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

Chianti- My Favorite Pictures

Enjoy some of my favorite images from the grape picking trip!

Philosophical Thoughts

I was astounded when the end of last month was suddenly upon me. Since coming to Italy I have experienced a time warp unparalleled to anything I have experienced before; time seems to pass very quickly when I think about the fact that I have lived in Florence for an entire month, and at the same time seems to pass very slowly each day because I have devoted myself to being fully conscious of my experiences so as to take away as much as I can from my time here. I am sure the fact that Italians do not regard time in the same time-efficient frenzy as Americans also has something to do with my temporal confusion. . . Now that I actually sit down to think about my current views on time, I realize that the list of contributing reasons is much longer.

1) Since I do not have a cell phone out here and clocks are scare in the studio classrooms, I am rarely aware of the actual time

2) October out here is not the same as it is in Colorado; apparently it is snowing in Colorado, while Florence still has to contend with 80 degree afternoons

3) I have a set class schedule, but the traveling I have been doing on the weekends has messed me up enough so as to keep me from really realizing what day of the week it is

While thinking about, and writing about lofty sorts of things, I figured I would take a moment to share with you some of the thoughts that have been piling up in my mind about the International Florence.

We all know that major cities like Florence, are tourist hubs, particularly when the comment is made in reference to the historical downtown area. Translated into different lingo, this also means that Florence is a hub for internationalism. In fact, I often find myself wondering when I am going to encounter true Italian culture. With the exception of my trip to the Post Office, and a few other choice encounters, I feel like I spend most of my day dodging people (of all nationalities) who have just arrived in Florence.

After a talk with my Batik professor, I am now aware of just how much he tourism of Florence has made it an international city; just three years ago, there was only one Chinese restaurant in Florence, while you can currently encounter at least two in the stretch of four blocks. Just three years ago, there was ONE McDonalds in Florence, and now there are multiple McDonalds. Just three years ago, most of Florence was not used to the idea of eating corn as a side dish; more often they grew it just for oil purposes. Now, due to the Spanish influence, corn can be bought as a canned food! (I am not sure if frozen corn is a possibility; Italians do no seem too keen on frozen veggies.)

Therefore, I ask you what it means to be a Florentine? What has become of culture if it is so quick to absorb other cultures? Are we one large melting pot of habits that used to be specific to particular cultures? If an American eats Indian food in Italy, is she/he eating Italian food with a twist. . . or true Indian food?

Thanks for joining Brandi’s Philosophical Musings (The Light and Airy Variety). Tune in next time for more exiting thoughts. . .

Love you all and miss you,

Brandi

End of the Month Musings

As the month comes to a close and I muse on things I have not yet mentioned to you, I felt it appropriate that I leave you with a few thoughts.

1) Always be aware of what you are saying to someone when speaking in another language. Remember my Italian lessons with Marco? Well. . . Marco and I were discussing the Florence versus Liverpool soccer match and drinking doing games. Marco subsequently asked if I ever get drunk while going out for a beer with my friends. Assured that I knew what I was saying in Italian, I vehemently stated that I never get drunk. The very next day, while talking with my fresco professor, I found out that the word I assumed was NEVER is actually the word for always.

Great, my doorman thinks I am a lush.

2) I think it is an absolute crime that, in Europe, Nutella is significantly less expensive than peanut butter. For those of you who know me well, you know that peanut butter made up a hardy portion of my diet back home. I am devastated by this price shift, and believe that the Europeans need to be enlightened about the atrocity they foster: you can buy a 700 gram jar of Nutella for 2 euros, but can only get 150 grams of peanut butter for the same price! To whom would I write a disgruntled letter?

3) The bathroom situation out here is incredibly different! People warned me that I might have an issue finding public restrooms. . . but I never imagined that I would have to search as long and hard as I already have. Often times, bars (local cafes) won’t let you use the bathroom without purchasing something. While this is not terribly unusual, there are usually no large grocery stores to rescue a person in need.

In fact, the situation is so intense that the art history professor at SACI, Helen, has a notorious issue with bathroom usage! In fact, one of my friends, on the return trip from Lucca, asked Helen how long the trip would take. Helen casually responded, “oh, about an hour.” Then, suddenly, a look of horror crossed her face and she asked my friend in return, “why? Do you have to use the bathroom?!”

So, dear friends and family back home, make sure you really KNOW a language before you speak it, complain to anyone and everyone about the atrocious price of peanut butter in Europe, and be grateful that public restrooms are plentiful in the United States!

I love you all, and please stay tuned for next month’s installments!

