Tonight, after a rainy day (more on that later) filled with finals and packing preparations (preparations, not actual packing or any real productivity) I went to pick up what I'd been looking forward to all day: 2 pizzas from the Oltrarno's (and possibly the world's) best pizza restaurant: GUSTAPIZZA.
I am not sure whether I have raved about this restaurant in entries past, but even if I have, I will again. No amount of praise could ever fully do it justice. Gustapizza serves the Holy Grail of pizzas: their "Calabrese" is absolutely to die for. Mozzarrella, tomato sauce, and basil, topped off with salame piccante (which is basically pepperoni, but throw out any preconceived notions you have of pepperoni). This is not the cold, squishy, Red #3-dyed pepperoni of Lunchable packages, nor is it the slightly more appetizing pepperoni typical of Pizza Hut or Domino's or even the comparatively exotic Vanelli's (Tupelo shoutout, y'all.) No. This salame piccante is otherworldly. Apparently "manna" is a real, edible thing and not just a biblical image (I found this out only recently, forgive me)... but if I didn't know any better now, I might say that the salame piccante tastes just as I imagine manna from heaven would. Most of the best Italian food, I've found, is simple and straightforward. In America we love oversaucing and "on the side"-ing and topping to an extreme (see: Supreme pizza). I realize there are definitely exceptions, yes. But overall Italy's food is just so simple. It's not that they eat any less. Far from it. Dinners out are consistently four courses and individual people eat whole pizzas on the reg. How funny that when I first got here I thought I'd simply made a linguistic mistake when I ordered margherita pizza and was shocked to see the waiter show up with an entire pizza just for me. Surely he must be laughing behind my back, I thought. Untrue.
But back to the glorious simplicity. One of the best meals I've had here was at a restaurant in a decidedly touristy area; this restaurant was called Il Grande Nuti, and they had a ton of choices on the menu-unlike most places here-but I ended up choosing spaghetti con pomodoro. AKA spaghetti noodles with tomato sauce. I added a little basil and oh. my. God. INCREDIBLE. Italians just know how to take something simple and cook it PERFECTLY rather than going on seasoning and spicing and saucing binges in an effort to impress or to be extravagant.
I'm getting way off topic. So I went to Gustapizza to pick up two pizzas, one for Franca and one for me. Franca had requested the Calabrese as well, but at the last minute I decided to be super-simple and get a margherita pizza (plain cheese pizza, although theirs does come with basil) because I had not yet tried Gusta's. (For the record, it was DIVINE. It was just Calabrese sans spicy salami, and it was a welcome break from that manna-like substance, seeing as I've probably consumed it MUCH more often than should ever be allowed for one individual). As I was checking out I remembered that I'd used up all my meal vouchers (before you laugh and point at Fatty Franny, ahem, we're in the final days here, and it's not as if I got meal vouchers for EVERY SINGLE MEAL of the month. Just defending myself). I also remembered that there was a meager 25 USD in my bank account-adequate airport money, but I shouldn't chance paying with my debit card here, considering that the total came to 14 euro (about 19ish dollars, and who knows how much the service charge would be for international use of my card? It changes with every vendor, restaurant, or ATM). I was skating too close to the edge. So I held up my blue "emergency Visa" (which has unfortunately in the past month functioned as my primary credit card...apologies to my parents, I think I owe you three limbs and my firstborn).
The familiar guy behind the counter raised an eyebrow and asked why I wasn't paying with my meal vouchers. He didn't look threatening, he was just wondering. He knew me as a student, but I'm not particularly special-people from our program frequent the place for obvious reasons. I told him that I'd run out early and waited for the Judgey Face. Instead I got a sympathetic looking frown and an explanation that he couldn't accept my credit card, but that it was all okay. Wait...was I getting these pizzas for free? "A domani!" he said with a smile. "Paghi a domani. O un'altra volta. You my friend, no worry, all okay!" He was explaining that I could come in and pay tomorrow. Or whenever, really. I wonder if he realized that the reason that I was out of meal vouchers was because the semester was ending and I was headed stateside within 36 hours of this interaction. AAANNNDD I had a total of 5 euro in cash, but I didn't want to make a "partial payment" because I'd planned to use the last tiny bit to climb up to the top of the dome of Santa Maria del Fiore tomorrow.
I felt bad. Even though I knew I could easily get away with never paying for this pizza, I would never want to do that to the fine people at Gusta because they serve the world's greatest pizza. And they're nice, with this whole interaction being Exhibit A. But yes, my current dilemma: HOW am I going to make 15 euro (MAKE, like, as in by doing some sort of work or performance art to get this money...not "scrape together." Make. "Scraping together" implies that I could somehow dig up fifteen euro from the chaos of my messy room. Nope. Not possible. I am aware of every cent within my wallet, the folds of my down comforter, my purse, and pants pockets. I've made sure of it)...by tomorrow at 1:00 P.M.? Here is my current dilemma.
I suppose I could ask a friend from my program to lend me some cash, but none of these friends live anywhere near me in the U.S., and we're leaving and I'm not getting any more money anytime soon. When would I pay them back? Would I really mail them a check for 14.00 in an envelope to Massachusetts? I'd like to think I would. But when you consider my combination of stinginess and forgetfulness and frequent "broke" status... the odds don't look too good.
This is really all very dramatic. I cannot pay for my food, plain and simple. I could plainly and simply get away with never paying for it. Or I could show up a few years down the road and say, 'hey, remember that rainy night when I didn't pay for two pizzas...?' But I truly couldn't live with myself if I didn't pay for the pleasure these pizzas brought me. (Yikes, sorry for the unintentional innuendo, but the pizza's SO GOOD that it makes you say unintentionally sexual-sounding things). Maybe they'll let me wash dishes. Suggestions welcome.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
mannerism: middle child syndrome?
When anyone with the slightest knowledge of art hears "Florence" they (rightly) think of Renaissance art. And yes, it's one of the main reasons I decided to spend my semester here, apart from the appeal of Italy in general. But today I spent most of my time with Mannerist masterworks. Sorry, but my inner art history nerd is about to emerge. Please indulge her for just a few moments.
