Down Feathers on the Wind

The clouded sky overhead added a mysterious atmosphere to the piazza; it was the perfect setting for the young students who were silently congregating in twos and threes. Others entered the scene with oddly shaped bags. Some came to the piazza carrying their goods without the benefit of department store totes; the misplaced nature of the pillows screamed for attention. Who carries a pillow around a piazza in Bologna, Italy?

Apparently the students of Bologna do.

I continued eating my lunch, while watching the pillow-carrying students. What was going on? My friends were just as interested. Luckily we had just gone on break from the rigors of yet another “Helen Trip,” and we had the next hour to ourselves. . . surely something would happen before that time was up.

Twenty minutes passed, but the most exciting thing that happened was MORE students filing into the piazza with, you guessed it, individual pillows.

My friends and I, freezing from the dampness of the moist, cloudy day, decided that we would walk around the piazza in search of a bar (Italian Café) where we would buy cappuccinos and continue to watch the piazza for action.

As we were crossing the piazza the clock in the piazza stuck three in the afternoon, and a loud bell sounded.

Nothing happened at first. Then, suddenly, a dull roar began to reverberate off the walls of surrounding buildings. The roar grew louder, and almost as if it were the starting cue, students simultaneously began converging on the center of the piazza with their pillows raised in attack!

A massive pillow fight broke out! Student beat their friends. Students hit other students they didn’t know. Students jumped up on friends shoulders and attacked the unsuspecting from above. Feathers were everywhere and students toppled to the ground in an attempt to get away from other ferocious pillow mobsters. Fluffs of cotton were carried away on the wind and pillows were, one-by-one, shredded to pieces.

When my friends and I finished our cappuccino break half an hour later, the pillow fight was still in full-swing amongst the victorious. Who would win?!

Helen shooed us along to other art historical sites before we could answer that question, but when we returned to the piazza just before heading back to Florence, not a trace of the fight was left. . . except for maybe some meager down feathers, too small for anyone to notice under the cover of the night sky.

Veterans

So, I would like to inform you that I am something of a veteran.

Yes, I spoke correctly. I, and some of my girl friends over here in Florence, believe that our survival is worthy of such a title; we have walked over 100 miles in various Italian cities. listened to countless hours of art historical information, and forgone taking bathroom breaks in the name of learning more about one painting or another. In other words, we feel that we are veterans of what we fondly call “Helen Trips.” If the bathroom reference did not tip you off, let me remind you that the SACI art history professor is named Helen. Yes, I see the light bulb going off in your head now.

After this past weekend, I feel like more of a veteran than ever; I traveled to Rome with Helen and group of 12 other students. Because we were familiar with Helen’s way of organizing trips, We were all prepared for entirely too much walking, listening to dissertations for EVERY SINGLE church in the city, and using every bathroom break given us- whether or not we really had to use the bathroom. Luckily we were going to be spending two nights in Rome; a day trip, which is usually the norm for “Helen Trips,” would NOT have been possible even with Helen as a tour guide.

On the first evening of trekking, Helen went easy on the schedule and only took us to the Pantheon, a few churches, the Trevi Fountain, and Bernini’s Four River’s Fountain. Two and half hours and nearly five places. . . not bad!

When the next morning dawned bright and early, I was surprisingly energetic. I was not even taxed from the evening before! I figured it was just because we had not really covered much ground. Besides which, after a mere two and a half hours of “Helen Touring,” I had the privilege of seeing my good friend Karen. I enjoyed some pizzas at a restaurant in Piazza Navona with her family and some other friends. Who wouldn’t be refreshed after an evening like that? (As a side note, Karen has been taking classes and training in Rome for the past two months so that she can spend two years in a small village in the Congo. Karen leaves for the Congo in one week. What a blessing to see her “across the big pond” before she officially leaves!)

We started this next day off with a nice visit to the Colosseum, the Forum and the Vatican Museum. We lunched for half an hour, and we off again at break-neck spread to cover ground in Saint Peter’s and make our way up to Santa Maria della Vittoria to see one of my most favorite Bernini scultptures, The Ecstacy of Saint Theresa.