Brandi

Nintendo and the Secret Service

1) This first image is the best finished exercise for my jewelry class.

2) This is a stunning Brandi posing next to her Herculean god fresco. Don't you just want to stroke the cheek of the sinopia?

3) Getting ready for a herd day in the conservation lab!

I am currently sitting down enjoying a bowl of pasta. Huge surprise, right: Brandi is eating pasta while she is living in Italy. What’s next?! As suggested by an earlier post, I have already fully adopted the notion that waking up before 8 o’clock in the morning is unimaginable. Before you know it, I’ll be speaking fluent Italian. While it is not unimaginable that I could learn a good deal of Italian, I owe a large amount of my education to Marco, my apartment doorman.

Marco is a muscular, silver-haired, gruff-looking man of about sixty who, I don’t doubt, would not hesitate to beat up pesky youngsters. I first saw Marco when I was leaving my apartment building one day; he was just sitting on a bench in the foyer. When I came back to the apartment later that afternoon, Marco was still there. I said, “ciao,” and that was the beginning of our friendship. Now, Marco daily greets me with an exuberant, “ciao, bella” and asks me how I am doing.

Now, I am not sure whether Marco does not know English, or he just refuses to speaks it with me. Regardless, Marco recently told me (in Italian) that I am going to speak GOOD Italian by the time I leave because he is going to teach me. What a relief!

However, if that avenue fails, I could always look to Nintendo to learn Italian; my fresco professors, Mario and Luigi, are also teaching me Italian.

Yes, I did say Mario and Luigi! Oddly enough, Mario actually looks like the videogame superstar; rumor has it that Nintendo actually modeled their characters after these two fresco masters. While I don’t doubt it, I don’t particularly want to ask Mario and Luigi the truth; I prefer the fairytale if the rumor is false.

On that note, seeing as how I have not yet written about the classes I am taking in Italy, I will give you a brief synopsis of what my academic life looks like.

I am taking a batik class; a class dealing with the art of fabric dying. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the process, this class is teaching me to use hot wax as a resist on silk. Once the wax is applied in my desired design, I can dip my silk in different dues, or apply the dye with a paintbrush. My current design is more-or-less a trial run on a regular square of silk. I am enjoying learning the process, so far, and am discovering the beauty of imprecise hot wax application. I will post pictures of my current assignment as soon as I am finished!

I am also taking a class in jewelry making. The first few weeks featured a series of simple exercises to familiarize us with the different tools in the studio, and different finishing processes. Of the techniques we were required to master, I have posted a picture of the best product of my exercise labors. Who knew brass could look so shiny, eh?

I already mentioned that I am taking a fresco class. . . with Mario and Luigi. I just recently finished my first fresco! The assignment was to recreate the bust portrait of a character from Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel. My character, I think, looks rather like a brooding Herculean god. I posted a picture of the sinopia layer above. The sinopia of a fresco is like the rough draft of a paper. Over the top of the sinopia layer lays the finished fresco. I will post a picture of the “finished” product soon!

My final class is a series of lectures and lab sessions about painting restoration. The class is fascinating, and has stirred within me a debate about the value of restoration: now knowing what restoration does to a work of art, I wonder whether we ought to be changing what time naturally does to a work of art. Are we not deteriorating the work further if we cover up what original artist did for the sake of “restoring” the work of art? The other half of my debate is this: because there are such careful processes behind the restoring of a work, and as long as the art works are merely enhanced to almost mimic what they once looked like (after consultation with art historians and scientists), why would we deprive future generations of the privilege of looking at masterpieces? What do YOU think?

The lab section of my conservation class is, by far, my favorite portion of the class; I am bound to secrecy about the specifics of the work completed there! The Studio Art Centers International, where I am attending school, does not have rights to the works we help restore in the lab. Every Friday, therefore, I quietly slip into the lab through the back door. . . under the cover of morning dusk and a black trench coat. I hold my breath and keep my collar turned up and the brow of my fedora pulled down low until I turn on the lights, check to see that everything is as I left it, and ensure that no one has dared to contaminate my ox bone glue with acid.

Feel free to laugh. It’s not actually that serious, but it is fun to image oneself as a top-secret artistic employee. It’s like being a member of the Central Intelligence Agency for art world: we work under the radar of the general public against the forces of. . . parasitic insects and deterioration.

Until next post, I love you all! Still feel free to email me!

Brandi

The MONDAY

Staying in an apartment in the heart of Florence has the tendency to make you feel like you are on a permanent vacation: there are tourist everywhere, people are always in the street snapping pictures (I shamelessly follow suit so that I can document my time here), and on your way to school in the morning, you see at least five temporary stalls filled with plastic David replicas.