This is Jacopo's Pontormo's Entombment, dating from 1528, which I saw inside the church of Santa Felicita today. The church is slightly hidden despite it being literally a stone's throw from the Ponte Vecchio (probably the most iconic image of Florence apart from Brunelleschi's dome, and very close to my apartment). It's one of the oldest churches in Florence; I'm pretty sure San Lorenzo is the only one that has it beat. I had not yet ventured inside this church, though, simply because it's somewhat tucked away and because it's not on the list of churches with "must-see Renaissance art." However, this Entombment is pretty famous, and it was wonderful to see in person! It's found inside the 15th century Barbadori chapel, which is on your immediate right when you first enter the church. The chapel was designed by Brunelleschi (Brunelleschi is to Florentine architecture as Bob Dylan is to American music-when in doubt, Brunelleschi built it or inspired it just like Bob wrote it or influenced it). When I was first exposed to Renaissance art (thank you Julie Mattox) I had a hard time distinguishing between it and Mannerism (which grew out of High Renaissance art). But now that I've seen so much of both up close, it's hard to believe I was ever confused. Mannerist paintings are characterized by odd, irrational settings, strangely bright, atypical color palettes, collapsed perspective, and theatrical lighting. (Yadda yadda yadda...yawn. I know. Sorry if I'm sounding pretentious or boring. This is really more for my memory than anything else, and I'm not in the mood to write in my journal/notebook right now because after an exam today I think I have carpal tunnel.) I'd heard this all before, but it still was difficult to make the distinction. But when I stood in front of this work today, all the defining elements of Mannerist pieces were obvious. The bodies just seem so airy and floaty (to put it in uber-technical, legitimate art historical terms). But really, they're light and seem wispy (again with the technical terms, sorry if I'm speaking above your comprehension level, LoLz) compared to Titian's fleshy forms or Michelangelo's super muscular, "robust" figures. And as for the color scheme, after spending the semester in a city flooded with Renaissance works, seeing this almost pastel-like palette just felt odd...in a good, this-is-different kind of way.
One of my favorite (and among the most well-known) Mannerist works is housed in the Uffizi-it's Parmigianino's (hahaha, I always think of cheese when I see the name. Mature, I know) Madonna with the Long Neck (1538). Check out this gloriously weird giraffe-neck action, in addition to the long and lanky baby Jesus:
There's also a special (and seriously publicized) exhibit currently going on at Palazzo Strozzi, which is right along Via de Tornabuoni, a street I walk on every day, and today I FINALLY visited. It's an exhibit about Bronzino, who is a famous Mannerist (fitting with the theme of this post, see?) and was the most important painter of the Medici court until he was replaced by Vasari (that Vasari...Lives of the Artists Vasari) in some-date-I-can't-quite-remember. Anyway, I knew very little about Bronzino beforehand so it was hard to fully appreciate lots of the exhibit's details, BUT I DEFINITELY loved seeing this famous portrait of Eleanor of Toledo. It's normally in the Uffizi, but when I saw it there a while back, it was positioned way high on the wall (y'all.) So...it was difficult to realize just how fantastic little Bronzi is at rendering texture. I was in awe when I saw this on eye level. The curvilinear black-ish design on her dress looks like velvet you could touch when you stand in front of it. It's insane how elevated and real it looks. Same for the gold in the middle; Bronzino is so good at faking the "sewn-on" look that this literally looks like a Girl Scout patch:
Okay. Sorry if you were expecting a fun, pithy little update. I just had to put this in writing so I could remember later. Normally stuff like this would go in my notebook/journal/art hist. textbook BUT I just didn't feel up to picking up a pen. Weird how typing is easier.
This is Jacopo's Pontormo's Entombment, dating from 1528, which I saw inside the church of Santa Felicita today. The church is slightly hidden despite it being literally a stone's throw from the Ponte Vecchio (probably the most iconic image of Florence apart from Brunelleschi's dome, and very close to my apartment). It's one of the oldest churches in Florence; I'm pretty sure San Lorenzo is the only one that has it beat. I had not yet ventured inside this church, though, simply because it's somewhat tucked away and because it's not on the list of churches with "must-see Renaissance art." However, this Entombment is pretty famous, and it was wonderful to see in person! It's found inside the 15th century Barbadori chapel, which is on your immediate right when you first enter the church. The chapel was designed by Brunelleschi (Brunelleschi is to Florentine architecture as Bob Dylan is to American music-when in doubt, Brunelleschi built it or inspired it just like Bob wrote it or influenced it). When I was first exposed to Renaissance art (thank you Julie Mattox) I had a hard time distinguishing between it and Mannerism (which grew out of High Renaissance art). But now that I've seen so much of both up close, it's hard to believe I was ever confused. Mannerist paintings are characterized by odd, irrational settings, strangely bright, atypical color palettes, collapsed perspective, and theatrical lighting. (Yadda yadda yadda...yawn. I know. Sorry if I'm sounding pretentious or boring. This is really more for my memory than anything else, and I'm not in the mood to write in my journal/notebook right now because after an exam today I think I have carpal tunnel.) I'd heard this all before, but it still was difficult to make the distinction. But when I stood in front of this work today, all the defining elements of Mannerist pieces were obvious. The bodies just seem so airy and floaty (to put it in uber-technical, legitimate art historical terms). But really, they're light and seem wispy (again with the technical terms, sorry if I'm speaking above your comprehension level, LoLz) compared to Titian's fleshy forms or Michelangelo's super muscular, "robust" figures. And as for the color scheme, after spending the semester in a city flooded with Renaissance works, seeing this almost pastel-like palette just felt odd...in a good, this-is-different kind of way.