The end of the second day was much appreciated: my feet were sore, and I was tired, but I felt nothing compared to a couple gals who came on the trip. Prior to beginning the adventure, I though we were all prepared for a weekend with Helen; apparently these girls were not. These girls, apparently, had only been on one other “Helen Trip.” In English, this means that these girls, by the end of the day, looked like flowers that had just withstood a terrors of an unexpected spring blizzard. In fact, the next day, these gals opted for a self-made trip!

We wrapped up the trip with a visit to several art galleries, and a few more churches, and took a speedy train back to Florence that night.

I would like to amend my earlier statement: I am not actually a veteran. I was a veteran long before this trip! I feel that this weekend actually turned me into a PRACTICED veteran. . . with ten churches, a couple hundred works of art, and two entire cities under my belt (the Vatican is technically not apart of Rome. . . it is it’s own country to be even more precise), I would definitely say that I added some “practice” to my status!

Three weeks until I return home! Have a wonderful Thanksgiving, everyone! I love you all and I give thanks for you every day!

Love,

Brandi

Green Grasses

For the past few days, I have been hearing the strangest noises during my classes; a soft tapping rings in my ears. I see my colleagues looking around with confusion in my direction. I see them glance at my feet, and I feel like I detect a looks of slight annoyance.

What are they so annoyed about?

It is also interesting that, for the past few days, my friends seem to shut off their hearing skills when I start up my iTunes. As accordion music of the Irish variety floats from my computer’s speakers, and my soul soars. Do I see my friends’ shoulders droop?

What is going on??

Well, as most of you know, I am an Irish dancer. In less than one, the western regional championships will be taking place in Denver. I have gone to these championships every year since I was a junior in high school. This year I have to miss them because I am studying abroad in Florence.

So, ‘what’s going on’ is as follows: I miss dance more than ever right now. Therefore, my colleagues are annoyed by my tapping feet as I try to practice my Irish dances during class, and I am listening to Irish dance music like it is going out of style.

My advisors back at the University of Denver warned me that I would be experiencing an interesting emotional roller coaster during my time in Florence. It is one matter to mentally prepare yourself, and another matter entirely to really life all of the different emotions that come with the roller coaster. . . or, better yet, find out just what things send you on another adventure. Buckle up, we’re in for a ride!

While on the topic, I might as well mention that I find it interesting that missing dance is not a contained emotion; missing dance has made me edgy and irritable. I am more anxious to get things accomplished in a quick and efficient fashion, and I am more anxious to get started with the rest of my life. I am more poignantly aware that the grass always seems greener on the other side, and therefore, want to pick up and leave Florence immediately so that I can go roll in the greener grass.

Yet, I am not wasting all of my time being anxious and irritable; because I am more aware of my longing for the comforts of home, I am also using my last few weeks in Florence as time to explore the bits of the city that I have not seen. For instance, between classes, I have taken to going to the Uffizi, visiting random open-air markets, and reading on the verandas of libraries around the city.

In fact, as I whiled away some time on the steps of Santa Croce this afternoon, I watched the setting sun shed its last rays of light on the golden façade of some apartment buildings, it occurred to me that I will miss Florence. I will miss the warm November nights and its street musicians. I will miss going to the open-air markets and cringing at the meat displays. I will miss going to museums around the city to see another Michelangelo sculpture.

So, where exactly is the greener grass, again. . . ?

Long Time in Coming!

I had no intention of waiting so long to tell you about my European adventures from fall break. What’s funny is that I cannot even remember what delayed me for so long. I remember my body taking revenge on me for running it ragged for nine days; I came back to Florence with the flu. . . but, beyond that, I do not remember much of last week and what consumed my time. The loss of short-term memory is a terrible thing. Don’t contract the disease early in life as I seem to have done.

Now, what was I going to write about, again. . . ?

Just kidding! (Feel free to laugh at my joke) Fall break was an incredible experience involving wonderful people, interesting cities, unfortunate transportation issues, and a healthy does of walking. In fact, before I start my account, I would like to announce that my friends and I walked nearly 70 miles over the course of the break.

