the beach next to Port Olympic. The city got a major face lift for the 1992 summer Olympics. Some of the structures are incredible. We frolicked in the waves before heading for dinner and hitting a club. Their nights don't even start until 1. We left home at 1:30 am and returned between 5 and 6:00 am. This was an early night. Let's just say, the Romans pack it in a little earlier and I was exhausted. But a great time was had by all and the male gogo dancer in white leather was a sight to behold.
Tips for Future Travelers:

If you are flying Ryan Air, you are NOT going to Barcelona (as they advertise), you are going to Gerona. From there you need to take the "Barcelona Bus" into the city. It is about an hour ride and is 21 euro round trip.

Watch your purse like a hawk. Consider all sketchy characters to be pickpockets. Double check your bag often. Also, when eating, keep it on your lap, not at your feet, not slung on the chair.

Try tapas. They will rock your world. If you are afraid they won't fill you, go buy something else down the street when you are done. Or just order a ton. They are only 1-2 euro each.

Go clubbing just for the experience. The ages ranged from 18-45, so don't be shy. Dress up and have fun!

Check out at least one Gaudi building/exhibit while you are there.

They will sell you hash at the beach or on the street. Respectfully decline.

I'm not kidding about the tapas. Get them.

La Bella Barcelona (pt. 1)

2007-10-14T13:23:00.000-07:00

Click here for pictures from my short, but wonderful weekend in Barcelona!

Post to follow.

Terraglie Dappertutto

2007-10-11T05:18:00.000-07:00

Employees of and researchers at the American Academy of Archaeology, have it pretty good. Their gated research center is, essentially, a villa that has been converted into labs and offices. Upon entering the gates, you meet a gurgling fountain in which daylillies lazily float. Behind this are stairs up to the atrium of the estate. Inside, the walls of the peristyle host traveling exhibitions of antiquities. The villa also has a sprawling lawn and garden in the back that is bound by part of the original walls of Rome, fitting, no?

We were taken to the pottery lab to explore the post-excavation work that is done on sherds found around Rome. There we met with an expert who explained the fabrics of pottery from various regions and told us that the post excavation work takes almost ten times as long as the fieldwork for most digs.

He said that one of the main ways pots are dated is by comparing newly found sherds to those found on known sites of military camps (they generally have a specific date range). Sites like Pompeii and Herculaneum are also helpful for obvious reasons. Comparative dating, if you will.

Apparently, certain amphora styles would become popular for one or two centuries at a time. This time period is long enough to allow major distribution of the amphorae. It is, however difficult to create a timeline of these phases, as only one area of the pot would have been stamped (if that).

The abundance of pottery remains in Rome (and anywhere for that matter) is due to their enduring nature; they can not be melted down and reused like glass or metal, and they do not decay like wood, or linen. Therefore, they are here for the duration.

To record their finds, archaeologists empty a bin that was taken from the field (it is generally categorized by square) and separate the pieces into amphorae vs decorative pieces or tableware. They then further separate the amphorae pieces by the part of the jug they represent, i.e. shoulder, rim, etc. Those are then separated by fabric. Then comes the bagging and labeling before the professional pawns off the data entry to his students. The students count, weigh, and enter the data of the bags, learning various fabrics as they go.

While the majority of the trip was devoted to pottery, I did learn that the lab we visited was originally a restaurant on the Gianicolo. During the depression, restaurants stopped serving food, and people would bring their own, only buying wine. If you look carefully at the picture above, you may be able to make out the word "VINO" on the front. This is when sitting fees began.

News flash, the depression is over, lets stop charging an additional 3 - 5 euro per person.

Decisioni, Decisioni

2007-10-11T04:53:00.000-07:00

Here is the dilemma of the day:

The Pompeii trip was rescheduled for next Saturday, however I was also invited to join the Italian Culture Club for the Perugia Chocolate Festival on that very day.

Ancient remains, or sugary, soul-touching deliciousness?

The e Ovid

2007-10-10T10:58:00.000-07:00

To reach the place where the air is fresh and sweet, James Taylor goes up on the roof, I go out on the balcony. At night the stars, they put on a show for free, and the clarity of it has only become more beautiful as the air makes its yearly transition from summer sauna to fall crisp. As with any transition, my adapting to Rome has been a gradual one; I started as an outsider, viewing the city with awe before retreating to the great indoors. Now, however, I don my sweatshirt and pajama pants while idly twirling spaghetti as I take in my surroundings as home, rather than a foreign entity. Instead of viewing my balcony as a plank over the ominous ocean that is Rome, I now see it as a grotto of sorts, protected from the rain by the apartment above, but open enough to feel the breeze and take in the passing world from my plastic deck furniture.

I settled in this afternoon with tea and Ovid and, while reading his, I experienced my own metamorphoses. As he used a fusion of Greek and Roman mythology as a vehicle for his own political and social expression, I realized that my time here is a fusion of my own origins with this new Roman world. This will hopefully result in a somewhat new identity comprised of past experiences and fresh insight for the future. My time here is about so much more than the classes, the separation, the new faces; it is about a reevaluation and perhaps reestablishment of self. This is not to say that being abroad is a time for abandonment or rejection of the past, but rather an opportunity to stand at the cusp of something new and make a conscious decision about what comes next.

This is our second chance. Do we go home to the same people, majors, and activities, or do we have different needs that have grown from our time alone?

As the warmth of home fades away and the sometimes cold clarity of the next season stares us in the face, we get to choose what will comfort us during what comes next. It is the fall, a season of transition, the time for the literal fall, the errors and mistakes. We walk out without a sweater thinking it will be warmer than it actually is, we put on a jacket only to have to peel it off when we step outside. So as I sit abroad from both my Roman and U.S. homes, my spaghetti now cooled, I wonder how I and the people in my life will emerge from this time of change.

La Mia Casa

2007-10-08T12:59:00.000-07:00

Click here for pictures of our apartment.

We are the first students to live in our apartment, and apparently Gianicolense (our street) or Gianicoolense as we call it, is very good neighborhood. The open air market is probably the best part of the deal, it has the best fresh selection of cheese, meat, and produce, and is only a few blocks away. We are in a really homey area where people walk their kids to school and old ladies fill the streets in the morning as they buy the fresh makings of that day's dinner.

