One year later...

I can't believe that it's been an entire year since I left for Italy! I remember those first days of Rome as a hodgepodge of memories now; a desperate and exhilarating attempt to stay awake through really bad jetlag while wandering through busy streets and empty parks. A barrage of new names and faces, crowding together around tables at dinner and free wine.

During the reunion last week, despite the presence of all the most important people, I felt like someone was missing. It was as if Italy had been a person, and without her there things felt slightly off balance. Our friendships moved to a new level, one that demanded a cultural shift. I feel closer to certain people, having spent a considerable time during this trip adjusting to their U.S. persona, and slightly removed from other people, who I find I have less in common with now.

While I miss Italy like crazy and can't wait to go back to the country seeped in history, wine, cheese, cobblestone streets, open piazzas, street cats, pasta and so much more, at the same time that trip has become a chapter in my life. A beautiful one, but one that has closed. I look forward to deepening the friendships that were born there, but I can also accept that some things have come to an end. The Cortona trip was a huge step for me in so many different ways, both as an artist and as a person, and I will forever remember those lazy days spent wandering the Italian streets and enjoying those exciting Tuscan nights.

Right now, however, I'm excited about the future - wondering what life has in store for me and where else I might wander as I continue to grow. The world is calling out to me and my feet are eager to explore and investigate, to discover and delve into the mysteries of the unknown.

Observations from the steps...

Today I sat on the steps in Piazza Republica and watched a cat. Sleek and tawny, I'm sure he's fed daily by everyone in Cortona. He was sprawled out haughtily in the middle of the piazza when I arrived with my pizza and made myself comfortable on the sun-warmed steps. His expression was one of disdain, caring neither to move for cars or people, yet not letting anyone touch him either. He was like a rich man with an expensive sports car, pleased by how everyone was looking at him with slight awe in their gazes. When attention began to fade, he immediately recaptured it by springing up and stalking pigeons. As pigeons are the arch enemies of almost everyone (is it possible that anyone likes these fidgety, dirty birds?), we were all immediately rooting for him.

A couple of steps and then down: watching them with a lazy look in his eyes, mocking both us for watching him and the birds for not heeding his dangerous presence. They scurried around, picking at the crumbs of tourists. I'm not sure if they really haven't got a care in the world or if their brain is just too small to comprehend their own meaningless existence. Every time he got closer, they'd suddenly see another crumb farther on and dart after it. They never seemed to see him, yet always managed to keep moving away as a group. His tail swished impatiently, sensing the crowd's losing interest. A couple of people walked away, disappointed in his lack of a kill. The pigeons kept moving: some grabbing at crumbs too big for them and almost choking. "Get them, get them!" We were all encouraging the cat, feeling slightly sorry for this pompous sir. Finally, a couple of quick steps, a flurry of wings, and a leap into the air!

Pride dented, the cat was sprawled back down on the ground. "Never meant to actually catch the dirty things," he seemed to say. "I missed on purpose." An old man shuffled past, giving the cat a sympathetic ruffle on the head.

Celebrating my birthday...Italian style! :)

Usually celebrating your 21st birthday is difficult because of the many high expectations that come along with it. I, however, escaped many of these expectations simply because I've already been allowed to legally drink for three months and HEY! I'm in Italy. =) I am glad to say, however, that my birthday was awesome. It was unique and special, with a large part of that due to my awesome family here in Cortona.

Most people would say that the best part of their 21st birthday was in the evening. Mine, however, started much, much, much earlier than that. Because of finals, many of my friends were in an awkward situation - celebrate my birthday? or finish their art history paper?? Several, however, were able to clear their schedule just for me. =D =D Eddie, my roommate, actually pulled an all-nighter just so that she'd be able to celebrate properly with me - which meant getting up at 5:45 in the morning. But wait, I'm getting ahead of myself. It was in the wee hours of the morning, right before midnight, that the party really began. I was up, finishing my art history paper and writing letters, when some of my friends decided that they needed to usher in my birthday properly. Imagine my surprise when at exactly midnight the crowded common room was plunged into darkness and suddenly everyone was singing happy birthday. I even got a twisted candle that was lit and squeezed into a bottle, along with toast smeared with nutella. Ah, nutella.

After a stolen four hours of sleep, which I hesitate to even mention because Eddie didn't go to bed at all and several other friends pulled two or three all-nighters in a row in an attempt to finish homework, Eddie, Erin, Angela, and I met Enea outside the dorm. We had decided that the only way to perfectly start my birthday was with a breakfast picnic up on top of the mountain, overlooking the sunrise. Eddie was in charge of location, so we followed her a short ways up the road, through a blocked construction area, and up to where the city wall cut through a dewy field. I had some inside knowledge of our destination, so I got to enjoy the looks of complete shock on Angela and Erin's faces when we got to a hole in the wall, slightly larger than a snake's den, and began to climb through. "No really, where're we going?!?" Angela demanded. Eddie and I could barely stop laughing.