One of my favorite (and among the most well-known) Mannerist works is housed in the Uffizi-it's Parmigianino's (hahaha, I always think of cheese when I see the name. Mature, I know) Madonna with the Long Neck (1538). Check out this gloriously weird giraffe-neck action, in addition to the long and lanky baby Jesus:
There's also a special (and seriously publicized) exhibit currently going on at Palazzo Strozzi, which is right along Via de Tornabuoni, a street I walk on every day, and today I FINALLY visited. It's an exhibit about Bronzino, who is a famous Mannerist (fitting with the theme of this post, see?) and was the most important painter of the Medici court until he was replaced by Vasari (that Vasari...Lives of the Artists Vasari) in some-date-I-can't-quite-remember. Anyway, I knew very little about Bronzino beforehand so it was hard to fully appreciate lots of the exhibit's details, BUT I DEFINITELY loved seeing this famous portrait of Eleanor of Toledo. It's normally in the Uffizi, but when I saw it there a while back, it was positioned way high on the wall (y'all.) So...it was difficult to realize just how fantastic little Bronzi is at rendering texture. I was in awe when I saw this on eye level. The curvilinear black-ish design on her dress looks like velvet you could touch when you stand in front of it. It's insane how elevated and real it looks. Same for the gold in the middle; Bronzino is so good at faking the "sewn-on" look that this literally looks like a Girl Scout patch:
Okay. Sorry if you were expecting a fun, pithy little update. I just had to put this in writing so I could remember later. Normally stuff like this would go in my notebook/journal/art hist. textbook BUT I just didn't feel up to picking up a pen. Weird how typing is easier.
Monday, November 29, 2010
oh, plumbing.
Tonight Franca explained to me that she was going to need to use my shower tomorrow morning. It'd been a long day, and my brain was a tad exhausted, so when she kept motioning toward my bathroom while furrowing her brows, I misunderstood and thought she was telling me that I was not allowed to shower tomorrow. I was very confused by this. I quickly figured out my mistake, though, and then she began giving me a grand tour of every nook and cranny of the apartment that was being affected by some sort of plumbing-system damage caused by the transgressions of a "new pipe." This was about all I got. I don't understand the ins and outs of pipe systems (or household utilities in general) in English, much less in Italian, so when Franca was going on and on about leakage and such in Italian, I had to do my best to understand only through her gesticulating, her facial expressions, and her occasional use of expressions of general frustration. Midway through her explanation of a leak in the laundry room, she began dramatically throwing her arms in the air, then pulling imaginary weight toward her as she described the indoor "waterfall" with which the upstairs portion of the apartment is apparently plagued. And then I did the most inconsiderate thing. I laughed. Continuously. I couldn't stop it or control it in any way. I felt terrible, but Franca was just cracking me up. All these giant gestures and loud exclamations were coming from this small, sweet woman, and she was cursing the apartment and the system, yes, I got that much, but I really couldn't comprehend these details she was trying to get across. Barely able to speak, I breathily apologized for laughing, but before I could complete my sentence, Franca was already laughing and throwing her hands up as if to say, "Oh well, what can you do?" Such a universal sentiment. We cracked up for a good minute together before Franca finally caught her breath and then reiterated that she would need to use my shower tomorrow.
In short, I love everything about my homestay, plumbing disasters and all.
In short, I love everything about my homestay, plumbing disasters and all.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Il mio viaggio a Madrid!!!
This weekend I ventured to glorious Spain for an extremely brief but unbelievably fun and exciting trip. Back in Lido (wow, do you "readers" even remember those gloomy days of orientation lockdown in Hotel Colombo? Because I barely do) I booked 2 tickets for an Arcade Fire concert in Madrid; at the time I was ridiculously naive about Euro-transit and I literally thought that all European cities were connected by train and that traveling by rail directly from Florence to, say, Helsinki, would be perfectly feasible. In short, I was an idiot. But I knew that when I got to Madrid, I'd have someone to show me around (my adorable friend and current madrileña, Alexis.) AND I just loved the idea of going to see one of my favorite bands perform live in Spain.
I quickly learned that using my Eurorail pass to get to Madrid would pretty much be an impossibility. (For future reference, travelers: buy a global Eurorail if you are planning on taking an extensive Euro-trip, not if you are studying abroad in one place for a few months. Although I don't regret buying one, and I definitely enjoyed traveling by train, I didn't get my money's worth because I purchased a GLOBAL pass for all of Europe which is really only practical if you're going from place to place, i.e. Portugal to Spain, then Spain to France, France to Italy or Switzerland, and so on and so forth. I pretty much stayed confined to one area with my train travel-the furthest I went by train was Paris-because it's not exactly easy to get from Florence to, say, Amsterdam by train and back in a weekend and have ANY time there).
And by "impossibility" I really mean it was going to involve an insane amount of train switching, amounting up to over 22 hours. NO, GRAZIE. In the week leading up to the concert I questioned whether the travel expenses would be worth it for only a very short time in Madrid, especially when I had such limited time left in Italy. But of course live music is always worth it, and I knew it'd be an adventure.
SOOO my friend Lauren and I decided we were up for going despite limited funds and limited time in Spain. We were unable to travel together, though, because she was on a class field trip to Milan to see The Last Supper. So I was about to embark on a somewhat complicated and very indirect route solo. That morning I had to take a train from Florence to Turin to fly out of Turin. When I arrived at the Turin train station, I had to use my limited Italian skills to find out where the nearest bus/airport shuttle was because I wasn't about to fork over 35 euro for a cab to the airport that was a good 45 minutes away (thank you RyanAir.) I wandered around Turin, unsure of where I was really going and whether I'd actually understood the directions. On my way to the fermata dell'autobus I had to stop at an Internet cafe and print off my boarding pass. I finally found a bar where I could purchase a bus ticket; I boarded the super-crowded bus and was airport bound. I flew to Madrid and after landing, despite YEARS of Spanish study and placing into 300-level language classes freshman year, ALL I could summon after spending so much energy on learning Italian was ¿Hablas ingles? It was a bit disheartening and made me even more determined to keep up my Italian when I return home. It blows my mind how people like my Early Renaissance Art professor are able to speak NINE (NINE!!!!!!!) languages FLUENTLY when I can barely hold two in my head!!