Our furnishings are Ikea to the max. Most of it is really well done and more than we could have asked for in an apartment abroad, especially our living and dining room. That being said, we still chuckle at the color schemes of our bedrooms. Mine is a pre-teen - grandma fusion of bright green, red, blue, and yellow sheets with cream-colored, floral walls. Funky, but home.

The best parts of the apartment are the windows and their thin, linen curtains that move with the wind that slips through the cream wrought-iron gates. It is stunning in the morning when you pad down the hall with cold marble under your feet to find the warm sun is pouring through the window.

Walking home at night, you can look up to see the warm glow of the lights against the golden sand wallpaper of our living room. Laughter, music, and the aroma of cooking chicken and boiling pasta drift from the kitchen, flowing through the arches that connect our common areas and greeting you at the door. We have a fairly large dining room table, but why spread out when you can all squeeze around the wooden kitchen table, postponing homework for just a little longer?

After dinner, we reluctantly retreat to our laptops to play with Facebook, instant messenger, or email before actually starting the homework grind. (This is the stage in which I am currently taking part.) As the hours pass, each of us yawns and heads to bed, rolling down our wooden panels for both security and airflow before tuning out the sounds of the tram making its last trips up and down the street, returning its riders home safely before it, too, retires for the day.

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On an entirely different note, if you are in need of a smile or a good laugh, please watch this (Thriller), this (Rico Mambo), or any other dance by them. They are Filipino prisoners who like to groove.

Frascati e il Nuovo Pompeii

2007-10-07T05:13:00.000-07:00

It was still dark when we tiptoed down our dark stairs and out the door to catch the bus to Pompeii that was leaving at 7:00 am sharp. We loaded onto the bus, watched a movie, stopped for a leg-stretching break, and were told that Pompeii just wasn't going to happen. There had been an accident on the autostrada and it would be closed for the rest of the day. Our only option was to go around, a feat that would take six hours, by which time the site would be closed.

As I had a thesis paper to research on-site and others had never gotten to see the city, it was a huge disappointment to hear that it would be rescheduled for a weekend on which any number of us may have other commitments. But as it was no one's fault, we readjusted and agreed to an alternative day trip.

The buildings we saw yesterday were not covered by dust and ash, were not cement or brick structures, and did not hold pieces of the past. Rather, they were painted in bright pastel colors and held clothes, shoes, and bags. We were taken for a short trip to an outlet an hour outside Rome. It was no Freeport or Clinton, but it was cool to see the Italian equivalent of our factory outlets.

The outlets also happened to be next to a circus. That circus happened to have an elephant outside grazing. That elephant happened to make my day by walking close enough to let me pet it. It was all so random, but it put me in a great mood. (Elephants are probably my favorite animals in the world.)

We then headed to Frascati, a town in the province of Rome. It is small, but famous for its wine, porchetta, and cookies of women with three breasts. We wound through the hilly streets, ending at the edge of a hill overlooking Rome. It was a fantastic view that was topped off by a short wine tasting courtesy of the American University of Rome.

In order to truly make the most of our time there, we tried porchetta, which is similar to a kebab. Every day, they roast an entire pig and put it in a glass case, where they shave it and put the pieces between two layers of bread that is crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside...blissful.

Finally, we turned our attention to the three-boobed wonders. Legend has it she is the Goddess of Plenty and that two are for milk, one is for honey (another story has the third for wine because of the regions reputation for great wine). Be warned, however, these cookie women may have more upstairs than most of us will ever have, but they do not want to be broken. I surrendered after it took 15 minutes to eat her feet. So with only pork in our tummies, we returned home, having had a day that was slightly less than we bargained for, but a good experience nonetheless.

We'll try Pompeii another day.

Circa i Musei Vaticani

2007-10-07T04:23:00.000-07:00

Tips for future Vatican Museum visitors:

1. Mentally prepare for a lot of people moving through fairly small hallways.

2. The line will be long, either do it the honest way and wait it out, or gently merge into it halfway down. It may be illegal, but when you are crunched for time, it gets the job done.

3. That being said, don't get caught doing anything illegal, there is security everywhere and though there outfits are nice (they have these great floppy hats and knee-highs), they are not. They will scowl at you if you so much as stare at a piece for too long.

4. The line may be shorter on Wednesday when the pope comes out to wave in St. Peter's square.

5. Observe their dress code: shoulders must be covered, open-toe sandals are discouraged, and skirts must fall below the knees. Imagine a Catholic school dress code.

6. Use their website for a list of exhibits. Identify what you want to see so that your time and 12 euro are used well.

7. If you are a student, remember your ID and something with your birthday on it - the Vatican bouncers don't give discounts to just anyone.

8. To get to the museums, there are several bus options including 23, 49, 492, 982, 19, 32, 81, 116, 34, and 98. As well as Metro line A. The best way to find the route for you is to get directions online.

9. Use a guidebook in the museum as the dates given in some of the exhibits are not accurate.

10. Be patient and enjoy the beauty and antiquity of all that you see.

Tanto Necropoli, Ma Meno Tempo

2007-10-06T11:32:00.000-07:00

Our good friend Terence (Roman playwright) tells us to have, "Moderation in all things." My syllabi forced me to stray from this valuable rule on Friday, leaving me at the Vatican Museums for six hours. Both Archaeology of Rome and Archaeology of Egypt planned a trip for the same day. Don't misunderstand me, everything that I saw was incredible, the sheer antiquity of it all was enough to humble a skeptical visitor, it was just a long, long day.

It took me over an hour of following a priest on the bus route to get to the general area of the Vatican. It's not that it is difficult to get to, just a bit of a process when you add rush hour traffic and a 9:00 am arrival time. When we finally approached the walls, I think my collar-wearing friend was getting nervous that the somewhat frantic looking girl behind him was going to ask for a baptism or other such procedure right there on the bus. While it turned out that no blessing was needed, he did finally understand that I was trying to get to the museums and pointed me in the right direction, not that the massive line that wrapped around the building hadn't already given it away. There had to have been at least 200 people in line already.

Thankfully, we only needed to see the Necropoli (tombs, "city of the dead") underneath the museum, an exhibit for which there is no line, mostly because a lot of people have no idea they are there.

After being led over, under, through, and around the Museum campus, we were led to a metal door next to a parking garage. As fate would have it, the Necropoli that we would see were only found because of the construction of this garage.

