I was sad to spend a last morning in Rome. I realized I could become Roman. A real one. I could unpack and stay here, find a job, feed the homeless with my breakfast sandwich, and bargain in Italian better than real Italians can. I never want to leave this place. But there`s so much to go see, so I set off to Naples with two girls from my class and the boyfriend of one of them who joined us at the train station that day.
Naples was gross. Grey, filthy, littered in creepy dudes and abandoned construction sites. The walk from the train station to the hostel was scary. I feared for my life. Everyone around seemed like they were either criminals or packing up to get the heck out of there. And we were coming in. Getting into the Hostel of the Sun was like walking through the Pearly Gates of Heaven: bright colors, happy tourists, and a very nice smile from the woman at the counter made me feel right at home. They all spoke wonderful English and helped us with all our problems. We ordered food, too tired to go out (not like the scenery was particularly motivating anyway), and watched Gladiator. I slept like a baby until the next day. We took the bus to Pompei.
The ancient city, still under constant excavation, is already large enough to spend a full day walking around in. Followed by a few of the 47 stray dogs that live in the park, we discovered life as it was frozen back about 2000 years ago. The courtyards are brilliantly organized to catch rain water. The marble counters are equipped with what used to be ovens and stovetops. A few walls contain political messages and graffitti. The city is a labyrinth where you can keep walking on and on and only find a few bits of rubble, then turn a corner and see a fresco that looks as if it may have been painted just days ago. The walls are still stained with the pigments, some houses still have a roof and second floors. This is where people lived. And I walked there 2000 years later. All that's left of these people today are plaster shapes they managed to salvage from the burnt bodies. Although they were few and placed in a row behind a glass wall, the positions they have been petrified in chills the bones: babies, teenagers, adults and the elderly all shared the same fate, and all died in awful pain or despair, or both. Pompei is definitely a must if you ever come around Italy's side of the world.
I left Pompei with one of the girls from the group, leaving the other and her boyfriend to go along their own path (to Greece), and we took the train to Paris. We had been given separate beds in separate cabins, in separate wagons. I was doomed to sleep with an overweight, overly horny Indian man who kept running his hand through his greasy hair saying "what's your number?", so I ran to my friend's cabin, who had been placed with 5 smelly, obese people. I took my courage and for once, complained about the situation I had been placed in to the conductor. Luckily, there had been a free cabin where my friend and I had been placed. An American woman joined us later: she had been put with 5 men who stared at her intently but said nothing. We got along wonderfully, but were quite happy to finally get off the train the next day.
Paris was a special place. For one, I couldn't seem to get my bearings. I also didn't find many hospitable Parisians, maybe except for the family friend whose house we stayed at (who is, in fact, American), and her partially Algerian partner. There were many inconveniences and arising issues that we hadn't prepared for; for instance, cameras needing new batteries or new memory cards, getting lost, arriving after the opening hours or to find that there was a 3-hour line-up, getting lost... Despite all these setbacks, we managed to run in and out of the Louvre, Orsay, Notre Dame de Paris, Versailles (this was the only place we truly took our time), Moulin Rouge (seeing as the shows were out of our budget range, we went to the nearby eroticism museum), Sacre-Coeur and Paris' Fine Arts College (Ecole des Beaux-Arts). Our time spent there may have been short, but it have been deeply engraved in our memory. The most special moments were: staring at a REAL Delacroix, feeding brave pigeons, and walking along the endless busts and paintings of the "War Room" of the Versailles Palace.
PS: the food there was brilliant. I have never been so excited by breakfast before, or lunch. The hot dogs, croque-monsieurs, crepes, gauffres (waffles), and breads and cheeses were delicious.
Unfortunately, not enough time was spent in Paris, and I soon had to head for home. I took a train back to Rome to catch my flight. This time, I was rooming with 3 Texan teenagers on an end-of-the-year school trip. It was entertaining, to say the least. The train was late 4 hours because of an accident on the railway causing a fire, which caused the track to be closed down, which caused our train to be late, which caused me to... miss my flight... I spent 20 minutes trying to get on the plane (it was boarding as I arrived, but the gates had been closed 20 minutes prior to my arrival), and then the next 4 hours served to get me another flight, call my parents, and find a place to sleep at until the next day. Thankfully, everything turned out great. And I didn't get sick on the flight back, and I saw my family at the station waiting for me, and I went home, and life went on...