After many twists and turns inside the airport (and walking in more than one circle, I think), I finally made it to the metro and was able to find the way to my hostel all by myself pretty easily. I have to say that Madrid's metro was the most impressive and efficient one I've ever seen. When I saw Alexis in Paris earlier in the semester, she was raving ridiculously about the wonders of underground transit in Madrid, and to be honest, I wanted to laugh (sorry Alexis); I'd never seen someone praise the subway system with such enthusiasm. But when I arrived in Madrid I quickly realized what all the fuss was about. New York, Rome, Paris, Vienna, London-none of the underground systems there are as efficient and clean as the Madrid metro. As this ad says, "The Metro that all want to have lives in Madrid." (I'm pretty sure that's what it says. As I mentioned, after this weekend I realized just how ridiculously rusty my Spanish skills are. Thankfully I can still SORT OF read it, though I apparently can't speak a word):
I have to admit I was molto orgogliosa of myself and the role I played as Little Miss Self-Reliant Navigator. One thing's for sure: after this semester I will never, ever, ever again be intimidated when traveling/driving within the U.S. The fact that I've ever been nervous about getting lost is literally laughable to me now. Dear God, it's ridiculous to even think that I could possibly be nervous when I AM A NATIVE ENGLISH SPEAKER!! And I'm a decent judge of the strangers I should and shouldn't talk to/ask for directions. AND I always have a cell phone readily available. But this semester I have ridden on an assortment of Planes, Trains, and Automobiles without a.) having any idea what anyone around me is saying b.) having a phone or internet access or any way of contacting important people c.) having any money apart from the bare minimum. Point being? Hey, wow, I can do things. I can rely on myself. My confidence has received almost daily booster shots while abroad.
Madrid was absolutely amazing and made me reconsider the definition of the word "vibrant." I don't know if I've ever been in a city whose energy and liveliness is SO palpable. You could just feel it in the air. I guess NYC is a lot like that, but it's a different kind of energy you can feel there-it's ambition, it's pursuit, it's American. If Madrid could talk...well, I don't think it would; I think it'd be too busy dancing or something. I'm not articulating this well, sorry. I have to admit our hostel looked a bit like an opportune filming location for a murder scene. However, the hostel was in a prime location within a few blocks of the Prado, our first destination on Saturday morning. We had very limited time in the Prado, which was lame, but all the more reason to come back, right? I was able to see plenty of masterworks I've studied. Obviously, seeing the famous Spanish works for which the museum is known was a highlight. I just stood and stared at Las Meninas for at least 15 minutes. It was HUGE! However, I think I might have been even more drawn in by Velazquez's The Drinkers. And though seeing these Spanish masterpieces was certainly a definitively "Madrid" experience, I was really excited to discover that the museum housed several Northern European paintings I never knew were there; two of my favorites, in fact-Hieronymous Bosch's The Garden of Earthly Delights and Rogier Van Der Weyden's altarpiece depicting the Deposition. Standing in front of the Bosch work allowed me to notice tons of details and ridiculous characters I'd never seen before. Lauren and I were talking about how difficult it was for us to believe that someone was subversive enough to paint this in 1500. The characters and scenarios within the work look almost like Salvador Dali meets soft porn. And as for the Van der Weyden altarpiece, this was one of the most stunning works of art I've ever seen; I was almost taken aback at how much it moved me. The palette is just so striking, and I'd heard professors say before that the figures seem to almost pop out at you when you stand in front of it (due mostly to its shallow space), but I realized, looking at it, just how true this is. The emotion in the piece is palpable. It took a lot for me to walk away from it!
I have to admit, the entire time I was at the Prado I kept flashing back to Mrs. Hester's class and those fine, fine episodes of Destinos. For those unfortunate non-Tupelo folks who are unfamiliar with this beautiful series: Destinos is a soap opera (of sorts) designed to teach Spanish, and it is pretty much the basis of the Spanish curriculum at Tupelo High. We'd watch an episode every week or so and then for that week, our readings, vocabulary, assigned writings, and whatnot would somehow be related to this episode and the cultural knowledge it imparted. Destinos followed the triumphs and travails of Raquel Rodriguez, a shoulder-pad-wearing, huge-'80s-computer-using lawyer based in Los Angeles who was sent out by a Very Sick Old Man named Don Fernando to uncover the story of Rosario, his long-lost love. I barely remember any of the details now, but the combination of the slow Spanish speaking, the ridiculous score and theme music, the heinous '80s outfits, and the colorful cast of characters made high school Spanish so much fun. Our classes always bonded while making fun of Jorge the mujeriego (I remember that word: womanizer) or the sordid relationship between Raquel and Arturo and the awkward affectionate scenes they acted out (anyone remember the 'Vegetable Faces?') Anyway, I'm getting way off track. There is one particular episode where some characters make a trip to the Prado, and the "hidden lesson" in the episode is all about Velazquez, Goya, El Greco, etc. SO naturally as I was wandering the Prado I kept expecting Raquel's left shoulder pad to bump into me as I was gazing intently at a painting. But sadly, this did not occur.
After a morning at the Prado, Lauren and I met up with Alexis. Making this happen ended up being somewhat difficult and we had to meet her on the metro stop nearest her house. However, seeing her was SO fun and refreshing. It was fantastic to be able to hang out with a Sewanee bestie, even if only for a short day. Alexis was a fantastic tour guide. She took us to a DELICIOUS place called Casa Mingo for lunch, where we ate AMAZING family-style chicken and croquettas and gulped down Coca Cola Light (it's starting to taste less like cat pee to me, finally, but I have to admit I'm still pumped to drink DC in a few short days). As she ordered for the table, I felt like a proud mama. Her accent was phenomenal, and to an untrained ear like mine she sounded like a native. Alexis, if you're reading this, you're definitely an inspiration for me to keep going with Italian! Throughout the whole day her Spanish-speaking self got us around the city and I was beaming with pride thinking of my friends all across the world right now and all they've learned and experienced. So cool!
Since we had only a few hours before the concert, Alexis just gave us a great walking tour of the city centre. We walked through Puerta del Sol and Plaza Mayor, the main square of Madrid where burnings and hangings where held in the presence of the king and his court during the Spanish Inquisition. Yeesh. Alexis also took us through a super lively and dynamic indoor market that reminded me a lot of Mercato Centrale in the San Lorenzo area of Florence, but with Spanish flair, obviously. A seafood vendor was selling the largest and creepiest looking fish I have ever seen in my life; it looked posed and ready to jump out and kill me at any moment. The thing literally looked like it could swallow me, Jonah-style. Later we went to get churros at a famous place called Chocolateria San Gines, a multilevel building buzzing with activity, Spaniards and (a few) tourists crowding around the counters, anxious to sample the hot chocolate with churros. When it comes to chocolate, these Spaniards don't mess around. It is dark, rich, and delicious. I dipped churro after churro in the chocolate and when I'd polished off enough fried batter I shamelessly spooned up the chocolate by itself, watching Alexis and Lauren with pity, who both seem to actually pay attention to when they're becoming full. Haha... "Full." That word has no meaning in my vocabulary. The churro place is open until 7 a.m., which is definitely reflective of Madrid's nightlife and its vivaciousness on into the wee hours.