The snake hole led into a tunnel (which I believe is one of many old Etruscan caves and tunnels that are scattered throughout the hill), which leads around a corner and to a teeny-tiny doorway. You walk through the doorway and BAM, gorgeous view just waiting for you. We came prepared with a blanket, sandwiches, pastries, and (of course) wine. Because how else do you start off a 21st birthday? Sitting there and sipping wine, I realized that 6am Italia time is actual 12am North Carolina time, so I really was starting out my birthday at the perfect time. Okay...so we ended up sitting on the wrong side of the mountain and we didn't get to see the sun rise, but it too cloudy for that anyway.

Much of the rest of the day was spent preparing for the end-of-semester art show. I got to paint pedestals, move easels, transport artwork, and then finally A NAP. Later, after dinner and a lengthy meeting regarding the shipping of artwork home, Eddie, Erin, and Marsha (roommates) surprised me with a birthday cake. Since I had gotten another candle and round of "happy birthday" at dinner, this was my third "cake" of the day. It was awesome. =D After that, of course, we got all dressed up and went out into town. Which was also a blast. But I'll leave that part to your imagination. ;)




Angela climbing through the hole in the ground...





















Little doorway leading out of the tunnel (it was too dark in the tunnel for me to get a picture)...















...and a gorgeous view. :)

Sagra del tulipano

April 9^th, 2008

Last Sunday I went to my first Tulip Festival, or Sagra del Tulipano as it’s called here. It was the perfect spring day, sunny and warm. Never having gone to a festival solely dedicated to flowers, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I know – it sounds cheesy and boring. Well it wasn’t. It was awesome.

While others had to take first the bus and then a train to get from Cortona to Camuchia (the town below Cortona) and finally to Castiglione del lago (Castle on the Lake – the town about fifteen minutes from Cortona where the festival was being held), Eddie and I merely hopped into Enea’s car and sped off. I tell you, life is so much easier when one has a car at one’s disposal. Despite everything I know you’ve heard about Italian drivers, they really aren’t too bad. Yes, roads are treated more as if both lanes are only one. And any car in front must always be passed. And most roads are so narrow that you hold your breath whenever another car passes in the opposite direction. But beyond that, it’s really not too bad. I think that living with such narrow roads (think: the main turn out of Cortona is so narrow that buses can’t enter the town and all drivers have to make a three point turn to leave) has conditioned drivers so well that for the most part they know how to handle their cars better than Americans.

Tulips, tulips, tulips! They were everywhere. Sprinkled generously on all the city walls, decorating shutters and signposts, and heaped around parked cars – they brightened up everything. There must have been thousands. The town itself is tiny – even smaller than Cortona – and situated on a hill overlooking the lake. From almost any vantage point you can see the shimmering water and the distant mountains, giving the impression of being on an island. The name of the town comes from the remains of a castle found on the very edge of town. The walls and towers remain, as well as one long passageway that leads to a bit of the remaining fortress, now a museum. It was nice being with a local – having grown up in the town, Enea knew a lot of people and got us into the castle for free. It was fun – climbing the narrow towers to get up to the top of the walls where the wind blew our hair into knots. We could see sailboats on the lake and peer over the walls to see the three tulip-covered cars that made up the parade (I repeat: it’s a small town).

After walking through the fortress, which spit us back into town, we walked over to the wine and cheese shop where Enea’s mom works. While waiting for our torta al testri to be made (toasted flat bread with chingali and cheese), Eddie and I got to taste different cheeses, with a running commentary on how old each was and how many years it had been buried under ground. One type of cheese, called formaggio di vino is steeped in wine and has an especially sharp kick to it. We also got to taste different types of chingali, wild boar. This meat is everyyyywhere in Italy and I haven’t been to a town yet whose cheese and meat stores don’t sport a wild boar head next to the door. Sometimes these boar heads even wear a pair of sunglasses. Not sure why, but there you go.

At about two o’clock the festivities kicked up a notch and non-stop parades, marching bands, and Italian folk dancers began to perform all over the city, often interrupting each other. We’d be watching dancers in one piazza when a marching band would come through, completely dispersing the dancers. It was rather funny. A very good example of Italian organization…or lack of it. We ran into a bunch of our classmates and after wandering around together for a bit, made a beeline for the gelatoria. Later Enea, Eddie and I (I feel like my name should start with “E” whenever I hang around those two. Maybe I’ll start going by my middle name, lol) ended up in a small park outside the castle walls and overlooking the lake. It’s an awesome little hide-a-way, made up of old, old olive trees, lots of grass, gravel pathways, and very convenient benches.