Day one of break saw my three comrades and myself from the doorstep of Florence over to a neighboring city call Bologna. We stopped there for the night so that we could take an early morning flight out to Paris. Not much to report about this leg of the trip, with the exception that our hostel turned out to be a campground whose room accommodations were camping cabins.

On the morning of day two, the four of us awoke early to catch our flight to Paris. The end of the flight was the most exciting part of the morning: granted we had successfully landed in Paris, so, what wasn’t there to be excited about, but just as we were landing, the PA system let out a triumphal series of music notes and happily told us that we had landed safely. The entire cabin cheered, and I could not help but laugh. There’s nothing like celebrating the minor successes in life!

After conquering the Metro system and successfully checking into our hostel, our Parisian adventure began! Yet, for me, this leg of the trip seemed did not seem like an adventure, per se. By the time I graduated from high school, I had racked up seven years French language and culture studies. I would like to say that it was because of this distant sort of familiarity with France that made me feel more at home. It did not surprise me that there were trees on every boulevard, or that families lined the parks and river walkways. I found it incredibly easily to converse with the people in French, and it soothed my soul to sit in the plain elegance of Notre Dame during Sunday evening Vespers and Mass.

Now, the ease and comfort should not give you the impression that my friends and I relaxed during break! Oh, no! With only three days to conquer the major sites in Paris, and a desire to keep break cheap (and therefore, walk everywhere rather than spend too much money on Metro tickets), my friends and I packed our days with sites. On the first day in Paris, we traipsed around the outer limits of the Latin Quarter, tried deliciously stuffed-crepes, and walked out to Notre Dame to admire its majestic beauty from the river. On the second day, we picnicked at the Luxembourg Gardens, walked up the Champs Elysee, saw the Arc of Triumph, and made it over to Notre Dame for Sunday evening Mass. The third day was spent entirely at the Louvre (my friends and I were determined to see as much of the art as possible), and ended with a lovely evening at the Eiffel Tower. The next morning, before our flight, my friends and I made our way up to Montmarte, saw the beauty of Sacre Coeur, and got our portraits done by the notorious Montmatre street artists.

In a nutshell, I fell in love with Paris. While there, I made friends with a guy, Jorge, who was staying at our hostel, who is also a fan of Paris. Jorge took me to go see the Rose Point just outside Notre Dame and told me that standing on the Rose Point would ensure me a return trip to Paris. So, look out, Paris! You have not seen the last of me!

Barcelona was the next leg of the journey. Due to flight times, and (again) trying to keep a nine-day trip as cheap as possible, my friends and I were only able to stay in Barcelona for a day and a half. Following the trend my friends and I set in Paris, into that small space of time, my friends and I packed a trip to La Rambla (the notorious open-air farmers market), a visit to the pier, a look at Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia (the Catholic Church known for it’s “drippy” façade), and a stroll around Park Guell (where Gaudi lived and displayed much of his mosaic-covered architecture).

The characteristic of Barcelona that stuck me the hardest, after living in Florence and visiting Paris, was the fact that the people (and the buildings) of Barcelona were not necessarily “dressed to impress.” I can vouch for the fact that Florence fosters a culture of beautiful people who dress equally as well. Then, there is France: the epitome of classiness. Barcelona, on the other hand, seemed to be much less worried about it’s external appearance; I saw people (not runners) wearing tennis shoes, and many of the buildings were a rather dilapidated version of 1960s architecture.

Yet, the jungle-like beauty of the local parks, the tasty local treats we sampled (like Spanish tortillas, fresh Spanish churros, and small fried fish), and the bright colors of La Rambla also gave the impression there was a wild beauty lurking below the surface.

My experience with Barcelona did not end there. . . the day my friends and I were supposed to leave Barcelona, there was an unexpected bus strike; that was the day we needed to catch a bus to a city located an hour from Barcelona so that we could board our plane to London! What ought to have been a simple journey to London ended up being nine hours worth of traveling. And yet, God’s good graces and happy accidents set us in the path of several people who were able to help us navigate the strike and make the long journey much more enjoyable. My favorite character from this ordeal was a boisterous little girl who told us (in Spanish) jokes about soup and flies.