Eventually we parted ways because Alexis didn't have tickets to the concert, and Lauren and I found Palacio de los Deportes just in time. The Arcade Fire was absolutely INCREDIBLE!!! And yes, I'm well aware that they would have been good anywhere, but half of what made this show so ridiculously good was the crowd. Spaniards have spoiled me for life now. They know how to attend a concert. The crowd was out of control, but not obnoxiously. Everyone was just so into it. No joke, I was yelping and squealing and tearing up during "Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)." At one point Win Butler said into the mic that playing for Spain was playing for "the best @#^&!ing audience in the world." Now, yes, I'm well aware that musicians will say this to most any city they play in, but for once, I actually agreed. Normally I'm a big fan of intimate small-venue concerts, but this was one exception. Please check out the below video for evidence as to why it was so amazing:
After the concert I met up with Alexis again, this time accompanied by her IES best friend Kaitlyn. We went to Popolart, a small jazz club right near my hostel and ordered mojitos. This particular mojito would definitely be on the list of prettier drinks I've had, hahaha. People in Sewanee are not too big on beverage presentation. The closest thing you can get to "picturesque" is a pitcher of PBR at Shenanigans or communion wine in All Saints'. Not kidding. But I guess part of the reason this mojito was so pretty was because it cost 7 euro, aka about 3 hours of work at Stirling's.
We had to part ways pretty quickly because I had to catch a 3:25 a.m. shuttle to the airport in a van offered by my hostel (ridiculous, I know, but I wasn't about to pay for a cab, and my flight out was at 6 a.m. I know, I'm crazy). Before I knew it I was on the plane to Milan, where I'd catch a train back to Florence and sleep for the rest of the day.
For the first few minutes on the plane I had a row to myself, but eventually an Italian woman and her son Stefano scooted in. The details are a little hazy since it was barely 5:30 a.m. and I had not really slept in days, but I remember that Stefano was crying and from what I gathered from the woman's Italian words, he did not want to sit by me. He was making a scene so it was pretty embarrassing, and though I definitely wasn't looking my best at that moment, I didn't think I looked particulary scary or anything. I looked at him and volunteered, "Sono gentile," but he continued to wail. His mom apologized fervently and kept insisting that he was only tired.
Anyway, it's a good thing that this kid was crying. It kind of sucks that apparently I must look like a monster, but it's a good thing because it served as the basis for a great "conversation" (or, rather, an opportunity to practice speaking Italian) with this very kind lady. She asked me all about my studies in Florence and what I'd been doing in Madrid over the weekend. I was totally shocked that I was able to (sort of) form sentences in Italian at that ungodly hour, usually a time when I can't even speak coherent English. We bonded over the in-flight crew's terrible tendency to constantly make too-loud announcements, a shared love for Italian trains despite their flaws, our desire to learn each other's language, and the freezing temperature of the plane. Stefano this whole time was sleeping soundly in his seat, leaning his head on Mama Bear's shoulder. Too cute. When he woke up he was much kinder, and I'd prefer to think that he was just tired all along (no evil jokes, please).
The weekend was fantastic and well worth it, and now I am home in Florence, trying to savor these last few days I have here. :( It's very sad!!! But when I leave Italy, it won't be for too long. Count on it. Actual FLORENCE news and adventures and updates will follow soon.
Buona notte, belli amici,
Mary
P.S. Couldn't resist. Here is another Arcade Fire video-this is my favorite song of theirs and one of my favorite songs of all time, and I thought you all deserved to see the song that made me cry and squeal and generally act like a lunatic undergoing either an epileptic seizure or an ecstatic out-of-body experience. To borrow a phrase from the song itself, I do believe this is their true "golden hymn." Ciao kiddos.
I quickly learned that using my Eurorail pass to get to Madrid would pretty much be an impossibility. (For future reference, travelers: buy a global Eurorail if you are planning on taking an extensive Euro-trip, not if you are studying abroad in one place for a few months. Although I don't regret buying one, and I definitely enjoyed traveling by train, I didn't get my money's worth because I purchased a GLOBAL pass for all of Europe which is really only practical if you're going from place to place, i.e. Portugal to Spain, then Spain to France, France to Italy or Switzerland, and so on and so forth. I pretty much stayed confined to one area with my train travel-the furthest I went by train was Paris-because it's not exactly easy to get from Florence to, say, Amsterdam by train and back in a weekend and have ANY time there).
And by "impossibility" I really mean it was going to involve an insane amount of train switching, amounting up to over 22 hours. NO, GRAZIE. In the week leading up to the concert I questioned whether the travel expenses would be worth it for only a very short time in Madrid, especially when I had such limited time left in Italy. But of course live music is always worth it, and I knew it'd be an adventure.
SOOO my friend Lauren and I decided we were up for going despite limited funds and limited time in Spain. We were unable to travel together, though, because she was on a class field trip to Milan to see The Last Supper. So I was about to embark on a somewhat complicated and very indirect route solo. That morning I had to take a train from Florence to Turin to fly out of Turin. When I arrived at the Turin train station, I had to use my limited Italian skills to find out where the nearest bus/airport shuttle was because I wasn't about to fork over 35 euro for a cab to the airport that was a good 45 minutes away (thank you RyanAir.) I wandered around Turin, unsure of where I was really going and whether I'd actually understood the directions. On my way to the fermata dell'autobus I had to stop at an Internet cafe and print off my boarding pass. I finally found a bar where I could purchase a bus ticket; I boarded the super-crowded bus and was airport bound. I flew to Madrid and after landing, despite YEARS of Spanish study and placing into 300-level language classes freshman year, ALL I could summon after spending so much energy on learning Italian was ¿Hablas ingles? It was a bit disheartening and made me even more determined to keep up my Italian when I return home. It blows my mind how people like my Early Renaissance Art professor are able to speak NINE (NINE!!!!!!!) languages FLUENTLY when I can barely hold two in my head!!