Noi abbiamo dormito in un parco.

We took a nap in the park.

It was the perfect ending to a perfect day. =D

Tulipano

un castello

Goofing around with Eddie on top of the castle walls

In recent news...

The mutant caterpillars have been spotted in all their disgusting nastiness. Point of fact, they do indeed travel in long squirming lines. No worries, there have been no casualties thus far and I have survived multiple sighting with no injuries inflicted.

Va bene

Everyone in the creative writing class is making lists right now. Since I don't want to feel left out, here is my list:

Things that make me happy:

1. Gummy Bears - there is no better treat.

2. Owls - they are practically a national symbol in Italy. This has to do with many strange and wonderful things, the result of which is that owls are good luck around here. One is called a gufo and a peck of 'em are called goofi. how can you get any better then that???

3. Time differences really make life interesting. Can you ever say that you've stayed up till 3:30 in the morning waiting to see a basketball game that you wouldn't care about otherwise???

4. Paper. I love buying huge rolls of important looking and yummy smelling paper. Even more than that, I love the importance of walking around town holding this impressive roll of paper. Everyone who sees me wishes that THEY were holding something as impressive and important and it is quite the delightful experience knowing everyone is jealous of the importance that this paper is bringing you.

5. A delicious and incredibly inexpensive lunch. Aka: my panino was most scrumptulicious, even though all it had on it were pomodori, formaggio, olio d'olivia, and aceto (vinegar).

Ahhh...va bene. =D

il mio posto favorito

My favorite spot in the dorm on warm, spring afternoons is my bathroom window sill. Climbing up is a little tricky, but with the window thrown wide open it’s the perfect place to sketch, read, or just people watch. Not falling out of the building is important, of course. The most interesting aspect of window sill sitting is the reaction – or rather, non-reaction - of those passing beneath. It’s surprising how many people never look up. There I am, sitting in plain view about three stories above the road, perfectly able to hear all conversations, and I only receive proper attention from about a third of pedestrians. This number is higher than it should be merely because (in an effort to be noticed) I’ll often swing my legs or move an arm to see how fast that'll catch their eye. It’s rather pleasing to note the looks of surprise on their faces, which are then replaced by curiosity. The braver (usually American) tourists will even engage me in conversation.

“Are you a student here?” they’ll holler. When I answer with the affirmative, they'll proceed to ask a couple of question or comment on how beautiful the day is (which is why I’m perched halfway out the building in the first place). Finally, they'll always conclude with a caution not to fall. Silly Americans...the only ones who actually worry about falling out of windows. Italians are intelligent enough to realize that danger is the spice of life, which is why all public monuments and buildings have high windows with no kind of safety netting or screening. I LOVE IT. =D

It's interesting to note how many people have managed to notice the prominent sign on the school (different building than the dorm and about fifty feet or so farther down the hill) indicating that this is University of Georgia Study Abroad property. There are many tourists who have wrongly deduced that this is either a hotel or a hostel and some even try getting rooms here. I’m sorry, but I’m not willing to share my beautiful castle with you. Please leave.

Finally, the best part of window sill sitting, of course, is the lopsided but completely cool tan which one acquires.

WARNING: mutant caterpillars on the loose!!!

The best April Fools’ Day joke is one that isn’t a joke. I give you, most seriously, the announcement that Chris gave us at dinner that night. I repeat, this is NOT a joke:

Chris: “Cortona has unfortunately been hit by a bad infestation…of caterpillars.”

[Announcement is paused while everyone in the room erupts into hysterical laughter]

Chris [trying to ignore laughter]: “These caterpillars, while looking like your normal variety of wooly-woolies, are dangerous and should be avoided at all costs.”

[More laughter – we try not to fall off our chairs]

Chris: “I’m serious! [trying vainly to impress upon us the gravity of the situation] These caterpillars will shoot their spikes into your skin. This hurts and gives you a bad rash. It's not fun.”

[Still no success in getting us to stop laughing]

Chris: [valiantly persevering] “If you were student teaching in the elementary school this morning, then you saw the teachers freak out and set the caterpillars on fire.”

[?!?!?!? A ripple of shock and then we’re gone once again, laughing our heads off. This time the entire teachers’ table is laughing just as hard as us, including Chris.]

