My Piazza

September 29, 2011. 12:46. Astor Café in Firenze
Yesterday my Italian professor explained to my class that because we are young and American we are always thinking of the future and moving very fast. In the same sense he said, because he is old and Italian he moves slower and thinks often about the past. This is a fundamental difference between, not only, young folks and old folks but also between Americans and Italians. Americans are running; we are striving to create our empire, our history. We are but babies in the arena of world history, and they have a word for us here in Italy: “staccanovista,” which means workaholic. This word is comes from the story of a young Russian miner named Staccanovich. Staccanovich was a very strong, very driven young man and he would voluntarily skip meals and not sleep so that he could work 14-16 hours a day in the mines. (Sounds American enough to me.) My professor explained that when Italians go through life it is like they carry with them a ball and chain that is 2,500 years of history, they’ve already created their empire, fought countless wars and made masterpieces of architecture, literature and art. Their future, he said, may not hold a candle to their past and so they take ample amounts of time to reflect.
I cannot help but be impacted here. And when I say “impacted,” I mean like being hit with a sack of bricks. I cannot help but slow down. And when I say “slow down,” I mean stop. I cannot help but reflect. And when I say “reflect,” I mean question absolutely every minute aspect of who I am. Before coming to Italy I thought that I took time in my life, I thought I knew myself well, I thought I went slow enough to be conscious of my actions. However, I’ve come to Italy and quickly discovered how very young and very American I truly am. It’s difficult to explain the depth of this realization without becoming the type of person who exposes far too personal and private elements of their life on the Internet. I will say this much, Italy is teaching me that perhaps I have allowed my world to shape me far more than I have allowed myself the opportunity to shape my world. This is a hard pill to swallow; to discover that you’ve been passively accepting your life when you could have been active, decisive, influential and if there is an aspect of yourself (not your life, but yourself) that you are not happy with, no one forced you to be that way and the only person who is responsible for changing it is you.
Understandably, this all may seem a bit confusing and all too abstract. That’s because it is. In Florence and many other Italian cities, the streets are not neatly laid out in grids with numbered avenues like they are in the US. A narrow street will go on for a length of time until you reach an open square called a piazza. Several new streets will extend from the piazza either continuing or beginning anew. This is a good metaphor for my life right now. I’ve been on a bit of a narrow path for a while now, so long a while in fact that I’m not really sure of exactly who I am right now (or, dare I say, what I want). I am but young and American and my masterpiece is yet to be created. It’s time to take a moment, slow down and reflect; time to become a little bit older and a little bit Italian. I have reached a piazza.

Ready-Made Study Abroad

September 23, 2011. 22:55. My Apartment in Florence
I’ve come to understand that there are a variety of experiences one can choose to have while studying abroad. For example: there are women in my cooking class from Korea who chose to come to Italy and take classes in English (aka their second language) while also learning Italian (their 3rd language…in English). When it comes to housing, you can live with Italian families, or just other young adult Italians, or students from other American universities, or international European students, you can live in an apartment in the city or stay in a dorm on an enclosed campus. The world is your oyster, the options are endless here and we are constantly faced with the questions: Do you want to spend time with Americans and cultivate relationships within an American community abroad or, would you rather embrace the foreign element of your abroad experience? And once you figure that out, there’s the whole question of how you do it. I can respect and appreciate both options, I have met so many wonderful American students here and I don’t think I could even begin to comprehend taking all my courses in Italian. That being said, I’m interested in being in Italy and branching out (no, I’m not willing to stop at just taking the bus). I want to speak more Italian, I want to go places the tourists don’t and I constantly yearn to make my experience something unique. This requires a constant push out of my comfort zone. One such experience of this was the planning of my fall break.
There are countless student travel agencies in Florence willing to take lump sums of money and turn them into neatly organized travel arrangements complete with hotels, transportation and guided tours (they may even include breakfast) but personally I don’t want it. I want to get a little lost and find myself. I want to have things go a bit awry and then I want to fix them. I want an uncharted (and unchartered) adventure. It’s not as easy or as fun as it sounds to plan such a journey and at times I just want to say “screw it,” purchase the neatly packaged trip, hop on the air-conditioned coach bus with all the other American students and pretend I’m doing something new and different. I try to push beyond this though and I’ve spent ample amounts of time researching trains and hostels and such.
The other night after two hours of looking up train routes Lacey and I just needed a break. We headed down the street around 10pm for some much-needed gelato and on the way, bickered over trip details. We found ourselves in front the Santa Croce cathedral agreeing not to talk about it for the next ten minutes and just cool off. A street performer serenaded our cool silence from the opposite end of the piazza and we made our way over to the music. He played a soft and simple acoustic version of Cyndi Lauper’s “Time After Time.” I leaned, exhausted, against a pillar and shut my eyes for a second. I couldn’t help but smile though at the loveliness of the sound and when I opened my eyes, I caught Lacey’s smile as she turned to look back at me. It’s in these sweet little moments that you get a tiny glimpse of the big picture. In the words of Dave Matthews (he’s a brilliant man), “Turns out, it’s not where but who you're with that really matters… And if you hold on tight to what you think is your thing you may find you're missing all the rest.” I don’t mean to rag on the bus2alpers or the pub-crawlers or the cheeseburger-and-fry-eaters, we all have the right to embrace whatever experience we want… but hear me out.
The things that are here in Italy that we can also do in America… we can do them when we get back to America. And the people who offer to take you on those neatly guided trips won’t take you on any of the roads less traveled. We have a truly once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to have an experience that is different if we only reach out and take it.
Now, I commend you if you’ve managed to stay with me this whole time (this week I am having trouble finding the words to say what I need to say but bear with me). Here’s what I’m trying to express: it’s hard to be abroad no matter how you do it; it’s hard to be in a new culture with a new language and a world of new experiences. It’s easy to flock to the people and things that make you comfortable and it’s easy to travel if you want it to be. However, as uncomfortable as it might be – to get lost sometimes, to make conversation with new people in new languages, to do things that aren’t being done by everyone else, it’s certainly a new adventure. I don’t know if it’s a better path, but I do know that it will yield an experience distinct from the rather homogenized practice of studying abroad you read about in bus2alps brochures. I’m not an authority on the subject, I’m just speaking as a person in the middle of the whole mess and in the middle of what I imagine is a much bigger lesson than I can comprehend right now. This isn’t the end of the story.