We began with the Necropolis of the Autoparco, an area that was excavated in the late fifties with tombs that date back to the time of Augustus and stop right before the time of Constantine. Although it is a Pagan cemetery, it is kept at the Vatican for its importance as a step in the process of developing Rome's Christian identity.

The Necropolis was made of monument-like structures, as the Romans didn't have a solid idea of the afterlife. They believed that you become a shadow in the underworld and join the family Manes (deceased that greet the future dead). Because they believed that the only way to live on after death is in the memory of the people still on earth, a great deal of money was devoted to a good funeral; many even reflected money that a family didn't have. People spent their life savings in order to be remembered. The brick structures were originally open, a tradition that allowed family members to visit their dead relatives and bring them wine, food, and other goods as part of any number of yearly festivals. There were also columbaria or "dove holes" in which pots of ashes were placed, and mosaic floors depicting various gods and heroes.

Romans who could not afford luxurious monuments paid an agency yearly to be guaranteed a good place for later on. We even saw community tombs in which several, poorer people were placed together, and amphorae that were used for ashes. Those who could not afford to be cremated were put in baskets and, thus, lost to us as they have since decomposed.

The walls of the exhibit were lined with tomb markers, many of which had large holes at the bottom through which they would put a tree trunk or other such long structure to hold the tomb in place. This particular area had been on a slope and showed evidence of mudslides. Those Romans didn't miss a beat; their headstones were secure and ready for the ages.

We then moved on to the Necropolis of the Via Triumphalis (or Santa Rosa), a much more recent site. Excavations began in 2003 and the exhibit opened three years later. Just west of Via Triumphalis, Santa Rosa is split into two phases. Phase 1 of the area dates back to Augustus and shows evidence of incineration, lower social classes, and damage caused by mudslides of the mid 2nd century AD. The second phase dates to the 3rd century and shows inhumation and wealthier tombs. Thanks to the mudslides, it is a "Pompeii situation" in which skeletons were better preserved.

We could see amphorae and clay tubes or pipes sticking out of the ground. These were openings that let people give the deceased food and wine. It was even customary to bring a party to the cemetery so that the deceased were included. The pipes were also used as tear deposits. Relatives would collect their tears in vials and pour them into the pipes.

We were fortunate enough to run into Giandomenico Spinola, the archaeologist who ran the excavation. He mentioned in passing that the sarcophagi that were included in the display had been the ticket to completing the excavation. Although truly pagan, their symbols were interpreted as showing signs of early Christianity so that the Vatican would devote more money to the dig. Sneaky, but wise, as it turned out that among those buried in the graveyard were employees of Nero and a designer of Pompey's theater. One of the biggest achievements of the site was its aide in the development of the middle class. Until this time, most of the bodies found were either clearly affluent, or poor. All of these discoveries would not have been made, had there not been a small white lie involved.

Thanks to the intrigue of whatever the guard was reading, we were allowed to stay for almost an hour, a record, as apparently tours are usually kicked out when the guard tires of babysitting. This concluded part one of my day.

After taking a breather in St.Peter's square, I met with my Archaeology of Egypt class to begin part two of my tour.

Despite the Vatican's wealth, it still costs between 8-12 euro to enter the museums. Multiply that by the hundreds of people I mentioned that were standing in line (which we somewhat cut for the sake of time. Shame on us.), and there is a good deal of cash flowing through the museums. Funny then, that they were not able to pay someone to properly date the Egyptian exhibit. Yes, that is correct, the dates are wrong, and the millions of people that tour the museum each year are misinformed. Only now are they in the process of revisiting the vast exhibit to try to straighten out the debacle. Perhaps a few less waves and a little more attention to detail would do the pope some good.

We began with Roman copies of the lions at Karnak and Luxor; the originals of which were five times bigger than their Vatican comrades. The hieroglyphs carved into them are sloppy replicas of the original inscriptions. Lions were thought to be protectors of a Necropolis and were often found at the entrances. In keeping with this theme of protection, the headdresses of Pharaohs were imitations of the lion. We noticed however, that one of the lions was missing its noses. This was a method of ruining the image of the pharaoh or statue.

We then moved on to the collection of funerary styli, big plaques of stone (limestone or marble) that were used to commemorate the accomplishments of the pharaoh. On them we find the military successes, symbols of soul protection, monument erections, and praise to the pharaoh’s favored god. They also allow us to examine the development of the images of the various gods throughout the transitions from the Old, to Middle, to New Kingdoms.

Also on display are several mummies. Thanks to dehydration, their skin is stuck to their bones and has preserved their shape; we can still see nails, hair, and teeth. As the ritual of mummification is too long to fully describe here, essentially it consisted of the reading of the Book of the Dead while the organs were removed, examined, and placed in canopic jars. The body was wrapped in linen, nets were placed over the body with small beetles to protect the soul, and the body was then placed in a series of three or four boxes and finally a Sarcophagus, in which several images of protector gods and symbols were painted.

We then turned our attention to sacred animals such as the baboon (associated with Thoth, god of scribes who records where your soul goes after death), lion (protector of the necropolis), cobra (protector of the pharaoh), bull (associated with Apris and Hathor), and cat (sacred cats of Bastet), as well as various gods and goddesses. I apologize for the lack of detail in this section. This is the point at which I was close to a meltdown. Did I mention that there is no air conditioning, it was 80 + degrees outside, and we were attempting to squeeze 35 people into the space of a sidewalk square?

And so, overloaded with antiquities, and still in awe of the treasure trove that is the Vatican Museum, I headed back to campus for Caesar, Cicero, and the Collapse of the Roman Empire, and Mythology.

Museum tips to follow.

Terapia al Minuto

2007-10-04T16:39:00.000-07:00

If loving Italian leather is wrong, I don't want to be right.

Our evening walk and gelato run turned into a session of retail therapy at Piazza di Spagna, and the doctor was in. While I had to pout away from the Armani boots that, at 500 euro, would have prevented me from traveling and eating for the rest of the semester (and probably my college career, for that matter), I did find one piece of leather to call my own.

I thought the salesman was going to cry when I asked if the bag was made in Italy. He choked back his anger and surprise long enough to explain that it was, in fact, as real as it gets.

So with the emotions of the week and the shopping endorphins pumping through me, I made her my own.