Chris: “Seriously though, if you see them, do NOT go near them! If you’re wearing flip-flops, don’t even step on them! Their spikes can go through your shoes. And another warning…they travel in colonies. So if you see them, they’ll be in a long line.”

[A long line???]

Chris: "Oh yeah...and don't go in the gardens next to Severini...they live in the trees and can drop down on your necks. It would be painful."

[Definitely the best April Fools’ Day announcement. Ever.]

….five minutes later….

Spencer (creative writing teacher): “…oh yeah! And once you skin them,” [he raises his fork up with the dinner meat on it] …they taste pretty good!”

[Everyone groans]

Assisi

Since I was requested to describe Assisi, I'm going to delve back into that fathomless abyss also known as my mind and attempt to retrieve the memories of roughly three weeks ago. Saturday trips have become the highlight of my week. While it can sometimes be a nuisance to have your entire Saturday swallowed up by a required field trip, at the same time it's incredibly relaxing. You're handed a schedule, driven around in private buses, and dropped off in an Italian town. There you are mostly free to wander as you like.

The drive to Assisi took about two and a half hours, landing us in Assisi at about 10:30. Two hours is the perfect driving time, we students have agreed, because it gives us the ideal early morning nap. The drive was, as usual, beautiful. Everything had just started turning green and had the expectant air of Easter. I'm not sure if Assisi is actually the most medieval town we've been in, or if I was influenced by thoughts of St. Francis returning from the Crusades. Regardless, the town is located on top of a mountain and gives the impression of being able to hold up against a siege. The streets of Assisi are tinier than ever and crammed with touristy shops and homes built one on top of the other. I kept remembering that Drew said that Assisi was his favorite town, which struck me as odd because it was nothing like what I expected. I guess I was thinking that it would be very plain and austere…more of a Franciscan poverty sort of place? But ha, no...not at all. It definitely reminded me of a bustling little medieval metropolis.

All streets in Assisi seem to lead to the Basilica. It's giant. How big? Big enough for the building to house not one church but two. The entrance to the lower church is at the end of a brilliantly white courtyard flanked by continuous colonnades on three sides. Here we paused while Sarah gave us a brief recap on what to look for inside. It's hard to pay attention to mundane things such as identifications of frescos and the gradual discoloration of certain paint pigments when you’re standing in front of this giant white beast, practically oozing history out of its many doors, windows, and towers. Note of interest: this church is the third most visited Christian pilgrimage site. The second is a church in Spain, but I can't remember the first. Rome?

Inside the lower church, you're immediately bombarded with details...frescos everywhere! Chapels pressing in on you from every side! Crosses! Altarpieces! Stairs! Stained glass! Where to look?!? If I used one word to describe this lower church it would be frescos. I don't think you understand what I mean...like, they're EVERYWHERE. There is not one square inch of walls or ceilings that aren't covered in decoration. And every other one is so famous that I've stared at it for hours in art history or written about it. I made myself take the church on in a very logical and precise way, starting at one end and systematically walking through chapels until I made a full circle. Then I let myself go down into the crypt, which was drawing me with the utter simplicity of its sunken staircase.

The first turn I took led me to a museum of sorts. In it was every kind of St. Francis paraphernalia. His clothes, his sandals, letters with his signature...everything you could think of. It gives one a really weird feeling, bringing home the fact that Francis was actually a real person. Then, wandering farther, I found the chapel with his remains. The coffin was sealed and placed high into a glass covered vault, but countless pilgrims had stuck photos of loved ones into the back. To get from the bottom church to the upper church you have to climb some stairs behind the main altar (which is a very open altar surrounded by free space, so not quite as mysterious as it sounds). This spits you out into a small courtyard where you have the option of spending way too much money on rosaries in the gift shop (a 1000 euro rosary...whaaaat?) or continuing to climb another set of stairs into the upper church.

The upper church was far less interesting. Basically just a lot of frescos narrating St. Francis’ life and a blue ceiling (turning green, hehe!) with the traditional gold star motif (aka: what you did if you couldn't afford Michelangelo!). After I wandered away from the church, I really only had one hour to explore a bit of the town, which was sad because its supposed to have a lot of neat stuff in it. Meandering the streets leading back to the bus with friends and ducking into small shops was about all I had time for, however. Definitely a disappointment.

Overall impression? Cute, but touristy.

That plague better known as Tourists

With warmer weather comes an unavoidable nuisance: the tourist. Anyone who has ever traveled outside his city limits has been one, yet citizens unite in hating the tourist. Pushing his way through crowded streets, a guidebook plastered permanently to one hand and a camera in the another, speaking the few Italian words he knows loudly (because everyone knows that it doesn't matter if someone can't understand you - just speak louder and of course they'll get the point!), and crowding the gelato shop... Okay, so I realize that I fit this description perfectly, but after living in Cortona for a month and a half we UGA students feel like natives already.