WORD OF THE DAY: Arrivederci
They say that when you throw a penny with your right hand over your left shoulder while looking away from the Trevi fountain, you've just made a wish to come back to Rome, and that wish will come true. This is what I did, and I hope with all my heart that fate brings me back to that place, and if not Rome, at least Italy, and if not that, then at least Europe. Arrivederci, literally translated in French: "a la revoiure", means something like, "we'll see each other again". This is what I said to the Trevi fountain, and to Rome, and to Italy when I left it.
....................First adventures off the continent: thrills, risks, gasps, and a pencil..................... 4th year specialization in the Art Ed program. Just finished my internship in a high school. Still need a few credits before getting my diploma, so took a drawing course... IN ITALY! One month of intensive drawing, Italian classes, wine tasting, history of Italian art and Italy in general, visits to museums, etc.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Sunday, June 5, 2011
The long one
I realized how much I disliked Florence when I set foot in Rome. More on that later, however. There are four days between Florence and Rome that need to be described. They were possibly the best days of the trip, despite the extreme sense of awe that I've felt these past few days in Rome.
The Sunday after our return to Florence, it hit us that there was only one day left to the drawing course we had all taken. We set out to explore some areas that we had never bothered to see before, and we tasted a little bit more of that pure Italian countryside culture. We walked along the gravel and dirt roads, reaching fields of hay and discovering nature as it is, and as it has been for 2000 years and over. A shepherd, dressed in a robe and dragging a wooden stick, walked his goats to the nearest patch of shaded grass. Dogs greeted us with barks, and birds fluttered away at the sound of our footsteps. The stream where I had watched tadpoles grow for the last month buzzed with life: lines of busy ants, flies, mosquitoes, etc. We drew what we saw, and I loved what I drew because I loved what I was seeing. There was this calm atmosphere that one feels on a Sunday, along with the serene balance of nature. It was a magical experience.
The next morning we visited Bolsena for the last time. We drew chicken coops, vinyards, etruscan landscapes and roads of more than 2300 years. We drew the lake from the mountain, the cherry trees. We visited Santa Christina's church, and walked through the layers of time, deep into its catacombs. I remembered I was claustrophobic... but this mood allowed me to make some good charcoal drawings. The scene reminded me a bit of Indiana Jones movies. We spent the afternoon on the beach, and I tried a Campari (some alcohol I always see Italians drink that actually tastes like a mix of nail polish remover and mosquito repellent).
We gave in our sketchbooks that day, to be observed by the teacher. We realized at this point that we had gotten so used to drawing that not having our sketchbooks with us made us feel naked, or empty. Everywhere we turned, we wanted to draw this, or that, and we found we couldn't. My critique the next day went by smoothly: I knew what I was good at, and I knew what I was doing wrong. Nothing really came as a surprise.
The last supper on Wednesday felt unreal. This is when I fell in love with Italy, and I'm getting all emotional writing about this. It may be my melodramatic- hopeless romatic attitude, but I really felt strongly about that night. Our supper was delicious, as usual. The comfort of having regular meals there made it feel even more special. We took a bus to the next town over, Torre Alfina, to have gelato as desert. I sat in the front with the bus driver, looking out into the night, the first few meters ahead of us lit by the headlights of the bus. The trees hugged the streets so tightly, it almost felt like we were driving through a tunnel. I'd met the bus driver previously: he was the designer for the Pugnaloni of the Centro team (with whom we spent some time partying). I was nervous to talk to him, but, starting a conversation, I learned he travelled a lot between the small villages around Acquapendente, and that he worked in Torre Alfina, at the Nature museum giving tours to school kids and accompanying them on nature walks. He went to college to draw in a bigger town further away. I got along with him so well that my heart broke whenI thought of the fact that I had to leave early the next day for Rome.This was one Italian that seemed to have not a drop of anger in his heart (that doesn't happen often), a sincere smile, eyes that dreamed of romance, but a heart that was perfectly content in the simple kind of life one leads in small towns. I learned this was also the man that had fallen for a Canadian (in this very drawing course, 5 years ago), who had followed her home for 2 months, and sadly moved back home when they realized it wasn't going to work out. It's one of those stories the teacher tells at the beginning of the course to warn us of the dangers out there. Despite this, I think I fell in love. At least for a moment.