After many twists and turns inside the airport (and walking in more than one circle, I think), I finally made it to the metro and was able to find the way to my hostel all by myself pretty easily. I have to say that Madrid's metro was the most impressive and efficient one I've ever seen. When I saw Alexis in Paris earlier in the semester, she was raving ridiculously about the wonders of underground transit in Madrid, and to be honest, I wanted to laugh (sorry Alexis); I'd never seen someone praise the subway system with such enthusiasm. But when I arrived in Madrid I quickly realized what all the fuss was about. New York, Rome, Paris, Vienna, London-none of the underground systems there are as efficient and clean as the Madrid metro. As this ad says, "The Metro that all want to have lives in Madrid." (I'm pretty sure that's what it says. As I mentioned, after this weekend I realized just how ridiculously rusty my Spanish skills are. Thankfully I can still SORT OF read it, though I apparently can't speak a word):
I have to admit I was molto orgogliosa of myself and the role I played as Little Miss Self-Reliant Navigator. One thing's for sure: after this semester I will never, ever, ever again be intimidated when traveling/driving within the U.S. The fact that I've ever been nervous about getting lost is literally laughable to me now. Dear God, it's ridiculous to even think that I could possibly be nervous when I AM A NATIVE ENGLISH SPEAKER!! And I'm a decent judge of the strangers I should and shouldn't talk to/ask for directions. AND I always have a cell phone readily available. But this semester I have ridden on an assortment of Planes, Trains, and Automobiles without a.) having any idea what anyone around me is saying b.) having a phone or internet access or any way of contacting important people c.) having any money apart from the bare minimum. Point being? Hey, wow, I can do things. I can rely on myself. My confidence has received almost daily booster shots while abroad.
Madrid was absolutely amazing and made me reconsider the definition of the word "vibrant." I don't know if I've ever been in a city whose energy and liveliness is SO palpable. You could just feel it in the air. I guess NYC is a lot like that, but it's a different kind of energy you can feel there-it's ambition, it's pursuit, it's American. If Madrid could talk...well, I don't think it would; I think it'd be too busy dancing or something. I'm not articulating this well, sorry. I have to admit our hostel looked a bit like an opportune filming location for a murder scene. However, the hostel was in a prime location within a few blocks of the Prado, our first destination on Saturday morning. We had very limited time in the Prado, which was lame, but all the more reason to come back, right? I was able to see plenty of masterworks I've studied. Obviously, seeing the famous Spanish works for which the museum is known was a highlight. I just stood and stared at Las Meninas for at least 15 minutes. It was HUGE! However, I think I might have been even more drawn in by Velazquez's The Drinkers. And though seeing these Spanish masterpieces was certainly a definitively "Madrid" experience, I was really excited to discover that the museum housed several Northern European paintings I never knew were there; two of my favorites, in fact-Hieronymous Bosch's The Garden of Earthly Delights and Rogier Van Der Weyden's altarpiece depicting the Deposition. Standing in front of the Bosch work allowed me to notice tons of details and ridiculous characters I'd never seen before. Lauren and I were talking about how difficult it was for us to believe that someone was subversive enough to paint this in 1500. The characters and scenarios within the work look almost like Salvador Dali meets soft porn. And as for the Van der Weyden altarpiece, this was one of the most stunning works of art I've ever seen; I was almost taken aback at how much it moved me. The palette is just so striking, and I'd heard professors say before that the figures seem to almost pop out at you when you stand in front of it (due mostly to its shallow space), but I realized, looking at it, just how true this is. The emotion in the piece is palpable. It took a lot for me to walk away from it!
I have to admit, the entire time I was at the Prado I kept flashing back to Mrs. Hester's class and those fine, fine episodes of Destinos. For those unfortunate non-Tupelo folks who are unfamiliar with this beautiful series: Destinos is a soap opera (of sorts) designed to teach Spanish, and it is pretty much the basis of the Spanish curriculum at Tupelo High. We'd watch an episode every week or so and then for that week, our readings, vocabulary, assigned writings, and whatnot would somehow be related to this episode and the cultural knowledge it imparted. Destinos followed the triumphs and travails of Raquel Rodriguez, a shoulder-pad-wearing, huge-'80s-computer-using lawyer based in Los Angeles who was sent out by a Very Sick Old Man named Don Fernando to uncover the story of Rosario, his long-lost love. I barely remember any of the details now, but the combination of the slow Spanish speaking, the ridiculous score and theme music, the heinous '80s outfits, and the colorful cast of characters made high school Spanish so much fun. Our classes always bonded while making fun of Jorge the mujeriego (I remember that word: womanizer) or the sordid relationship between Raquel and Arturo and the awkward affectionate scenes they acted out (anyone remember the 'Vegetable Faces?') Anyway, I'm getting way off track. There is one particular episode where some characters make a trip to the Prado, and the "hidden lesson" in the episode is all about Velazquez, Goya, El Greco, etc. SO naturally as I was wandering the Prado I kept expecting Raquel's left shoulder pad to bump into me as I was gazing intently at a painting. But sadly, this did not occur.
After a morning at the Prado, Lauren and I met up with Alexis. Making this happen ended up being somewhat difficult and we had to meet her on the metro stop nearest her house. However, seeing her was SO fun and refreshing. It was fantastic to be able to hang out with a Sewanee bestie, even if only for a short day. Alexis was a fantastic tour guide. She took us to a DELICIOUS place called Casa Mingo for lunch, where we ate AMAZING family-style chicken and croquettas and gulped down Coca Cola Light (it's starting to taste less like cat pee to me, finally, but I have to admit I'm still pumped to drink DC in a few short days). As she ordered for the table, I felt like a proud mama. Her accent was phenomenal, and to an untrained ear like mine she sounded like a native. Alexis, if you're reading this, you're definitely an inspiration for me to keep going with Italian! Throughout the whole day her Spanish-speaking self got us around the city and I was beaming with pride thinking of my friends all across the world right now and all they've learned and experienced. So cool!