We can give directions perfectly while trying not to smirk at the random tourist's obvious relief in our ability to speak English. We know that the Lion's Well is the place to be at night, but if you want to get drunk than of course you go to Tuschers first because drinks are cheaper there. We've hung out with the Canadians and know that the French have invaded the local hostel. We've convinced John Luca, the bartender at the Lion's Well to dye our beers green for St. Patrick's day, even though Italians have no clue who St. Patrick is. We know that Route 66 isn't an interstate, but a place to hang out. Especially if you want to smell like smoke until you can afford another wash machine token. And we know that the most important thing to notice at the dinner table in Toninos is whether or not there's a third (dessert!) fork in front of your plate.

I think what irritates me the most about tourists is how each one seems to think that they have some undeniable right to peer at whatever I happen to be working on. They have it down to a science: first comes the sighting, where they'll suddenly notice me sitting on a city wall or in a corner of the piazza. Next, the recognition: she has a sketchbook and a pencil - she must be an artist! Now at this point you've got the annoying people and the extra annoying people. The annoying people will march right up to you and, speaking very loudly in English with wide hand gestures thrown in just in case you still don't understand, ask if they can see what you're working on. The extra annoying people try to be a little bit more subtle: glancing at you repeatedly, they'll sidle up to you on the pretense of admiring the view. Then they'll precede to stare over you shoulder blatantly until an intense glare sends them scurrying for safety. At this point there's a predictable conclusion in which they'll make some bland comment on how it's "nice, very nice" before sauntering away. This is particularly amusing when all I have down on paper are a couple of vague lines.

Italians, mind you, have never accosting me in this way. Artists are a dime a dozen in Italy and are therefore given about the same level of attention by Italians as the hundreds of mangy cats that roam the cities.

Food for my Cupboard

March 12, 2008

Today I finally caved in and went grocery shopping. Picking up groceries in Italy is a very different experience than in the states, where you hop into your heated or air-conditioned SUV and zoom down the highway doing sixty or so to your nearest Ingles, Publix, or Super Walmart. My grocery run started out with a brisk walk down the hill. It only takes a couple of minutes to walk from Kehoe (the dorm) to town, though the walk back up takes at least ten minutes of very steep climbing.

Since I knew that I wanted to buy bread, I took the shortcut to town (so called because though it isn’t actually a shorter walk, it’s considerably less steep. This obviously doesn’t make a difference going down, but it does going up - hence the name). Unlike the main road from school that goes directly downhill along the edge of town and overlooking the city walls, the shortcut veers off to the right, cutting through the upper part of Cortona where it ultimately spits you out just outside the edge of Piazza Signorelli and, most conveniently, my favorite bakery.

The bakery is run by a youngish woman who understands enough English to make transactions easy. When it’s not too crowded, I’ll attempt to tell her what I want in Italian, otherwise I’ll just say “Io prendo” (I’ll have) and point. The store is tiny with cookies, pastries, and sandwiches behind glass in the front and different types of bread stored in baskets behind the counter. In the morning it’s hectic, with people cramming in to make their purchases, dropping coins on the counter at the same time as they’re rapidly ordering in Italian. Old ladies crowd to the counter, exchanging pleasantries with the owner and smirking at my obvious incomprehension of the surrounding conversations. Small dogs are brought in with their owners while large dogs, German Shepherds being the dog of choice, are left standing outside. Most bread in Italy is extremely hard, but I’ve found one type that’s deliciously soft and moist, which is what I usually buy. Important note: never buy more than two days’ worth of bread at a time, because if you keep it any longer than that it’ll get too hard to eat (aka: no preservatives). I learned this lesson the hard way, of course. Out the door – pull going out, don’t push! I’ll never adjust to this random oddity – and on to the fresh market.

The fresh market is held in a garage type space off of Piazza Signorelli every morning. Here you can find a wide array of vegetables and fruits for a relatively cheap price (I paid about 1,80 euro for two oranges, four tomatoes, and a lemon). A friendly woman runs this store as well, always calling out “ciao” when I enter or leave and smiling at my attempts to speak Italian. Unlike American grocery stores, Italians generally don’t appreciate customers handling the produce, so once again I merely point and call out what I want.

My last stop was Molesini’s, the teeniest grocery store I’ve ever been in that consists basically of a narrow path between crowded shelves. Since dinner on weekdays is provided for students, I really don’t buy much: fresh cheese and meat for sandwiches, some pasta and pesto or tomato sauce for a weekend meal, some cookies to keep in my room (if you try keeping that in the kitchen, it’ll mysteriously disappear), and some juice. If you ask nicely at the counter, the owner will even give you a bright red, cloth bag with the store logo on it for your groceries.