The Ultimate Experience

17:18. September 15, 2011. Astor Café in Firenze.
I have a feeling that there will always be about a million things I want to write about. Life is just too big and complex an experience to contain within a weekly blog unfortunately, or fortunately, it depends how you choose to look at it. Take for instance the past week; I managed to cook some exquisite Italian dishes made from fresh ingredients I purchased at the most incredible local market, I traveled to Portofino (a major hotspot for vacationing Italian celebrities) and Cinque Terre (a national park along the Italian coastline with crystal clear blue waters and beautiful hillside vineyards). Yet, I don’t feel the need to say much about any of these things. Obviously those places were wonderful and if you ever find yourself traveling through Italy, Cinque Terre is a must-see. If you’re in possession of a few million Euros you might check out Portofino (it’s great if you’re in the market for diamonds or expensive lunches but if you’re a poor student like me, stick with the 10 Euro hiking and train pass to Cinque Terre and bring along some water and granola bars from home). Cooking needs an entire blog of its own so I won’t even go there but perhaps another time. This week I have to talk about Frisbee.
As much as I’ve managed to travel in my lifetime when it all comes down to it, I’m just another girl from the suburbs really. I like fresh air, and trees, and that deeply serene quietness you can only really get when you’re outside of a city. Florence, while it is breathtakingly gorgeous in its own right, lacks the sort of rural charm I’ve grown to take fore granted in my life. It irks me a bit to admit that while I’m here in the very heart of the city that launched the Renaissance I actually miss Poughkeepsie, New York. I miss the green Marist courtyards, I miss the familiar buildings, I miss the comforting rush of the Hudson River and I miss Frisbee. Lacey misses it too. And on that note, I really must mention (for the billionth time) how happy I am she is here with me. While we are each having distinct experiences of this new and exciting place she remains my familiar rock and when things get tough, I know I can always count on her. Looking back, I think her delayed arrival may have been a bit of a reminder to make sure I appreciate those familiar things I take fore granted and since then I really am cognizant of how lucky I am to have her here. But I digress, back to Frisbee. In a fit of Frisbee and fresh air withdrawal Lacey and I contacted a local Italian Frisbee team in the interest of attending their practice. We were gladly invited to join them, and so we set out on a Euro-frisbee adventure which included taking a local bus out to East-Middle-of-Nowhere Florence, Italy. This may seem simple but like I said, were just a couple of suburban girls who’s experience with public transportation goes about as far as the elevator of our freshman dormitory. We made it though (I think I now take a little too much pride in my ability to ride a bus).
We were told that a few people on the Frisbee team spoke English (when we got there, nearly everyone spoke English, when I asked one gentleman where he in particular learned to speak English, he gave me a puzzled look and told me, “this is not a good question in Florence.” It was as if I had asked him where he learned to breathe an perform other basic bodily functions.) Yet, well they had the ability to speak English they obviously conducted practice entirely in Italian, it was a workout for both the mind and the body at once. When it was all said and done we got some fresh air, Frisbee and felt pretty good about accomplishing what, at school, is a highly normal and under-appreciated occurrence.
To us though, it was all new, it WAS an accomplishment. It’s so easy to sit at home and do the same things you do everyday, but you’re not any safer there and you might miss the experience of a lifetime. In the comforting words of a mother who’s daughter is far braver than I to be studying abroad in Africa right now, “It takes a lot of courage to release the familiar and seemingly secure, to embrace the new. I Love you.” I want to commend anyone out there right now who is breaking out of his or her comfort zone, releasing the familiar and embracing the new. It’s a hard thing to do, even if it is just riding a public bus.