Since it was the last leg of our trip, my friends and I were exhausted by the time we reached London. Of course, it did not help that we reached our hostel at two in the morning! Oh, the things we young travelers do to ourselves!

In London, we saw all the typical sites: Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, the London Eye, Big Ben, The Globe Theater, and the National Gallery. We were also able to squeeze in a visit to Saint Paul’s Cathedral, the Tate Modern and the Tate Britain, the National Portrait Gallery, and afternoon in Leicester Square. Both nights we were there also featured fun events: the first night we were there, we were able to snag half-priced tickets to go see Chicago! The next night, we went on a Jack the Ripper tour around the back alleys outside of London proper.

Because Florence does not sport a plethora of trees, prior to break, I felt as if I had entirely missed the fall experience. London, satisfied this emptiness within me: The city was abound with trees that were changing color, and Borough Market provided us with warm squash soups and carrot cake. Hello, Autumn!

Since this was a particularly long, and rather list-like post, I think I will lay this writing to rest. Thanks for your patience, and I look forward to seeing you all very soon!

Love,

Brandi

Goodbye For a Time. . .

My dearest friends and family!

I am officially at my half-way point: I have been living in Florence for nearly two months now, and I am gearing up to vacation from classes for fall break. Thanks to the deals that a local airline by the name of RyanAir, a few close friends and I are vacating Florence for ten days in Paris, Barcelona, and London.

Crazy, you say? Nay, say we! We are looking for a whirl-wind adventure through the cities that typify Europe.

I also want to take this time to thank you for reading my blog. It is nice to have an audience with whom I can share my adventures. . . or misadventures. . . and the photos I take along the way. Stay tuned for more stories from my travels outside of Italy, and please know that I will be away from the internet for that duration of time.

I am thinking of you all, and wish you a happy end of the month. Please take some time to go jump in a pile of leaves. . . or make a snowman on Halloween if you are in Colorado since it seems to have snowed ALREADY!

Better yet, for all those in Colorado I have a request: please go out and get a costume for Halloween that is completely unsuitable for snowy conditions. I have come to believe that part of the fun of a Colorado Halloween is wearing a large snow jacket over those cleverly crafted costumes. . . especially if you are in elementary school and are going door-to-door for candy!

Much Love,

Brandi

P.S. I thought I ought to share with you all that I broke down the other day and purchased a jar of overly priced peanut butter. It has been exactly 48 hours since I purchased the peanut butter, and the jar is empty.

What Does it Mean to "Go Straight?"

1) This is photo of a typical Venice water way

2) A view of Saint Mark's Church

3) Myself and my good friend, Faith

My trips outside the center of Florence have been rejuvenating beyond imagination; while I appreciate the historic beauty of Florence’s architecture, at the end of a week in Florence, I find my Colorado-born heart longing for trees, grass, and mountains. Siena, Chianti, and Feisole have, therefore, become some of my favorite spots in Italy because I can get the best of both worlds: beautiful architectures and quaint piazzas, and the greenery of the Italian hills and classic vineyards.

I found out, all too late, that Venice fails to fit into either of these neat categories. Friends told me that I could see Venice in a day, and seeing as how it is from the same fabric as the tourist-attracting Florence, I thought that a single day adventure would suit me very nicely.

I was so totally wrong.

Well, that is, I would have been right had it not been for the fact that the Biennale was taking place during the time that I chose to visit Venice. For those who are unfamiliar with it, the Biennale is an international studio art exhibition that takes place in Venice every other year. Art is situated all over the city for a few months so that people can come look, see, and explore the visual language of the contemporary art world. It was easy to get sucked up in the colors and conceptions of other artists at the Biennale. Not all of it struck my fancy, but all of it made me think.

It was also easy to get sucked up in the beauty of the winding streets of Venice. In fact. . . my friends and I got SO sucked up that we lost our way around the city for an entire hour trying to locate the train station. That was a fun adventure full of asking for directions in Italian, understanding the Italian directions, and then failing to see how the Italian instruction “go straight” worked with roads that curved multiple times. . .