Shopping complete, all that is left to do is to make my way back up the hill. The bottom’s not too bad, but by the top your hands are aching and your calves burning. This requires a minimum five minute break next to the city wall to put down your bags and gulp in some fresh air under the guise of enjoying the view. If someone else happens to come along, of course, you pretend to be in top physical condition and boldly stride up the hill, loudly proclaiming that walking faster makes the climb go by quicker. =D

Italian Randomness

March 10, 2008

Some more random Italian facts that I have slowly learned and or experienced - I find them rather entertaining, which is why I’m putting them in here:

- Even churches close down for Siesta. Want God? Too bad, come back later. ;-)

- It’s the law in Italy that all stores and restaurants have to choose one night to be closed. In Cortona, most of them choose to be closed on Tuesday night. For future reference, this is NOT a good night to plan on spending out on the town.

- Ever wondered why Italians eat bread with their meal, yet they don’t give you plates for your bread? (at least, they don’t in Italy. Don’t judge by Italian American restaurants, please) This tradition (according to Marco) comes from the idea of family, community, and sharing one’s meal. It’s considered unfriendly for everyone to have their own plate – breaking bread together keeps everyone mingling and sharing, as does the dipping of one’s bread into a communal plate of olive oil. Kind of cool, I thought.

- Continuing with meals, I had the funniest discussion the other day with Enea, an Italian friend of mine (technically, he’s Albanian, but seeing as he’s lived here since he was really little I’ll consider him Italian for all intents and purposes). When asked why a meal is served in courses (aka: I miss eating my pasta and meat at the same time. A slab of meat on the plate all by its very own lonesome self just looks so funny!), he nearly broke his side laughing then demanded to know why Americans insist on cramming everything in their mouth together. He insisted that when you eat your pasta, meat, and veggies all together then you lose all taste. An interesting thought…

- And most importantly, cars in Italy don’t go “vroom vroom” but “broom broom” and you don’t attract cats by clucking your tongue or saying, “Here kitty, kitty,” but by saying “mici (mee-chee), mici.” =p So now I make sure to address all Italian cats with the proper phraseology. I’m sure they appreciate it.

Rambling

Today I went for a long walk. Originally the plan was to finish up the final sketches for my drawing midterm, but somehow that didn't work out. So instead I just wandered. One reason I love Cortona so much is because you never seem to run out of interesting twists, turns, side roads, or surprises. No matter how many times you walk around town, there's always more details to notice, more cool places to explore. For example: I walked up and down the steep hill leading up to school more than a dozen times before I managed to notice a giant...not small, not large, but giant...mural on the side of a church. It's not that I'm blind or completely unobservant (although that's not entirely out of the question), but there's just so much else to look at...not to mention a terrific view. I was perched on the city wall today and saw a random house with the most detailed fresco in the eaves of the roof. You'd never see that in the states. Ever.

Doors are something else that I have fallen in love with here. You have all kinds: shorts doors that not even I could go through without stooping, huge doors that Drew x 2 could walk through, doors that are so old that the bottoms are warped and the paint is all bubbled and cracked in the most interesting ways, and doors that have fabulous metalwork all over them. You have doors that lead down, doors at the top of staircases, turns set into buildings, and doors that don't seem to lead anywhere. And that's not even getting to the knockers. You have knockers designed to look like pharaohs' heads (especially popular here - not sure why), demons, faces, and hands. And the handles! I could go on all day describing them, but I'll spare you.

Then there's the architecture itself - I feel like a little kid at a playground. There are arches, buttresses, giant cathedrals, covered walkways between buildings, tiny churches, bell towers, domes, alcoves, crumbling steps, hidden walled gardens, the tiniest and narrowest streets you can imagine and big broad streets that lead to the city walls. Everywhere you turn you find something unique. The company is not bad either - young Italians couples strolling with their children, old grandma's scolding children in loud Italian, friendly shopkeepers, loud students, Canadian backpackers from the hostel, tourists in for the day, an inquisitive chicken wandering the street, and a snobby tomcat basking in the middle of the piazza.

Surprise!