Hey Juliette

23:20.September 6, 2011. My Apartment in Florence
So much has happened this past week including but not limited to: the arrival of Lacey, hiking in the Italian Alps and the start of classes. I have things to say about all of these events but I actually feel like I need to talk about something else. I need to talk about this past Sunday. This past Sunday was my two-year anniversary with my boyfriend, Andrew who is currently deployed in Afghanistan. It usually isn’t so difficult to be apart from him on these sorts of milestones because it’s all we’ve ever really known together. However, this happens to be the first milestone where I’m in Italy going through a little bit of culture shock. Am I homesick? Not really but I do miss this man who I have spent the last two years in a relationship with and whose safety I worry about constantly. Yet, I feel this way all the time and I normally don’t let it get me down. Plus, you’re all probably wondering what this has to do with being here in Italy.
Well here it is: This past weekend I found myself in a tourist trap in Verona called the “House of Juliette,” which is a house built to represent the home of the fictional character of Juliette from the Shakespearean play we all know and love. This house was built in Verona because that’s where the story takes place. Honestly, if you’re ever in Verona… you can just skip it, it’s really not that great. What is kind of great is the inside of the archway that leads into the courtyard of the “House of Juliette.” The walls of this archway are covered in graffiti written by people who inscribe their love stories on the concrete. Is it kind of cheesy? Yes but it’s also a little sweet. It reminded me of how classic that story is; two lovers forced apart and desperately wishing they could somehow be together. Believe me, I get it. In fact, I got a little overwhelmed by it towards the end of the day (thankfully I had my best friend by my side who was totally there for me despite her own jet lag and stress). I never really thought that would happen. This blog is called “It’s All Part of the Plan” but I think you all get it by now that life rarely happens to me the way I plan for it. I never planned on getting into a long distance relationship but I’m really glad I did. I never planned on visiting a tourist trap and getting overwhelmed on my two-year anniversary but (this might be surprising) I’m really glad I did because it allowed me to be a little bit vulnerable in this new place and attach myself to it in a way I probably wouldn’t be able to had I just plastered on a smile and pretended it was all okay (though believe me I tried). I’m not about to pull a Juliette over the whole thing because this isn’t a tragedy. I’m seeing the bright side I guess, I believe that love always finds its way, and for now… there really isn’t a more romantic country in the whole world to spend an anniversary in than Italy.

Water for Electronics

1:43. August 31, 2011. My Apartment in Firenze
I know it’s a little early to be writing another blog post but I’m jet lagged and it’s one thirty in the morning so what else is there to do. Plus, there have been some fun new twists in this lovely story: As I gathered my things to exit the plane in Rome I hastily (and now I would say a bit too hastily) tossed my water bottle into my backpack without realizing that the cap was not properly secured. Of course seeing as Lacey seems to have taken all the bullets so far on this journey I guess it was just my turn to get struck by a little mayhem. Needless to say my computer took the brunt of the tsunami that occurred inside my backpack. Luckily I managed to realize this in time to do a little in-field triage and quickly sacrificed my sweatshirt and my pillowcase to mop up what water I could off of my computer. Mind you I still had a connecting flight to catch to Florence. I nervously clutched my computer wrapped up in my pillow case and when I finally arrived in Florence, retrieved my checked luggage, went through customs and met with my lovely program coordinator I explained the computer catastrophe to her with the most genuine concern in my eyes. She listened intently and then grinned and in her impossibly nonchalant Italian accent said, “Ah yes, this happens to me five years ago with my computer as well. Let it dry.” Let it dry! That’s it? I’m holding on to this hunk of metal like it’s a dying child and all she can say is let it dry. She ushered me into a cab that took me to my super-quaint little apartment and here I am. Left to wander. As much as there was a very beautiful poetic simplicity in her “let it dry” statement I immediately went to the local supermercado and purchased 3 large bags of rice. Thankfully the computer is functional; there is only a little bit of water damage on the right side of the screen. However, just as I thought I was out of the woods, my camera decides to die on me. I had a bit of a conniption and may have taken it out on the broken camera. So 99 Euros later, I have a new camera. You simply cannot be in this city without a camera; it was worth every Euro cent to replace the broken one. At this point you are probably asking what the point of all this is. I don’t know. There’s a new lesson around every corner, I could be a Positive Polly and say that this was a lesson in resourcefulness or an adaptation tutorial. I guess it was both of those things… but it also sucks. It sucks when things go wrong. Yet, who the hell am I to be complaining? I don’t believe in being positive just for the sake of being positive but I do believe in having a little perspective in life. When my coordinator said, “let it dry,” it was really a reminder to take into account the entirety of my situation. If my most pressing problem in life is that I’m stuck in one of the most beautiful cities in the world with no computer to distract me and a brand new camera, I really shouldn’t complain.