Torre Alfina is a wonderful little town realted to Acquapendente of about 300 people. They have a group of soldiers that play music (they have a specific name, and it's a very important section of the Italian army...but I can't remember the name...) and we found them practicing for the 150th anniversary of the Reunification of Italy which was to take place the next day (the big party was in Rome- more on that later). They saw how amazed we were at this performance, and dedicated a few songs to us (the Italians, they're such romantics...). We then got gelato (I'm proud to say I haven't yet had the same flavor twice!... and I have gelato almost every day...) and walked up to the castle. Along the way, we noticed many contemporary art installations, sculptures, canvases that played with light and optical illusions, etc. This town was full of surprises, and the artworks were scatteres in such a way that it was always a pleasant surprise to fall upon one. At the castle, I talked some more with Fabrizo (the bus driver) and an older German man, whom I met up there, and who told me about the next day's celebrations in Rome (an engineer, he spoke many different languages, had a house in Rome, and was on vacation in Torre Alfina). On the way back to the bus, I met a Japanese man with an Italian sheep dog (an enormous white fluff ball named Tarò). I spent some time playing with him, and giving him affection, immediately, and once again, falling in love. Having such a connection with this dog made me feel so much better, especially when thinking of Cham, and although I was glad to have met him, I heard him howl back at me for the next 5 minutes as I walked away and my heart sank again. It didn't stop me from sleeping like a baby that night.
The next day, we left for Rome. The bus ride was long, but I was entertained by a conversation with one of the girls in the group, and it semed like the 3 hours were nothing. The hotel, it turns out, was 5 minutes away from the train station, and had much better breakfast than the one we had stayed at in Florence. I knew I loved Rome when I saw the orange trees lining the streets. As if it was completely normal. It blew my mind. The next few days were more mind-blowing: I saw the Trevi fountain, churches in which inhabited Carravagio's artworks, ate the best gelato in the world (saw some flavors I never thought existed), saw some amazing percussion bands, walked inside the Parthenon, the Colliseum, the Forum, a stadium, the house of Nero, Augustus, the Vestals, the Pope's, etc... The Oratory in Montreal always amazed me because I saw the madness (or the passion?) of the people who believed in something so much that they would build monumental places to honor these things. I saw it again, and again, and again in Rome. The Trevi fountain is clearly an overly ambitious and crazy idea, yet it's also one of the most amazing things I've seen. I cried when I saw the extent of the ancient Roman city and realized that we were never original, really, in our modernity. Anything we have now, the Romans had long before we did. This was the center of the world. For so long, and to such an extent, that we should be ashamed as a civilization today. There are 3 layers of city built upon city. We built ourselves around it, but we were never really in it. This is what I learned as I was walking around in Rome: we are nothing new, nothing special, we stole our ideas from those who were more amazing than us.
Special thanks to the wonderful guide we had: Gino, who made us question reality, see wrinkles as marks of a history, laugh, cry, not just look but truly see, and who gave us frequent bathroom and feeding breaks. We all loved you, and we wish you a long and fruitful life.
NEXT: Naples tonight, Pompeii tomorrow (with a climb up the Vesuvius), then night train to Paris. In Paris, we have a long list: Notre Dame cathedral, Eiffel tower at night, Catacombs of Paris, Louvres, Orsay, Versailles. I'll be travelling with a girl from the class, then it's back home to Montreal. I'm so glad I have Gravol.
WORD OF THE DAY: carabinieri
this is what we call policemen. Here, the carabinieri of the Italian President wears a beautiful combination of shiny roman armour and modern pants and shirt. To be hired by the President, they must be 1.90 meters, must be built like an ox, and must have an attractive Roman face (I don't know why, but that seems to be a pretty important criteria).