Dude, if you had told me yesterday that it would snow, I would never have believed you. Cortona is AMAZING. And also the weirdest place. EVER. Yesterday, we had the windows open – it was warm and beautiful. This morning it was slightly chilly, enough for me to put on a light jacket over my t-shirt, but still warm enough for me to laugh hysterically when someone mentioned that it might snow in a couple of days. An hour later, it was snowing. Big fluffy snowflakes were falling so fast that it made the bright blue sky look crazy weird. Snow was blowing over the roof and making a hilariously odd contrast with the forty-something degree weather. Nothing was sticking, of course, but still…snow! We stood on the porch with the door open, completely baffled by this strange white stuff that was coming down. Now, a couple of hours later, it’s rather cold outside and the wind is whistling dangerously and shaking all the doors and windows. It’s supposed to rain for the next couple of days, but I’m hoping that by Sunday it’ll be t-shirt and tanning weather again. Weird.

Arezzo: a shopper's paradise

March 2, 2008

Yesterday’s Saturday trip was very different from any so far. Instead of an old walled city with lots of museums and churches, we went to Arezzo, a far more modern city not far from Cortona. The only historically significant sights I saw all day were two churches – one that had a huuuge fresco in it by some famous person or other, and the other which was just an incredibly gorgeous Cathedral with impressively tall vaulted ceilings and a gilded altarpiece. The rest of the day we spent doing *what else* shopping, of course. There was a huge antique market spread out over the entire city that we browsed as we wandered. You could find anything there: clothes, books, jewelry, old keys, furniture, bits and pieces of statues, ornate chandeliers, beat-up WWII helmets, designer purses, and even an entire bowl of dolls’ eyeballs. A friend of mine actually bought a hundred-year-old engagement ring there for his fiancée. Lest this market sounds too good to be true let me assure you that the majority of these items were overpriced. While bargaining is a necessary tool in places like that, I’m sure that many of the vendors automatically jacked up their prices for us “stupid Americans.”

Besides the antique market, there was also an entire street full of Italian designer clothing stores, many of which were having huge sales to get rid of their winter leftovers. You can guess where the majority of us girls were all day. Since most of us felt that we hadn't brought nearly enough clothes with us (only enough to completely dress a small country), there was a frenzied amount of shopping going on. Besides, there really is no better feeling than the euphoria of buying insanely expensive Italian clothes after they’ve been marked down to almost nothing. =)

The biggest pain about taking an entire day to wander an Italian city is siesta. Other than coffee shops and the antique market, from one to four-thirty everything else was closed. Most of us took this time to take a break, find a coffee shop, and just relax. Then, once the stores reopened, we hit the streets for our final hour in town. Gelato, my new favorite food group, was also a necessary purchase of the day, eaten while rambling back to meet the buses and discussing Zak’s choice of an engagement ring.

All in all, it was a splendid day. A nice reprieve from seeing city after city of old, older, and olderest monuments. Not that I don't love old monuments, of course! =D

La Dolce Vita

I’m finally starting to feel like I’m in school. With an art history paper just handed in, an Italian quiz tomorrow, and book arts homework slowly piling up to my ears, it actually feels like I’m doing some serious work here! =p You would know what I mean if you heard the kinds of announcements we have at dinner - itineraries of towns we visit on Saturdays, a notice looking for hair models for a salon in town (a free dye ‘n cut job!), a casting for a famous Italian rapper’s music video (apparently he’s gonna come to the school to find ten “interesting” faces), and on and on. Haven’t you heard? We’re not in school, we’re just here living the good life. La dolce vita! This is especially true of one class that my roommate is in – instead of meeting at the regular class time last week, they met at a wine tasting and got drunk together while discussing their readings! Now this is the way to go to school, but I digress.

I spent a couple of hours today working on my book arts homework. During class we always have demonstrations on how to make certain kinds of books, so I had to have some amount of prep work done for that. I should have made two accordion books for Thursday, but I ended up procrastinating some more. I’ll do it tomorrow.

I’ve been sitting around in the common room for the past couple of hours -basically since coming back from the studio at about five. I haven’t done anything productive (right, right, Drew. I hear you – when do I ever?). Jacob left his guitar in the common room and I’ve gone back and forth between playing around on it, bothering people (have you ever heard my lovely rendition of Home on the Range?), and learning how to play Classical Gas from Thomas. And I got soundly defeated in checkers (AGAIN) by Henry. Today is just one of those Sundays that’s very relaxed – a lot of people went to Florence for the weekend, so it’s been pretty empty around here. People have been wandering in and out and a lot of hidden musical talent has surfaced. Both Thomas and Steve are awesome guitarists, and Suzanna has a really nice singing voice plus a million hippy songs up her sleeve.

I’m trying to avoid thinking about dinner because I have no groceries left downstairs…again. And someone totally ate my cheese. I’m very upset about that. Maybe I’ll just eat Nutella. Mmmmmm….