Monday the 14^th of September, however, was a MONDAY and, with that, I would like to say that I stopped seeing Florence as a long-term vacation.

Just the day before, I had been Skype chatting with my best friend who informed me that the weather in Colorado had been utterly dreary all weekend. I told her that Florence had still been rather warm, and that I was jealous of the cooler weather.

Monday in Florence featured the first real day of rain since my arrival. The heavens must certainly been enjoying themselves since the streets were a sea of umbrellas all day long.

The rain didn’t actually bother me, but I ought to have taken it as a foreshadowing of events to pass! After class that morning, I trekked out to the main post office to purchase stamps. I selected from the ticket dispenser what I thought was the proper ticket. I waited my turn very patiently, and walked up to the proper window armed with my Italian phrases when my number appeared on the screen.

Everything seemed to be going along smoothly until the postal worker spoke back to me in Italian that I did not understand. My confidence withered and I quickly asked the lady to repeat the phrase in English. She pointed to another window and said, “stamps.”

I walked quickly away from the original window, not really understanding what just happened, but too afraid to ask the lady to explain AGAIN to me what she had said. Plan B was to ask another customer what was going on. An Italian girl my age, thankfully, spoke English, and was able to tell me where to wait.

I waited for about five minutes, all the time being ignored by the postal teller at the proper window, when the Italian girl told me that it might be easier to go to Tabacchi to purchase stamps. Wonderful, I thought. That option might be less intimidating and more fruitful!

I trekked out into the rain once more and spotted a Tabacchi across the street. I walked up to the service man and said in perfect Italian, “I would like ten stamps.” Much to my chagrin, the man pointed out the door of the Tabacchi and said, “post.”

I internally sighed and walked out the door. Now, I would just like to add that, in retrospect, the excursion was not particularly eventful that that there are much worse things that would more officially constitute as MONDAY experiences. However, when you are in a foreign country, know very little of the language, want to accomplish a simple task, and are met with reprimands and directions in words you do not know, what I have described above can be rather hair-raising. Therefore, I decided after the Tabacchi trip, I would save my stamp errand for another day. I had experienced enough of a Monday in a foreign country.

So, the moral of the story is that if you are ever in doubt of that fact that you are LIVING somewhere where people typically vacation, just go in search of a MONDAY. MONDAYS do not discriminate between countries and will provide you with the grounding experience you are looking for.

I would like to add, as a post-script to my story, that I successfully got stamps from another Tabacchi the following day!

Mosaics and Chocolate

1) This is a picture of the famous mosaic starred ceiling in the mausoleum right next to San Vitale. This mosaic you see at the edge of the ceiling is one of the first Christian illustrations of Christ as an actual Shepard. This image becomes very prominent in early Christian art after the birth of this mosaic.

2) This is a picture taken from the entry way of San Vitale. The back wall of the altar is what you see through the large arch in the foreground. If I recall correctly, the Christ figure seated in the center of the apex is 24 feet tall!

Prior to coming to Italy, I would not have flinched about having to wake up at 5 in the morning. I used to wake up nearly that early for Mass on a typical Sunday, woke up that early every day for half a year while I completed my student teaching, and, for a time, endeavored to wake up that early to get an extra workout in at the gym. My time in Italy, which has only been about 14 days, seems to be rubbing off on me, however. When my alarm screamed its wake up call on Saturday, I vaguely thought about the fact that the shops around the city would all be dark for at least four more hours.

In fact, it was so early here in Italy that I was able to make a quick good morning phone call to my mom back in Colorado. Actually, I ended the call with sweet dreams since she was just heading to bed. A minor technicality.

Why was I up so early, you might ask? Well, Saturday was the SACI field trip to Ravenna. I was excited about this trip for multiple reasons. First, and foremost, Ravenna is the site of several historic mausoleums and churches constructed during the reign of Byzantine Empire. The city, therefore, features gobs of beautiful mosaics from early Christianity, and, more-or-less, marks the birth of important symbology in Christian art. I totally geek out about art like this. Besides, what art lover wouldn’t just kill to see San Vitale, a church noted in EVERY art history survey book.

Secondly, while cities are wonderful and exciting, I grew up in the suburbs. This may not mean that I roughed it in the wilderness all my life, but it does mean that I am used to seeing trees and growing things. Florence is concrete, marble, alabaster, and rails. I have found myself longing for greenery the way a fish longs for water. Granted there are city parks 20 minutes from my apartment, but there is something about waking up to the sound of street cleaning machines that makes you miss the birds and cicadas from Aurora, Colorado. Therefore, I was stoked because traveling to Ravenna meant leaving the CITY of Florence.