I know that I have mentioned in earlier posts that time passes in an odd fashion for me while in Italy; in due fashion, I just got done telling you that there was simply no time to see all of Venice, and yet, somewhere in that span of “no time,” I was able to run in and out of the locally notorious church: Saint Mark’s. I have included a photo of a mere CORNER of Saint Mark’s Church. Can you imagine how spectacular the REST of the church is?! The fact that the entire ceiling was covered in gilded mosaics may give you another idea as to the beauty of Saint Mark’s Church.

In short, Venice made a great day trip, but would have made an even better two-day trip. Just think of all the things I could have done in the “no time” of a whole other day!

Love from the Italian Traveler,

Brandi

The Importance of a Potluck

Life in Italy really is all about the food. I have found out that some people come to Italy just to taste the food here, others take class here so that they can recreate the same gustatory experience on their own, and those studying abroad here are willing to gain weight as a result of their fondness for it.

My life in Italy is all about the food, too. . . just not necessarily in the ways I just listed. Let me share with you what my pallet experiences in Italy that makes my stay in Florence equally as food-based, even if different. Granted, I have already shared with you my grumbles about the expense of food, the wonderfulness of the Italian gelato, and the crime of overly-priced peanut butter. But, following with the nature of the expression (life in Italy is all about the food), I have still MORE to tell!

During the first week that I was in Florence, one of my friends came up with the brilliant idea that we ought to host “potluck nights” every Tuesday evening. Tuesday potlucks have come and gone since the birth of that idea, and with the passing of each week, the level of success increases. In fact, we have taken it upon ourselves to perfect the art of the potluck by establishing thematic ideas and even organizing a facebook group to coordinate the weekly event. In fact, every Tuesday is such a huge success that I can’t walk into a classroom on Tuesdays without at least three different people asking me if I am going to be at “Potluck” that night. People RAVE about the selection of food and always look forward to talking with new people.

Let’s just say that if you’re not at “Potluck”. . . you’re square. One week we stuffed twenty-nine girls into the hosting apartment! We extend the invitation to anyone, and even have been so fortunate as to get natives at the dinner, and students from other American schools in Florence. This past week, we arranged an Asian Fusion night. . . people liked the food so much that leftovers were non-existent!

I can now add Wednesday nights to my weekly of food experiences; a church that is reputed to be the hub for “Americans in Florence,” hosts dinners on Wednesday nights that are open to the study abroad community. For students who just want to come and eat, the cost for fun and admission is 5 euros. My friends and I, being the resourceful college students that we are, found out that if we volunteer to cook the meal, we can eat for free! Last week’s menu featured chili, and this week was a straight-up American barbeque.

So, not your typical Italian food experience; I make my own gnocchi that I can get at the grocery store for a euro, I eat Asian fusion food with my colleagues, and I make grill hamburgers with my friends in a church’s basement kitchen on Wednesday nights.

Yet, even if it is not typical, there is an aspect beyond food that is common between my experiences and those of the more traditional variety: my meals are truly enriched by the people with whom I share my meal. Tonight, for instance, I had the pleasure of talking to a young man, Keith, about the nature of religion and how people do or do not incorporate it into their daily lives. Last night, I had the opportunity to talk to some girl friends, over post-dinner glasses of wine, about the importance of not being anxious about the paths our lives our taking.

Perhaps this aspect of food-consumption is one of the main reasons for the importance of food cross-culturally. Granted, food in necessary for life. . . and, yet, would food have as much importance if we never had anyone with whom we could share its gustatory goodness?

Moral of the story: make your life about food, and therefore people, and you might just save 5 euros. With those five euros, you can allow yourself to splurge on purchasing expensive peanut butter so that you can make another amazing meal (something as simple as peanut butter and celery, or as amazing as a stir fry with peanut sauce) so that you start the process all over again. . . and enjoy people even more, and get even MORE out of life.

Make life all about food, my friends!

Love you all,

Brandi