I have been ridiculed all night for:
1. apparently stroking my bag on the bus on the way home
2. taking pictures of her to put on my blog
3. planning my outfit around her
4. talking to her as I type
(I maintain that numbers 1 and 4 never happened.)

I am not usually one for gaining happiness from material objects, but let's just say she (my espresso, "Vertigo" Nicoli) is sitting next to me right now, and I am smiling.

La Montagna di Un Uomo è Il Libro di Storia di Un Altro Uomo

2007-10-03T10:26:00.000-07:00

Crafted, marked, traded, shattered. Such is the fate of the potsherds that comprise Monte Testaccio. It is a mountain in its own right, but it is unlike any other in the world. The ground crunches beneath your feet as you climb, but instead of looking down to see rocks or twigs, you see pieces of amphorae - thousands, millions of pieces. Sometimes a handle, sometimes a neck, sometimes a shoulder - all broken, all ignored by its passersby.

Thanks to the professional connections of my Archaeology of Rome professors, I was lucky enough to see this mountain, meet the team (that just finished their excavations yesterday), and appreciate it for what it is - what its sherds once were. For the last 18 years, a team from the University of Barcelona has spent two weeks of each year digging on-site, and the other fifty weeks learning from, cataloging, recording, and analyzing their chipped discoveries. So what is the big deal? Who cares about some broken pottery?

The potsherds that are Monte Testaccio are the remnants of olive oil amphorae, dating back to Hadriatic times (their most recent discovery). Each pot had five markings as follows:
1. Weight of the empty pot (30 kg)
2. Trader's name
3. Weight of the oil in the pot (70 kg)
4. Confirmation of the weight by the custom's office and name of district
5. Name of the consul at the time (date)

The pots that have been discovered and studied reconstruct the history of Roman economy and trade. Because they held olive oil, which apparently made the amphorae smell after use, they were destroyed and added to the pile of sherds. They have found that the mountain is made of terraces of sherds by year, however, time, bull fights held in the middle ages on the hill, cannon tests on the hill, and other such factors have done quite some damage.

It used to be open to the public as it has a great view of the former Roma Football Club field from the top. While watching matches, it was customary for people to throw the potsherds at the players when they were dissatisfied. I don't know where throwing the pieces fits in, but since the 1700's it has been illegal to remove potsherds from the site. The offense was punishable by jail time. It is now preserved as an archaeological site and is closed to the public.

It is a curious phenomenon that we, as humans, can create a mountain out of the pieces of jugs that we make, only to break them, and then return to it years later to put them back together again, and be frustrated by our inability to find perfect puzzle pieces. We need the amphora, so we make it. It is the size we want, it carries what we need, but then the day comes when its just too big, or has carried too much - we can't discard it whole, it takes up too much space, someone else may come and claim it as their own - we have to shatter it. Add it to the pile, make room for the next mess we make.

The second part of our exploration was a trip to the Horrea dig on Via Galvani where they are doing rescue excavations. They uncovered two Roman storehouses, an agricultural garden area, and a medieval street paved with potsherds. The excavation began in 2005 and will come to an end this Friday; the digs only last as long as developers will fund them. Archaeologists try to salvage what they can, photograph the structures they find, and focus on key questions about the site rather than finding everything that is there.

A noteworthy thing about the site was that it is being redeveloped into a market. While I would say that history is neither linear nor a complete circle, I would say it has a funny way of looping around to repeat itself as it progresses forward. Once a warehouse, now a market, ah continuity of use.

Just as a temple (found on-site) was covered in concrete before being incorporated into the foundation of the ancient warehouse above it, what has been found in the last two years will soon be incorporated into the foundation of the new market. We dig down to it, see it, and repeat the process all over again. This is not to say that we should never cover up the past - we have to move on, buildings have to be constructed, or there would be no modern Rome. It is just to say that is a crazy dance we do with the past. There is a fine line between wanting to know more, and having that knowledge of the past prevent us from moving forward.

La Cosa Più Importante

2007-10-02T12:45:00.000-07:00

I have found that the most important thing for studying and traveling abroad, is having amazing people at home and with you for when you need a familiar voice or hug. I miss and love you all. Thank you for all of the emails and support.

Per I Viaggiatori Futuri

2007-10-01T13:25:00.000-07:00

Tips for future Ischia travelers:

1. Naples is a dirty, dirty place. Know where you are going before you are overcome by its filth. Move quickly and efficiently with two hands clutching your bags. Zippers facing forward.

2. To get to the ferry: The #1 tram goes along the shoreline to the port. When you exit the train station, bear right and walk to the end of the piazza until you see trams ahead. You can buy tickets at the tabacchi store by Centrali. Get on the tram going left, there is a stop slightly to the left, it looks like a island. Stay on until you see a castle and a lot of ships.

3. You can buy tickets to Capri, Ischia, etc. on the side of the blue building facing the street.

4. If you know you get sea sick, opt for the hydrofoil. It is 17 euro as opposed to its 9 euro rocking counterpart, but a lot shorter and smoother.

5. At Ischia Porto, the buses are along the shore, up the steps, and to the right. They all line up in the parking lot. At Forio, they stop around the fruit stand and biglietteria right in front of the port. Buy tickets at the huts, magazine stands, booths around (1,20 euro for 90 mins).

6. Be sure to validate all tickets on the bus, they check a lot more frequently in Ischia than in Rome or elsewhere. We saw a few people get caught and fined. They don't care that you didn't know. Also, they have plain clothes enforcers, they are just so sneaky. You won't see them coming until they are upon you.

7. If you are looking for a cheap, friendly hostel, it doesn't get much better than Ring Hostel. (They are also on Facebook.) See previous post for all features.

8. Negombo and Poseidon's Garden are both good for thermal parks. While Poseidon's Garden is more picturesque and has more visible volcanic features, Negombo has a more diverse selection of pools in terms of presentation. Treat yourself to a nice massage at either one. It is well worth the money, but don't be surprised when they whisk the towel off of you to massage your legs; they don't take no for an answer.

9. If you are staying at Ring, they will take you to La Casereccia for dinner. If you are not staying there, go anyway. It is the best food we have had in Italy.

10. Castello Aragonese is a sight to see. Try to include a stop there for its history, volcanism, and tourist value (they filmed The Talented Mr.Ripley there).