The Sunday after our return to Florence, it hit us that there was only one day left to the drawing course we had all taken. We set out to explore some areas that we had never bothered to see before, and we tasted a little bit more of that pure Italian countryside culture. We walked along the gravel and dirt roads, reaching fields of hay and discovering nature as it is, and as it has been for 2000 years and over. A shepherd, dressed in a robe and dragging a wooden stick, walked his goats to the nearest patch of shaded grass. Dogs greeted us with barks, and birds fluttered away at the sound of our footsteps. The stream where I had watched tadpoles grow for the last month buzzed with life: lines of busy ants, flies, mosquitoes, etc. We drew what we saw, and I loved what I drew because I loved what I was seeing. There was this calm atmosphere that one feels on a Sunday, along with the serene balance of nature. It was a magical experience.
The next morning we visited Bolsena for the last time. We drew chicken coops, vinyards, etruscan landscapes and roads of more than 2300 years. We drew the lake from the mountain, the cherry trees. We visited Santa Christina's church, and walked through the layers of time, deep into its catacombs. I remembered I was claustrophobic... but this mood allowed me to make some good charcoal drawings. The scene reminded me a bit of Indiana Jones movies. We spent the afternoon on the beach, and I tried a Campari (some alcohol I always see Italians drink that actually tastes like a mix of nail polish remover and mosquito repellent).
We gave in our sketchbooks that day, to be observed by the teacher. We realized at this point that we had gotten so used to drawing that not having our sketchbooks with us made us feel naked, or empty. Everywhere we turned, we wanted to draw this, or that, and we found we couldn't. My critique the next day went by smoothly: I knew what I was good at, and I knew what I was doing wrong. Nothing really came as a surprise.
The last supper on Wednesday felt unreal. This is when I fell in love with Italy, and I'm getting all emotional writing about this. It may be my melodramatic- hopeless romatic attitude, but I really felt strongly about that night. Our supper was delicious, as usual. The comfort of having regular meals there made it feel even more special. We took a bus to the next town over, Torre Alfina, to have gelato as desert. I sat in the front with the bus driver, looking out into the night, the first few meters ahead of us lit by the headlights of the bus. The trees hugged the streets so tightly, it almost felt like we were driving through a tunnel. I'd met the bus driver previously: he was the designer for the Pugnaloni of the Centro team (with whom we spent some time partying). I was nervous to talk to him, but, starting a conversation, I learned he travelled a lot between the small villages around Acquapendente, and that he worked in Torre Alfina, at the Nature museum giving tours to school kids and accompanying them on nature walks. He went to college to draw in a bigger town further away. I got along with him so well that my heart broke whenI thought of the fact that I had to leave early the next day for Rome.This was one Italian that seemed to have not a drop of anger in his heart (that doesn't happen often), a sincere smile, eyes that dreamed of romance, but a heart that was perfectly content in the simple kind of life one leads in small towns. I learned this was also the man that had fallen for a Canadian (in this very drawing course, 5 years ago), who had followed her home for 2 months, and sadly moved back home when they realized it wasn't going to work out. It's one of those stories the teacher tells at the beginning of the course to warn us of the dangers out there. Despite this, I think I fell in love. At least for a moment.
Torre Alfina is a wonderful little town realted to Acquapendente of about 300 people. They have a group of soldiers that play music (they have a specific name, and it's a very important section of the Italian army...but I can't remember the name...) and we found them practicing for the 150th anniversary of the Reunification of Italy which was to take place the next day (the big party was in Rome- more on that later). They saw how amazed we were at this performance, and dedicated a few songs to us (the Italians, they're such romantics...). We then got gelato (I'm proud to say I haven't yet had the same flavor twice!... and I have gelato almost every day...) and walked up to the castle. Along the way, we noticed many contemporary art installations, sculptures, canvases that played with light and optical illusions, etc. This town was full of surprises, and the artworks were scatteres in such a way that it was always a pleasant surprise to fall upon one. At the castle, I talked some more with Fabrizo (the bus driver) and an older German man, whom I met up there, and who told me about the next day's celebrations in Rome (an engineer, he spoke many different languages, had a house in Rome, and was on vacation in Torre Alfina). On the way back to the bus, I met a Japanese man with an Italian sheep dog (an enormous white fluff ball named Tarò). I spent some time playing with him, and giving him affection, immediately, and once again, falling in love. Having such a connection with this dog made me feel so much better, especially when thinking of Cham, and although I was glad to have met him, I heard him howl back at me for the next 5 minutes as I walked away and my heart sank again. It didn't stop me from sleeping like a baby that night.