The trip was certainly everything I hoped it would be! I got my fill of old churches, a wealth of information from the SACI art history teacher about the nuances of every building, and a fair taste of fresh air and grass. The pictures featured above are some of my favorite from the trip. I wish they did justice to the manner in which the mosaics sparkled. The gilding was unlike anything I have ever encountered, particularly because many of the churches we went to had recently undergone architectural restoration. Hooray for having baths! Even buildings benefit from good personal hygiene.

It was 8 o’clock that night when Megan and I staggered into the apartment. As I crossed the threshold of the apartment, thankful to be done with the day’s journey, a queer feeling struck me: I felt a dull pain at the top of my head. The ache magnified in intensity over the next few minutes, and I soon retired to my bedroom to lie down. Seeing as how I felt indisposed to do anything but press my hands to my forehead in the dark of the bedroom, I was happy to hear to soothing tunes of a very talented instrumental trio playing on the street below my window.

Where could I have gotten such a headache? I would like to end this entry with the following words of wisdom that will not only enlighten you, but will bring to a close the mystery of my severe headache: (cough, cough) if you are allergic to chocolate, I would NOT suggest purchasing a bar of dark Italian chocolate a lunch time and proceeding to consume the entire bar in the course of four hours. The wrapper may not so explicitly advise, but heed these words as advice from someone who KNOWS.

Happy chocolate consuming!

Virgin Mother's Birthday!

1) This is a picture of the side of the Cathedral leading up to the infamous dome

2) This is a picture out onto the city from the fancy railing on the Cathedral patios

Several of the girls I live with are required to journal about their study abroad experience in order to receive adequate credit from their American Universities. I am finding that, despite the fact that DU does not require this, it is rather nice to have a place to dump my feeling every few days. The experiences are so new and. . . intense, that being able to more-or-less remove them from my consciousness is a welcome experience.

So, here’s to the next installment!

The entire city of Florence celebrates the Virgin Mary’s birthday on September 8^th! Therefore, in honor of the occasion, there was a lantern parade on the evening of the 7^th. Since Survival Italian was conveniently cancelled, my friends and I rushed over the join in the festivities. We saw gobs of children ridding on their parents’ shoulders, and others toddling alongside grandparents. Most were carrying paper lanterns in the shape of farm animals. Those that weren’t, as tradition dictates, were carrying the supplies to spit small pellets of clay at the paper lanterns. It was a little boy’s paradise! They were all visibly delighted about being able to engage in small-scale war without reprimands from their parents.

When I was getting ready for bed that night, as I took my hair down from it’s up-do, a small pellet of clay dropped to the floor of the bathroom. I had to smile to myself.

The following day, Mary’s birthday, is the only day that Florence opens the rooftop patios of the very large Cathedral here. Therefore, after class, Megan and I ventured over to the Cathedral, which also happens to be right around the corner from our apartment, to scale the church stairs and look out on the views that might be the fruits of a once-in-a-lifetime event. What we were able to glimpse was breathtaking. In a less cliché manner of speaking, my fear of heights introduced me to another variety of breathtaking feelings.

There is so much more to tell, but to keep it short, I will leave you with a few tidbits to chew on:

1) Florence, too, has 99 cent stores! These stores, for the poor college students that frequent the city, might seem like lifesavers when a lunchtime sandwich (merely meat and cheese slapped between two slices of thick bread) can cost up to 10 euros. But, I have heard that their pens offered there lack ink, and the sponges disintegrate in water. What does this mean for the Tupperware I purchased there?

2) I get the impression that Europeans see little need to engage in hard physical exercise!! I came to Florence with the intention of training for dance and competing in European competitions out here. . . I have recently been faced with the fact that the only Irish dance school out here is three hours from where I live, the dance studio nearest me wants to charge me 30 euros for an hour of practice time, and a gym membership could cost a minimum of 200 euros. Where does all the olive oil and carbs go if all the people here are skinny? I fear I might have to kiss my dancing aspirations away for the next few months.

3) My roommate convinced me to tag along for some gelato last night. Let me just say that the creamy richness we experienced from GROM is unparalleled to anything in this world. Their gelato envelopes you without bothering to ask for your consent, and with crazy flavors like fig, I think everyone is prone to develop a sweet tooth. . . until you can’t fall asleep for the next five hours because of all the sugar it contains.

Much love to you all, and please don’t hesitate to write to me! A little slice of home to go with my gelato is more than welcome!