11. Maronti Beach is a great example of how the natives use the island's heat for something other than tourism. On any given day you can see people cooking dinner over the heat coming from the sand. Some areas are even roped off as they are too hot to walk on.

12. There is cliff jumping on the island, ask your hostel, resort, etc for locations. You can snorkel at some of the locations.

13. You will see pictures of "Il Fungo" (mushroom shaped rock, formed by erosion) everywhere. It is cool to see, but don't worry about devoting a ton of time to it. Taking the bus to Laco Ameno will give you a good view from the mountains and up close.

14. Forio is a cute area of town with small shops and a harbor, but there are better things to see. The area around Maronti is a bit more colorful with more diverse shops and a good community to poke around, especially if you are interested in the way the houses were built into the side of the island.

15. People on the island are, as a rule, friendly. Don't be afraid to ask questions. Even if you don't know Italian, say "Di mi" or "tell me" followed by the name of the place you wish to go, and they will do their best to help you. We had an entire bus of strangers telling us when to get off.

16. Capri is a short boat ride away. Check out the shopping, perfumerias, the Blue Grotto (which you can swim in before and after the boat tours of the day. See time schedule for exact details), and check out the way many of the buildings on the side of the island will be taking a dip into the ocean one of these days because of erosion.

E Allora C'era Ischia

2007-09-30T13:07:00.000-07:00

We were very tired, we were very merry, we went to Ischia, Friday on the ferry. Not quite as poetic as Millay put it, but lovely all the same.

After dodging the gypsies, trash, and homeless that line the streets of Naples the way dust covers those of Rome, we boarded the boat to Ischia. The sun shone bright, the wind swept our hair, and the rocking of the boat sent me into the fetal position, clutching my bag for dear life, as though a Longchamp tote could be my solid ground. While the porcelain express was not needed, the last leg of the ride seemed endless.

That is, until we were met with the simplicity of colorful houses on the water and shops with hand painted signs; a world that moves to the gentle, metronomic swaying of the masts of the boats that line its docks.

Ring Hostel was not on the water, but rather up and around several winding streets that we would later zoom through in a packed sedan-sized mini van packed with 16 hungry travelers.

The writings on the wall immediately told us we were not at any ordinary hostel. This was a home-away-from-home, complete with free sheets, internet, breakfast in the morning, kitchen, a communal living room and rooftop, and an outstanding family-owned restaurant. The walls were painted with words of thanks and praise from former guests and each person we met, guests and staff alike, spoke to us as though they had known us for years.

The beach around the corner was equally as welcoming as we rode its crashing waves and scampered around its sand as the sun set over the breakwater. After a long day of travel and sun, we were in need of a delectable carb-filled dinner, and boy, did we get it.

Mama and Papa's restaurant is just a short ride from the hostel, but I wondered if I would get there alive. As I mentioned before, 16 of us squeezed into a small van that almost didn't start. Lorenzo (hotel owners' son) sang "Tuo far'Americano" as he swirved, sped, and stalled all the way to the restaurant, occasionally swearing and telling us to duck when he saw the Polizia.

Home-made wine, calamari fritti, and hand-made spinach raviolini al ragu quickly calmed my nerves. We dined at a family-style table, taking up half of the main dining room. This was just the beginning of what would become the best night we have had abroad.

In Italian 2 we learned about Italian discotecas. I knew nothing until Friday night. We walked into a bar with a dance floor that featured a grand piano, an old man, and a synthesizer in the corner. We danced to everything from Italian jams to Italian-style Frank Sinatra to a rough-cut "All Night Long" complete with grumbled lyrics and a belted chorus. We were just about the only people in the place, but we kept it open until they scrubbed the floors at 3. When we finally made our way up the hill to the hostel, we were happy, tired, and ready to crash before a Saturday of thermal therapy.

Negombo was our destination the next day. We spent hours dipping in and out of the 27 + pools, saunas, and fountains, all of which were heated by the volcanism of the island. Some were in caves, others constructed above ground in the form of fountains and waterfalls, and still others sculpted into the landscape. The heat of the pools more than made up for the slight lack of heat in the air (naturally, it was the one cloudy day.) I am sad to admit that I could guess the temperature of each pool within two degrees of their actual temperatures. Here's to the life skills one can acquire as pool director.

Soaked and exhausted we headed for another round of bat-out-of-hell driving and homemade goodness. We ended up turning in after dinner to recharge before another short day of exploring Forio (the area in which we stayed) and the trip home, which now seemed to be a world away.

We opted for the hydrofoil for round two, a much wiser (but slightly more expensive) decision for those prone to sea sickness. We made it to Naples in almost half the time and were whisked to Naples Centrali by a rude and angry cab driver who had no problem dodging tour buses, driving on the tram tracks, and almost taking out a small child in a stroller. We held on for dear life screaming all the way. I wanted to continue my screaming (and add a few kicks for good measure) as the train carried us back to Rome and all of the reading and writing that the AUR has graced me with.

Check out my pictures to see more. Tips to follow.

Un Giorno Alla Spiaggia

2007-09-26T12:27:00.000-07:00

Miles of tracks morphed into seaside as we approached Santa Marinella beach; towels, sunscreen, and the anticipation of relaxation packed in our bags. After a week of classes that proved to be just as much work as those at hour home institutions, we were all ready for some one-on-one time with the sun. Palm trees swayed as the water of Mare Tyrhenno lapped gently onto the powdery black and tan carpet that embraced our bodies as we collapsed onto our towels.

Just forty minutes outside the city, Santa Marinella was paradise. The water was an aquatic autumn, warm enough to lure you beyond your tiptoes (which you could still see far beyond shore, just like Long Island Sound, right?), but with a chill that sent you back to your towel to dry, warm up, and repeat. It's funny how assigned readings on Crassus and Pompey seem a little less boring when your body is being pumped with vitamin D.

Two playlists, five chapters, three swims, and four tanning flips later we returned home to book tickets to Ischia for the more of the same, Naples style. More to follow our upcoming weekend of hot springs, castles, and volcanism.

Dalla morte ci è vita

2007-09-22T07:59:00.000-07:00

After spending all of yesterday fending off a cold, I ventured to the Catacombs of San Callisto this morning with the Italian Culture Club.