The next day, we left for Rome. The bus ride was long, but I was entertained by a conversation with one of the girls in the group, and it semed like the 3 hours were nothing. The hotel, it turns out, was 5 minutes away from the train station, and had much better breakfast than the one we had stayed at in Florence. I knew I loved Rome when I saw the orange trees lining the streets. As if it was completely normal. It blew my mind. The next few days were more mind-blowing: I saw the Trevi fountain, churches in which inhabited Carravagio's artworks, ate the best gelato in the world (saw some flavors I never thought existed), saw some amazing percussion bands, walked inside the Parthenon, the Colliseum, the Forum, a stadium, the house of Nero, Augustus, the Vestals, the Pope's, etc... The Oratory in Montreal always amazed me because I saw the madness (or the passion?) of the people who believed in something so much that they would build monumental places to honor these things. I saw it again, and again, and again in Rome. The Trevi fountain is clearly an overly ambitious and crazy idea, yet it's also one of the most amazing things I've seen. I cried when I saw the extent of the ancient Roman city and realized that we were never original, really, in our modernity. Anything we have now, the Romans had long before we did. This was the center of the world. For so long, and to such an extent, that we should be ashamed as a civilization today. There are 3 layers of city built upon city. We built ourselves around it, but we were never really in it. This is what I learned as I was walking around in Rome: we are nothing new, nothing special, we stole our ideas from those who were more amazing than us.
Special thanks to the wonderful guide we had: Gino, who made us question reality, see wrinkles as marks of a history, laugh, cry, not just look but truly see, and who gave us frequent bathroom and feeding breaks. We all loved you, and we wish you a long and fruitful life.
NEXT: Naples tonight, Pompeii tomorrow (with a climb up the Vesuvius), then night train to Paris. In Paris, we have a long list: Notre Dame cathedral, Eiffel tower at night, Catacombs of Paris, Louvres, Orsay, Versailles. I'll be travelling with a girl from the class, then it's back home to Montreal. I'm so glad I have Gravol.
WORD OF THE DAY: carabinieri
this is what we call policemen. Here, the carabinieri of the Italian President wears a beautiful combination of shiny roman armour and modern pants and shirt. To be hired by the President, they must be 1.90 meters, must be built like an ox, and must have an attractive Roman face (I don't know why, but that seems to be a pretty important criteria).
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Running out of Time
I have only a few hours left here in Acquapendente. I'm going back home in less than 10 days... I feel like I did when I finally finished Victor Hugo's Notre Dame de Paris:... now what?
I went to Florence. On the way, we stopped by Orvieto, a gorgeous town on a plateau, like sitting on a throne. I first saw it in a purplish-blue silhouette, surrounded by a cloud of fog, rising above the landscape. Majestic. It funiculare was the only way to get up there other than a long, steep road strictly for cars. The duomo was a work of art in itself, rivalising with that of Sienna. People are insulted at those who dare disturb the peace by taking pictures, yet a nun held out her cellphone as she faced the honored reliquary (a chunk of rock soaked in the blood of Christ) and clicked away subtely. We all took a picture of her taking a picture. I spent the rest of the morning swaggering from shop to shop, swirving to avoid breaking the countless ceramic artworks that are the specialty of this town, and I found myself in the small workshop of a young artist who painted byzantine-style religious canvases. We spent somewhere around 30 minutes switching from Italian to English to French ans we wove together a conversation. He suggested I visit the church along the cliff on the opposite side of town, so I set off to find it. I never got there, constantly disctracted (once by the breathtaking view from the side of the cliff, once by a few mummies in a museum, other times by ceramic shops that seemed out of the ordinary). I regret spending so little time in this goregous little town (and not giving the artist my phone number!!!)