Brandi

I wanted to give you a preview of the life I have been leading here in Florence! If you have facebook, you can log in now and see a whole slew of other pictures I have taken. For those of you who do not have the benefits of this, please enjoy my favorites posted below!

Picture 1) Myself and Megan at the gardens at Piazzale Michelangelo

Picture 2) My favoirte street artist in Florence. His chalk pastel renditions are to die for!

Picture 3) The view of the Duomo from my apartment balcony

Picture 4) The sketchy lift in our apartment. Megan and I are very afraid of that thing and thought it important to document our fears :)

P.S. Sorry about the poor formatting. I am still trying to figure out how to use Blogger!

Installment # 1. . . After the first few days

Ciao tutti!

I think the first thing that pops into mind as I am sitting here at my desk is how much more I now value the ease with which Americans can contact each other. It has been rather disorienting not being able to call anyone because my regular cell phone doesn’t work out here and my European one is currently out of minutes on the sim card, and it has been really frustrating that I haven’t been able to reassure my friends and family that I got to Italy safely because I JUST got internet last night.

So, 197 euros worth of Internet connection later, I would like to let you all know that I have arrived in Florence in one piece! However, the journey here was not without it’s interesting moments. The ride from DIA out to Munich, Germany was without incident. Sleeping on the plane was rather difficult, but staying awake had its rewards: I found great amusement in facial soicism of the old Italian man next to me as he watched endless streams of American movies.

The five-hour lay over in the Munich airport was also rather uneventful: I took the time to catch up on sleep, people watch, and socialize with other SACI students. The excitement came when the airplane to Florence was due to land. . . The pilot came over the P.A. and told us that due to winds we weren’t going to be landing in Florence. Most of us took this opportunity to panic, and chat animatedly with one another about how this detour was not scheduled into our planes. Interesting how chaos establishes community faster than any other emotion. In fact, up to that point, the man sitting next to me had been busily typing away on a PowerPoint presentation. After the announcement, we started chatting. I found out that he graduated, several years ago, from the SAME high school that I did back in Aurora. Then I found out that his son is a sophomore at the same university where my sister just started school. Then I found out that his daughters used to dance a dance company out in Aurora where my best friend, Kristin White, teaches dance classes. . . Then. . . I found out that this man and his wife, who was seated behind him, actually hire Kristin to sit their house while they are away. Can we say crazy coincidence??

Once the plane landed in Bologna, rather than Florence, we were instructed to gather our carry on luggage and checked luggage and file onto a bus that would drive us the hour and a half out to Florence airport.

A couple hours later, I found myself lugging my trunks up dark winding stairs to the apartment I was going to be sharing with four other girls. Living on the fifth floor, not knowing how to work the sketchy looking elevator, and having nearly 130 pounds of weight to lug up a set of unfamiliar stairs is definitely something I will remember for a while! What made those last moments of day even more memorable was the fact that the hot, sticky humidity enveloped me so securely that I was pouring buckets of sweat when I introduced myself to my new roommates. Haha

Believe it or not, I have lived in Florence for three days now and haven’t actually seen much. I have had the opportunity to GLANCE at many plazas, famous churches, and beautiful buildings. However, the packed SACI orientation schedule, jet lag, and the haze of being overly-stimulated in the visual department means that I have not taken the time to see that city as I would Like to yet. I do suppose I have three more months to do this.

Other Florentine discoveries and realizations:

1. The hot humidity makes it nearly impossible for me to style my hair attractively. My hair ought to curl, but it doesn’t. It rather looks like a limp dead creature unless I pull it back into some semblance of a bun. However, I can rejoice in the fact that it means that I do not have to spend money on a European hair dryer and straightening iron.
2. Florence is SO expensive! Living on a college budget in a tourist city will be interesting even when shopping at the supermarkets.
3. The produce is to die for! I bit into a banana yesterday and jumped for joy at the tangy sweet taste that burst forth! My taste buds revel with excitement each time I open my fridge for another fruity treat.
4. Various street performers sit on the street corner near my bedroom window and play classic Italian tunes late in the evening. The morning is not nearly as romantic when I awake to the noise of overly loud street sweepers. However, I think living in Florence until December will train me in the art of sleeping through ANYTHING!

I suppose that is all for time being. It is still weird to think that, back home, you are all snug in your beds on this Saturday morning and I just finished lunch. I should be writing these blogs in weekly installments to keep you all generally informed about my Florentine and European adventures. Please stay in touch and do not hesitate to contact me back! I am hoping, provided the Florentine electricity demons don’t come out to play, that I should be able to stay in better contact with you all after this.

Love to all! I miss you greatly and think about you often!

Brandi