We traveled down an archaic set of stairs to what was only the second of five layers of the catacombs. We were lead through a small fraction of the 15 miles of graves, all of which have not yet been excavated. I learned that what was the first official cemetery of the early Christians had been discovered only to be forgotten again until archaeologist Giovanni Battista de Rossi began excavations in the 19th century. It was amazing that such a vast expanse of bodies of popes, saints, and loved ones could have ever been forgotten.

The bodies had been removed from the part that we toured and I couldn't help but feel badly for the bodies who got the short end of the rope - you thought you found your eternal resting spot, well, tough luck, looks like we're going to have to move those bones of yours so the tourists can get through. Noseyness trumps death. I almost picture their bones in some discarded shoe box in the visitor center's basement. Nike, perhaps. Hopefully they threw in a rosary as an apology.

They even cleared out St. Cecilia for us. The move went a little better for her. After being buried a martyr in her cubiculum in the catacombs, she was moved to a tomb in the Basilica instead of the aforementioned shoe box fate. Maybe we're the ones breaking her heart and shaking her confidence daily. (I couldn't resist.)

We were lead through the papal crypt which still contained the original inscriptions of popes including St. Pontianus, St. Anterus, etc.

There were several frescoes still in tact (barely) and apses perfectly sculpted for the family remains that they harbored. We saw those of the Raising of Lazarus and several others with Christian symbols.

Perhaps the saddest part of the tour was realizing why so many of the rectangles dug into the volcanic rock were significantly smaller than their neighbors. We were told that 30 percent of children born during the 3rd century died, thus requiring the abundance of small shelves before me.

As we concluded our walk through the cool narrow halls, we ascended toward the daylight, realizing that the surrounding fields that had previously appeared to be mere grazing grounds for the neighborhood sheep, were actually proof of the life that can grow even atop so many miles of death.

(I apologize for the lack of pictures from within the catacombs, they were not permitted.)

Tips for future visitors:

1. Try to arrive earlier in the day as it gets progressively crowded as the day goes on.
2. The tours are done by language, after getting your (5 euro) ticket, wait in the open area for your language to be called.
3. The tour is not long, a half hour tops.
4. The 118 bus stops right outside the entrance (though the buses are few and far between), the 75 connects nicely to the 118 before the Circus Maximus.
5. Listen when they tell you not to take pictures. Don't be the stupid American tourist that so many people expect us to be.
6. No matter what your religion, take in what they are telling you about Christianity as it pertains to the catacombs. They are educating you, not trying to convert you.
7. Bring a sweater, it is obviously much cooler underground.
8. For those claustrophobic travelers, there are some tight spaces during the tour. Mentally prepare.
9. Obviously, be respectful of the dead that surround you as well as the many nuns and priests that will be present. (Disrespect is one of those things that transcends the language barrier.)

Oh Venezia...

2007-09-21T05:53:00.000-07:00

This post is coming a little later than I would have liked, I suppose I am merely falling into the Italian, "It can wait until tomorrow" mindset.

The watery labyrinth that is Venice is just as enchanting as it is confusing. We began our adventure at night having spent two hours settling a hostel(/hostile) dispute...literally and figuratively. We had reserved a room in a hostel only to find out that all of us could not stay - apparently European hotels work differently than those in America. Their rules are so strict that police come around every night to collect the passport numbers of all hotel guests. Squeezing in an extra person, or failing to record all numbers results in being shut down for 6 months. We spent quite some time searching for another room for the two that couldn't stay at the lovely Hotel Giovannina...more on that later.

So, after finally finding a room, we set off on the 1 euro train into Venice. Seven minutes later I stood on the steps of the train station completely agreeing with Fran Leibowitz (author) when she said, "If you read a lot, nothing is as great as you've imagined. Venice is - Venice is better."

Night undoubtably makes the world more spectacular, but I am not sure that Venice needed this leg up. Before me, lights from waterfront cafes and canal-side villas met the waves from passing water taxis and buses. Italian opera music bounced off the arches of the stone bridges as the music's source passed through in a gondola, the rich sound filling the hollow arc and carrying down the canal.

We boarded a water bus and headed towards Piazza di San Marco where we were met with the festive glow of glass, mask, and watercolor vendors, each insisting that their products were the best...the real best was yet to come. We settled into dinner at a sidewalk restaurant where the water and wine tasted like silk and the pasta settled gently alongside the butterflies in our stomachs. Four of us decided to take advantage of the music that is played nightly in the center of the square. The music that emanated from the two, five-piece orchestras positioned next to each other during their nightly jam session made the 15 euro sitting fee (because it always costs to sit) well worth it. One started with "Memories" only to be followed by its neighbor's rendition of "The Music of the Night" as the waiter set down our tray of gelato, wine, and chips. The music floated up to the stars as tears fell at our table - the sound, the setting, the novelty of this floating world was overwhelming.

When we had eaten, listened, and danced to our hearts content, we headed back to Mestre (the town just outside Venice, where we were staying). After being told that no one really knew if a bus was going to come, public transportation pulled through for us, bringing us home around 3:00 am. We soon found out that this was unacceptable.

As we approached our hotel, we noticed that the lights were out and, alas, the door was locked. We rang the bell growing more frantic with each push and almost melted down as a stranger on a bicycle laughed at us and said "e chiuso, buona notte." (It's closed, have a good night.) It was closed indeed, but we were not stranded; a large Greek man came to the door with a stern look on his face, in unison we pleaded, "WE ARE GUESTS HERE, PLEASE LET US IN!" Like a parent who's children have violated curfew, he gave us "the look" before explaining that the hotel has a curfew of 1:00 am, a curfew which we were not told about. He was forgiving and kind and insisted that we call him "Uncle George." As it turns out, he hates the man who checked us in ("He has no friends here.") and blamed him for our Giovaninna faux pas. With our tails still slightly between our legs, we scurried upstairs to get a few hours of sleep before our next excursion.

We began our second Venetian day with a free tour provided by our school. The guide was a native Venetian who was able to effortlessly guide us through the maze, stopping occasionally to point out good gelaterias and to explain the various window shapes and other such architectural features that tell the story of Venice's past and development as the water rises and the city expands. She explained the city's attempt at solving the ongoing flooding problem.