Since we had only a few hours before the concert, Alexis just gave us a great walking tour of the city centre. We walked through Puerta del Sol and Plaza Mayor, the main square of Madrid where burnings and hangings where held in the presence of the king and his court during the Spanish Inquisition. Yeesh. Alexis also took us through a super lively and dynamic indoor market that reminded me a lot of Mercato Centrale in the San Lorenzo area of Florence, but with Spanish flair, obviously. A seafood vendor was selling the largest and creepiest looking fish I have ever seen in my life; it looked posed and ready to jump out and kill me at any moment. The thing literally looked like it could swallow me, Jonah-style. Later we went to get churros at a famous place called Chocolateria San Gines, a multilevel building buzzing with activity, Spaniards and (a few) tourists crowding around the counters, anxious to sample the hot chocolate with churros. When it comes to chocolate, these Spaniards don't mess around. It is dark, rich, and delicious. I dipped churro after churro in the chocolate and when I'd polished off enough fried batter I shamelessly spooned up the chocolate by itself, watching Alexis and Lauren with pity, who both seem to actually pay attention to when they're becoming full. Haha... "Full." That word has no meaning in my vocabulary. The churro place is open until 7 a.m., which is definitely reflective of Madrid's nightlife and its vivaciousness on into the wee hours.
Eventually we parted ways because Alexis didn't have tickets to the concert, and Lauren and I found Palacio de los Deportes just in time. The Arcade Fire was absolutely INCREDIBLE!!! And yes, I'm well aware that they would have been good anywhere, but half of what made this show so ridiculously good was the crowd. Spaniards have spoiled me for life now. They know how to attend a concert. The crowd was out of control, but not obnoxiously. Everyone was just so into it. No joke, I was yelping and squealing and tearing up during "Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)." At one point Win Butler said into the mic that playing for Spain was playing for "the best @#^&!ing audience in the world." Now, yes, I'm well aware that musicians will say this to most any city they play in, but for once, I actually agreed. Normally I'm a big fan of intimate small-venue concerts, but this was one exception. Please check out the below video for evidence as to why it was so amazing:
After the concert I met up with Alexis again, this time accompanied by her IES best friend Kaitlyn. We went to Popolart, a small jazz club right near my hostel and ordered mojitos. This particular mojito would definitely be on the list of prettier drinks I've had, hahaha. People in Sewanee are not too big on beverage presentation. The closest thing you can get to "picturesque" is a pitcher of PBR at Shenanigans or communion wine in All Saints'. Not kidding. But I guess part of the reason this mojito was so pretty was because it cost 7 euro, aka about 3 hours of work at Stirling's.
We had to part ways pretty quickly because I had to catch a 3:25 a.m. shuttle to the airport in a van offered by my hostel (ridiculous, I know, but I wasn't about to pay for a cab, and my flight out was at 6 a.m. I know, I'm crazy). Before I knew it I was on the plane to Milan, where I'd catch a train back to Florence and sleep for the rest of the day.
For the first few minutes on the plane I had a row to myself, but eventually an Italian woman and her son Stefano scooted in. The details are a little hazy since it was barely 5:30 a.m. and I had not really slept in days, but I remember that Stefano was crying and from what I gathered from the woman's Italian words, he did not want to sit by me. He was making a scene so it was pretty embarrassing, and though I definitely wasn't looking my best at that moment, I didn't think I looked particulary scary or anything. I looked at him and volunteered, "Sono gentile," but he continued to wail. His mom apologized fervently and kept insisting that he was only tired.
Anyway, it's a good thing that this kid was crying. It kind of sucks that apparently I must look like a monster, but it's a good thing because it served as the basis for a great "conversation" (or, rather, an opportunity to practice speaking Italian) with this very kind lady. She asked me all about my studies in Florence and what I'd been doing in Madrid over the weekend. I was totally shocked that I was able to (sort of) form sentences in Italian at that ungodly hour, usually a time when I can't even speak coherent English. We bonded over the in-flight crew's terrible tendency to constantly make too-loud announcements, a shared love for Italian trains despite their flaws, our desire to learn each other's language, and the freezing temperature of the plane. Stefano this whole time was sleeping soundly in his seat, leaning his head on Mama Bear's shoulder. Too cute. When he woke up he was much kinder, and I'd prefer to think that he was just tired all along (no evil jokes, please).
The weekend was fantastic and well worth it, and now I am home in Florence, trying to savor these last few days I have here. :( It's very sad!!! But when I leave Italy, it won't be for too long. Count on it. Actual FLORENCE news and adventures and updates will follow soon.
Buona notte, belli amici,
Mary
P.S. Couldn't resist. Here is another Arcade Fire video-this is my favorite song of theirs and one of my favorite songs of all time, and I thought you all deserved to see the song that made me cry and squeal and generally act like a lunatic undergoing either an epileptic seizure or an ecstatic out-of-body experience. To borrow a phrase from the song itself, I do believe this is their true "golden hymn." Ciao kiddos.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
il prossimo semestre
Today I made an impractical decision. I'm over that whole "getting ahead" thing; I'd rather do that whole "enjoying learning" thing. And so I'm officially registered for an Italian class next semester with Richardson, one of the Sewanee teachers at the top of the "Must Take" list.
Yay!!
Yay!!
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
dinnertime
Tonight I took Franca to La Mangiatoia, a really authentic, delicious, and inexpensive trattoria in the Oltrarno. Over "Supernapoli" pizza and gnocchi alla sorrentina we discussed everything from her family and regional Italian cuisine to the Madonna music that served as the soundtrack to our meal. Turns out Franca's a fan, as is the owner of La Mangiatoia, apparently, considering Madonna was playing ALL NIGHT.
Our waiter took a photo, but, surprise surprise, I'm unable to upload it into this post. Eh.
I am really going to miss "speaking" this language on a daily basis. (I put "speaking" in quotations because I feel like "grunting" or "burping" are more fitting words here than speaking. I'm still a beginner in every sense of the word, but I know SO much more than I did four months ago.) Can't wait to continue studying when I get back to the U.S... and to return to Italy in the future with improved sKiLlZ. I'm already envisioning my return, and I haven't even left yet.