Under the Tuscan Sun

I took a looong walk today and found the house of the author of Under a Tuscan Sun. Let’s just say it looks nothing like the house in the movie. Thank you, Hollywood.

Oh, Margarita.

This past Friday was the feast day of Santa Margarita of Cortona. Never heard of her? Me either, but just imagine St. Patrick’s day meets the Fourth of July and you might have an idea of what it felt like. Since Rebecca, my drawing teacher, had to sing in the choir at the same time our class was to meet, that meant a holiday for all of us. The festivities started early, with what looked like an entire carnival gathered in front of Santa Margarita’s, a church on the top of the hill and only a couple minutes of almost vertical walking from the Kehoe. If you’re wondering why that church (besides the obvious reason that it’s named after S. Margarita), then let me clue you in: this fourteenth century saint’s mummified body also happens to be on the altar. A little weird in my mind and definitely not the way I’d want my body displayed after my death. I mean, okay…I’ve seen tons and tons of saints by now whose bodies were preserved in this unreal-looking, waxy-doll type of way, but this is the first mummy saint I’ve seen. And why on the main altar, does anyone know? Anyway, moving on.

On Santa Margarita’s feast day everyone comes out to celebrate. Please note: Americans celebrate saint feast days by wearing certain colors and having parades. Italians celebrate by bringing the party to church. The entire town walks up the hill where there’s Mass continually throughout the day. Right outside the church doors are every kind of vendor. You can buy food, toys, balloons…it’s literally a carnival. People mingle outside and inside the church, processing through the main altar to pay their respects to S. Margarita and there’s the constant sound of coins dropping in the votive candle slots. Since Mom happens to share her birthday with S. Margarita I decided to light one, too.

The Procession inside the church was like nothing I’ve ever experienced. First came the drummers…yes, drummers. As in about half a dozen boys dressed in medieval garb and making the entire church echo and pulse with drumbeats, followed closely by a nice dose of incense. Then came about a dozen priests and the bishop of the diocese. It was definitely the coolest procession I've ever seen. Just the way to celebrate a feast day. Can you rent drummer boys for weddings I wonder?

The ballet...American style

It's midnight and I just got back from seeing a ballet in the local teatro, the oldest and coolest theater I've ever been to. A whole bunch of us went to see a tribute to Fred Astaire, meaning lots of Italians dancing to American music. It was quite entertaining. While I was more dressed up than I have been since I left the states (thanks to my roommates who lent me most of the clothes that I wore), I still felt underdressed just because our surroundings were so...how can I say it? FREAKIN AWESOME. =D

Okay...imagine...an old theater with four stories of private balconies, red velvet chairs and curtains, and ooold wooden floors that look like they've been around for ions and ions and ions. My roommates and I got to sit in our own third story balcony (#9), that had its own door to close off for privacy and coat hangers for our coats. =p I felt like I needed a pair of binoculars and a fan, just to feel all stylish and be able to giggle behind as I flirted with handsome men in other balconies (JUST KIDDING, actually, the only guys there were above us!).

The show was really neat - a lot of impressive dancing and flashy costumes. I'll admit...it was rather strange to be sitting in an old theater in Italy and listening to "It's a Grand Old Flag" - almost as weird as watching fireworks over the Eiffel tower on Bastille Day and listening to Mary Poppins music, the Harry Potter soundtrack, and American patriotic songs (yes, believe it or not, that happened when I was in Paris). But it was fun. And going home afterwards, we all danced up the hill. =D

Italian Lessons

February 19^th, 2008

Here’s what I’ve learned so far while in Italy:

- Italian guys are not that hot. It’s all a big myth. (sorry Rich, hehe)


- The yummy wood fire smoke smell doesn’t come from houses being heated (for the most part), but from the restaurants in town. Any self-respecting Italian restaurant offers only wood-fired pizza. It’s true.

- The Italian language was chosen as the prominent language of this area because of its beauty. Someone, I can’t remember who, listened to all the different dialects and languages that were being spoken in all the independent city-states and decided that Italian was the most beautiful, and therefore would be the official written language. Isn’t that cool?

- Italians know how to drive backwards just as fast as forwards. Most of the turns around here are too narrow for a car to make it, so they have to back up once or twice in order to make it. It’s kinda funny to watch.

- There are too many cats in the world. Especially in Italy.

- Midday siestas should be adopted in the states. Life becomes so much slower paced and more relaxed because of it.

- American music is overrated. Why does every country insist on blasting it constantly???

- - Watching someone scream in Italian at an ATM machine is hilarious, I don’t care who you are.

- - soccer is brutal, but so much more fun to watch than football.

- I think everyone should take walks at night – it’s such a friendly and communal thing to do.