Forty years ago, they began an experimental, irreversible process of digging dikes to redirect some of the water - this risk, it turns out, is helpful, but is not enough to save the city. The latest plan is to make a series of floats to put under the city - revolutionary she said, but so was the idea of going to the moon. I didn't understand the full implications of the flood until my gondola ride revealed doorways that have been cemented shut in an effort to postpone the inevitable for a few more years and water seeping under the doors of some unfortunate houses.

As the guide left us, we headed toward a main shopping street (S.Rocca) where we discovered a genuine glass maker and her store. She and her mother-in-law ran the shop; she made the beads, jewelry, etc. throughout the day and late at night right in the store. We must have spent 500 euro collectively in the two hours we spent with her. She even fired up her equipment to show us how to make, shape, and decorate beads for jewelry.

Paola (her name) began by studying languages at a local university only to find out that it was not her true passion; she decided that glass making was her love and relocated to a university in Murano where she spent two months learning the techniques of her art. She has been continuing her education for the 15 years since and now spends her life doing what she loves. She said her English should be better given her prior language training, but then laughed saying that she obviously made the right choice. She also met her husband at school - he blows the glass for some of the larger pieces that cost upwards of 200 euro.

After we left Paula, we wandered through other glass shops, finding few places of comparable beauty. When we could not look at any more glass, we got gelato and headed home for our newly assigned curfew. We thought we would be going to bed early, Uncle George quickly changed our plans. Melanie and I spent two hours in the lobby as he had us look through pictures of him with previous guests and read aloud letters from friends he has made at the hotel throughout his life. After his wife died in Greece, he could not bear to stay as he "saw and heard her everywhere," so he set off for Italy and started the hotel/hostel. Our conversation consisted almost, okay, entirely of him saying "What I want to say about life is..." and counting several lessons on our fingers, carefully tucking our fingers into our palms with each lesson. He was a good man who measures the success of his life in the friends that he makes. We had to respectfully decline his breakfast invitation as we had to get an early start in the morning for our gondola ride and train home, but felt privileged to have met such a kind and genuine individual. We have since sent him a postcard and picture of us to add to his adored collection.

The gondola ride gave us a whole new perspective on the city. We learned that boat slips are like assigned parking spaces, they are achieved by money, family, and inheritance. As with so many things, they are extremely hard to come by, but essential to the Venetian lifestyle. We floated through the canals, under bridges, and even took a cruise on the grand canal, smiling for the tourists aboard passing water buses. Our gondoleer let us all take turns steering the banana-shaped boat (it is not easy) and gave us a fairly thorough Itanglish (a strange and enchanting mixture of Italian and English that is remarkably understandable) tour of the city.

As we boarded the train we were both exhausted and happy having found a city which beauty far surpasses any other place I have encountered. See the pictures below for more details.

Here are my tips and advice for future Venetian travelers:

1. When looking for a hotel, compare prices in and outside of the city - the best deal differs depending on the city.
2. If you are going to stay outside of Venice, Mestre (or Mestra) is a good choice. Giovannina gets a bad rep on reviews, but we found it clean and just what we needed. It is a one star hotel, but it has clean sheets, beds, towels, etc. (And a really nice owner who will help you with everything if you are nice to him in return.)
3. The ride in from Mestre is 1 euro and takes about 7 minutes. You can buy your ticket from the magazine sellers.
4. If it is past 11:50 pm and you are still in Venice, take the N1 bus out, it comes hourly.
5. If you are going to be in the city all day, buy the all day boat pass for 13 euro, otherwise, each ride is 6 euro and it adds up.
6. If you know where you want to go, map it out before you get into the city. You will still get lost as many streets just aren't on the map, but it will help you more than just going cold turkey.
7. For gondola rides, get as far away from Piazza di San Marco as possible - EVERYTHING is more expensive there. Don't pay more that 70-80 euro for a ride.
8. Don't pay more than 1 euro for a small gelato. Apparently this is a big issue for the locals, if tourists pay more, the prices go up, if you give your business to the cheaper ones, it brings the price down on all of the other ones. (Even my English major self can understand this economic trend.)
9. Genuine glass is all over the place near S. Rocca. It is even better if you find a store where they are making it. (Buying stuff made in China hurts the Murano industry.)
10. While they tell you that you have to have reservations at the Murano glass places, you don't always.
11. The music at night in Piazza di San Marco is worth the exorbitant prices.

12. If you don't like pigeons, steer clear of P. San Marco in the morning. They are everywhere and for some reason, people like it. Gross.
13. There are great pastries by Calle Laca before the bridge.
14. Venetian pizza is not as good as other Italian cities because brick ovens are not allowed.
15. Don't stand on the steps leading to the water. #1. The water is dirty. #2. They are super slippery.
16. The city is far more romantic than Paris. Don't go if you are single, missing someone, or going through a break-up. On that note, if you do go, try not to hate the couples that are there.

Venezia

2007-09-18T05:11:00.000-07:00

Here are the pictures from my Venetian weekend. Post to follow.

La Notte Bianca

2007-09-09T04:07:00.000-07:00

Rome didn't sleep last night. In Piazza Venezia, traffic stopped as the music started for the thousands of people that had come from across Europe for La Notte Bianca. Bars, restaurants, stores, museums, monuments, and public transportation stayed open all night as we wandered through the city.

We began walking through Trastevere, an area around our house but soon hit Piazza Venezia, where the people swarmed around a concert stage and moved throughout the streets going in and out of gelaterias and museums. The Trevi Fountain glowed in the midst of the crowd, as hundreds of people broke its surface with coins, thus affirming their return to Rome (as the legend goes).

We had no real goals but to wander, and wander we did. We made it up and down Via Del Corso, sometimes being pushed, sometimes pushing, dodging our tipsy companions.

When we began our walk back, the crowd was thinning, but the party showed no signs of being over. The music still blared at a cannoli stand across from ruins of the forum, and the normally shadowed streets of Rome shone white.

Foti

2007-09-07T06:52:00.000-07:00

Here is a link to some of my pictures thus far. Still no wireless at home, but I was able to get a signal at school. Enjoy!

p.s. A huge thank you to Ken for the Blue Guide. It has put other guide books to shame. I carry it with me everywhere.