I had class in front of Michelangelo's David today. This same class met in front of Donatello's David on Thursday. Whatever, right?
Buona notte!
Our waiter took a photo, but, surprise surprise, I'm unable to upload it into this post. Eh.
I am really going to miss "speaking" this language on a daily basis. (I put "speaking" in quotations because I feel like "grunting" or "burping" are more fitting words here than speaking. I'm still a beginner in every sense of the word, but I know SO much more than I did four months ago.) Can't wait to continue studying when I get back to the U.S... and to return to Italy in the future with improved sKiLlZ. I'm already envisioning my return, and I haven't even left yet.
I had class in front of Michelangelo's David today. This same class met in front of Donatello's David on Thursday. Whatever, right?
Buona notte!
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
oops.
On this depressingly rainy night in Florence, I would like to apologize for being the world's worst blogger. I had every intention of keeping my dear amici e famiglia informed on a beyond-regular basis. Seriously. Additionally, rather than giving you a weekly Zoo Tour style update of my activities, I'd planned on delivering pithy posts filled with zingers and quips to rival Blair Waldorf and Seth Cohen, respectively.
But, obviously, that hasn't happened, and I'm just as disappointed as you are. Those of you that still periodically check this, that is. (Hi Mama!) I've been lacking in the motivation department, at least in terms of blogging. I've kept a semi-decent journal that will be good for helping me recount stories when the semester ends. And I've taken tons of pictures. But when I've written in my free time over here, it's mostly been in the form of journaling. And, honestly, to motivate myself to write regularly, I had to purchase a molto bella creamy purple (yep, I said creamy) Moleskine (see: StuffWhitePeopleLike.com. I'm exactly the J. Crew-clad perpetrator they're talking about). It's much more inspiring than a Steno Pad, anyway. My "need" to buy a Moleskine for basically all the reasons that SWPL cites reminded me of those ridiculous old-ish commercials for Chinet paper plates. The ones that were like, "What are you saying with your Chinet plates?" And then there'd be a montage of WASPy looking individuals holding up plates that said words like "Tradition. Family. Love. Timelessness." Riiight. Because I'd never dream of talking with my fam about our history if they dared to use Dixie plates at the Thanksgiving buffet. The audacity. And at the end of the commercials there was that melodramatic voice claiming, "Nothing says 'you're special' stronger than Chinet." Duh. Even the speaker sounded like she needed further convincing. Side note, even a Chinet plate runs the risk of snapping in half under one of MY heaps of dressing.
Anyway.
I have not documented my semester well at all on this blog, but I have used that time that I haven't spent typing up thoughts exploring the city. And other cities. So rest assured that there will be plenty of storytelling that will unfold over the weeks, months, years when I get back. It's also worth noting that when I had free time to communicate with friends/family, I wanted to spend it actually talking to them (well, "talking" is not the right word, but, you know, communicating... via FB chat, Skype, email and whatnot) rather than blogging to them. Also, for those of you who've expressed interest in my writing before, one of the realizations I've made this semester is that I DO want to write. Maybe not as a permanent career, but definitely as a permanent...something. (Eloquent, I know).
I'll try to at least get in one more post before my semester ends. I've written so little about my actual daily life in Florence, so for the last post I think I'll write about tips and tricks for living here. AKA things that would have been convenient to know from the get-go. And maybe when I'm back stateside, this blog will continue in some capacity. I have a little under a month left here, which is SO bittersweet. I'm pretty sad about it, but I'm excited to spend Christmas with family and friends and to head back to Sewanee in the spring. I know I'll be back in Florence sooner rather than later. :D
But, obviously, that hasn't happened, and I'm just as disappointed as you are. Those of you that still periodically check this, that is. (Hi Mama!) I've been lacking in the motivation department, at least in terms of blogging. I've kept a semi-decent journal that will be good for helping me recount stories when the semester ends. And I've taken tons of pictures. But when I've written in my free time over here, it's mostly been in the form of journaling. And, honestly, to motivate myself to write regularly, I had to purchase a molto bella creamy purple (yep, I said creamy) Moleskine (see: StuffWhitePeopleLike.com. I'm exactly the J. Crew-clad perpetrator they're talking about). It's much more inspiring than a Steno Pad, anyway. My "need" to buy a Moleskine for basically all the reasons that SWPL cites reminded me of those ridiculous old-ish commercials for Chinet paper plates. The ones that were like, "What are you saying with your Chinet plates?" And then there'd be a montage of WASPy looking individuals holding up plates that said words like "Tradition. Family. Love. Timelessness." Riiight. Because I'd never dream of talking with my fam about our history if they dared to use Dixie plates at the Thanksgiving buffet. The audacity. And at the end of the commercials there was that melodramatic voice claiming, "Nothing says 'you're special' stronger than Chinet." Duh. Even the speaker sounded like she needed further convincing. Side note, even a Chinet plate runs the risk of snapping in half under one of MY heaps of dressing.
Anyway.
I have not documented my semester well at all on this blog, but I have used that time that I haven't spent typing up thoughts exploring the city. And other cities. So rest assured that there will be plenty of storytelling that will unfold over the weeks, months, years when I get back. It's also worth noting that when I had free time to communicate with friends/family, I wanted to spend it actually talking to them (well, "talking" is not the right word, but, you know, communicating... via FB chat, Skype, email and whatnot) rather than blogging to them. Also, for those of you who've expressed interest in my writing before, one of the realizations I've made this semester is that I DO want to write. Maybe not as a permanent career, but definitely as a permanent...something. (Eloquent, I know).
I'll try to at least get in one more post before my semester ends. I've written so little about my actual daily life in Florence, so for the last post I think I'll write about tips and tricks for living here. AKA things that would have been convenient to know from the get-go. And maybe when I'm back stateside, this blog will continue in some capacity. I have a little under a month left here, which is SO bittersweet. I'm pretty sad about it, but I'm excited to spend Christmas with family and friends and to head back to Sewanee in the spring. I know I'll be back in Florence sooner rather than later. :D
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