Verametè è grande

2007-09-06T10:12:00.000-07:00

The Italians' Tomb of the Unknown Warrior puts Arlington to shame. When the good old 44 bus pulled up in front of it, my jaw dropped. Ours is solemn and definitely special in its own way, but here, it is both solemn and glorious. The limestone buidling at the foot of the Capitoline Hill, is topped with gladiators on chariots. The Vittoriano in Piazza Venezia was originally made for King Vittorio; their "Unknown Warrior" is buried inside it. It has steps on which you may not sit or play and flags flying all around it. There are two eternal flames and several guards.

I have seen more Piazze in two days than I have seen in my 19 years of life. Here, however, the plazas are not the American "stick a fountain in the sidewalk and call it a plaza." They have such character and imporatance. Yesterday we went to Piazza di Spagna and saw the Scalinata della Trinita dei Monti (Spanish Steps). While it was packed with tourists (which I guess I am too, cringe), it was beautiful. We climbed all 137 of them and saw the Piazza della Trinita dei Monti and its curch. It is an incredible view. Every rooftop has a garden, and the cobblestone streets that weave between Medeterranean colored buildings seem to go on forever. We spent the day meandering around above the steps and ended up in front of the Basilica which I will need an entirely different day to fullye explore. We then proceeded on to the massive Stazione Termini, the Romans' Union Station, if you will. It is complete with Metro, trains, and buses.

Despite our exhaustion from the day's walking, we were able to muster up the energy to go out. We went to Campo de Fiori, a night life hot spot. While there were a lot of Americans, there were just as many Italians. My gauge of the authenticity of my activities is generally measured by the above ratio. I figure if I curse the Cherry Blossom tourists, the Romans must curse us. And, judging from some of the faces I have gotten, this guess is not far off.

Regardless, we had a great time. We met up with other students and some of the AUR resident students who did our orientation, so they were able to give us tips and such.

After a night out, today seemed to start a little slower...but, we still managed to welcome our new room mate (who had visa issues and had to pay an extra $1000 to get here!) We also headed to the Colosseum. I was floored.

We were in the middle of congratulating ourselves for using the bus, tram, and Metro successfully when we looked up to find the largest, most impressive structure I have ever seen. The stone robbers who ruined part of it are real jerks because in its glory, it must have been unspeakably phenomenal, not that it isn't now.

What's more is that it is surrounded by ancient ruins. Around it is the Temple of Venus and Roma with pillars that look like they are glowing, the Arch of Constantine, the remains of the baths, the Palatine, and the Forum. We walked around giving it all a once over and immediately decided that each portion would need its own day.

A funny thing happened on the way to the forum (I couldn't resist), I tripped on the cobblestone and face-planted in front of the Arch of Titus. Laughter really does transcend the usual language boundaries.

Thank goodness for Latin, I had too much fun reading inscriptions. To see the Temple of Julius Caesar and walk on the Via Sacra is more than any Latin student can hope for. There is still excavation going on; I of course wanted to hop the fence and start digging but as it turns out, I was not allowed to. (Where is Kyle when you need an archaeologist?)

So, exhausted and overwhelmed, we returned home. Il più che vedo, il più mi piace (the more I see, the more I like.)

What struck me as interesting during my explorations is both the contrast between old and new and the coexistance with it. While I marveled at the Colosseum, people whizzed by with their Vespas and scholiosis cars (my name for the omnipresent hatchback-style cars.) They use their cell phones and wireless internet right beside ancient ruins. The antiquity of the city is very much a part of their culture and pride, yet they still live in the modern world. In my opinion, this is what sets Rome apart from every other city I have experienced. The S.P.Q.R. (Senatus Popolusque Romanus "The Roman Senate and People") from the ancient Roman Republic is still on trash cans, bill boards, grates, and cabs across the city.

Buona sera!

Mi piace molto

2007-09-04T04:05:00.000-07:00

I am here safely. Alive and well. No lost luggage, no immigration issues (they didn't even bother stamping me in), no major issues to date. I have four room mates (maybe another one today) and a lovely newly rennovated apartment. There are two double bedrooms, two single bedrooms (I am in one), a kitchen, living room, dining room, two full baths, a foyer, and a deck that wraps around the apartment. I live on Gianicollense near Trastavere. We don't have a land line or internet set up yet, but we should soon. (I am writing from campus.)

Soon started as "domani" (tomorrow), and then turned into "in the next two days", and ended as "by the end of the week." It seems these Italians have their very own time schedule. While starting my permit to stay process today I found that no one had bothered to print the 1000 something papers in alphabetical order. It took 15 minutes to find 3 sheets of paper. Awesome.

I have decided that this whole slower lifestyle is a result of the lower voltage. The lights are dimmer, the hairdrying is slower - the daily process takes a little longer. It is like Rome makes its own romantic lighting. Where we curse our luck when our 80 watt bulbs do not reveal every detail of our faces in the mirror, every paper in our office, here, it is not quite so sterile. It has ambiance, personality.

Despite graffiti on some of the walls, okay, all of them, it is really quite charming. For the most part, everyone has been friendly. I am happy to report that I know enough to order paninis, gelato, and metro passes. If there is anything else one could need in life, let me know. The paint is a little chipped, the shutters are left open all day, the people saunter, but who really cares?

So, here are my discoveries thus far:

1. The reason the body odor is so horrific is because the showers are so cold, that no one can stand to stay in them long enough to be properly cleaned.
2. There is no love for the Americans at dinner time. Order in English and get on with it.
3. Uses of "prego": you're welcome, hello, come here, hold on a minute, follow me, I see, stop trying to talk to me in choppy Italian, you stupid girl.
4. Pointing + "prego" = communication

(I'll post pictures when my laptop gets internet.)

I miei sacchetti sono imballati, sono pronto per andare...

2007-08-30T13:43:00.000-07:00

Welcome to my blog! Throughout the coming months, I will be filling this page with pictures of, adventures from, and thoughts about my semester in Rome.

I am sure that with time, my life will be as glamorous as we Americans imagine Italy to be. As of now, however, all I have to show for myself is choppy conversational Italian and 78 pounds of "absolute necessities". After two late nights, three bags, and several meltdowns on the living room floor, I have completed my packing and am (gasp) almost ready to go. I will soon depart from JFK via Aer Lingus, hopping across the pond to Dublin for a cuppa (or a pinta since we're talking Ireland), and then continuing on to Rome.

Stay tuned. Ciao!