We reached Florence by train from the station in Orvieto. My first vision of Florence was the train station which looked like a near-exact copy of Roma Termini (which I didn't particularly enjoy) and then a McDonald's. The town stinks, is dirty, the people are all snobby tourists and unhappy locals. The beauty of the architecture is lost, drowned between more modern, average buildings. Apparently Florence is an acquired taste. The duomo was also disappointing (I'd seen those of Sienna and Orvieto and didn't feel as overwhelmed as with those two). However, I went shopping and found leather sandals, purse, bag, which I fell in love with and managed to bargain down to an acceptable price. We saw the cast from Jersey Shore (who are filming this season in Florence, having been refused from every other city in the world), and ran after them like cheeky fan girls but got pushed away by the rude and unpleasant body guard. The highlight of the trip was walking into La Loggia, the Uffizzi, and its temporary drawing exhibit. The sculptures and paintings I saw warmed my heart, and I cried in front of the most beautiful woman in the world, Venus. She stood on her shell with her gold-woven hair fluttering with the breeze, and her silky-smooth skin made me jealous. We also ate some pretty messed up gelato (the Gelato Festival egged us on to try the Italiano Trio: tomato, basil, and cheese gelato). I missed the Academia, the walk up inside the Duomo, and the Palazzo Pitti. I will have to go back.
I went to Florence. On the way, we stopped by Orvieto, a gorgeous town on a plateau, like sitting on a throne. I first saw it in a purplish-blue silhouette, surrounded by a cloud of fog, rising above the landscape. Majestic. It funiculare was the only way to get up there other than a long, steep road strictly for cars. The duomo was a work of art in itself, rivalising with that of Sienna. People are insulted at those who dare disturb the peace by taking pictures, yet a nun held out her cellphone as she faced the honored reliquary (a chunk of rock soaked in the blood of Christ) and clicked away subtely. We all took a picture of her taking a picture. I spent the rest of the morning swaggering from shop to shop, swirving to avoid breaking the countless ceramic artworks that are the specialty of this town, and I found myself in the small workshop of a young artist who painted byzantine-style religious canvases. We spent somewhere around 30 minutes switching from Italian to English to French ans we wove together a conversation. He suggested I visit the church along the cliff on the opposite side of town, so I set off to find it. I never got there, constantly disctracted (once by the breathtaking view from the side of the cliff, once by a few mummies in a museum, other times by ceramic shops that seemed out of the ordinary). I regret spending so little time in this goregous little town (and not giving the artist my phone number!!!)
We reached Florence by train from the station in Orvieto. My first vision of Florence was the train station which looked like a near-exact copy of Roma Termini (which I didn't particularly enjoy) and then a McDonald's. The town stinks, is dirty, the people are all snobby tourists and unhappy locals. The beauty of the architecture is lost, drowned between more modern, average buildings. Apparently Florence is an acquired taste. The duomo was also disappointing (I'd seen those of Sienna and Orvieto and didn't feel as overwhelmed as with those two). However, I went shopping and found leather sandals, purse, bag, which I fell in love with and managed to bargain down to an acceptable price. We saw the cast from Jersey Shore (who are filming this season in Florence, having been refused from every other city in the world), and ran after them like cheeky fan girls but got pushed away by the rude and unpleasant body guard. The highlight of the trip was walking into La Loggia, the Uffizzi, and its temporary drawing exhibit. The sculptures and paintings I saw warmed my heart, and I cried in front of the most beautiful woman in the world, Venus. She stood on her shell with her gold-woven hair fluttering with the breeze, and her silky-smooth skin made me jealous. We also ate some pretty messed up gelato (the Gelato Festival egged us on to try the Italiano Trio: tomato, basil, and cheese gelato). I missed the Academia, the walk up inside the Duomo, and the Palazzo Pitti. I will have to go back.
WORD OF THE DAY: Attraversiamo
because I finished the book, finally, right on time. Attraversiamo means "let's cross over", which is Liz's favorite Italian word, and which, coincidentally enough, fits with my leaving of Acquapendente to Rome: Iàm crossing over from a small Italian town, to a big Metropolis. That's the end of authentic Italian for me, I think. Eat Pray Love was a brilliant read with lots of insight and that made me expect to have a spiritual, life changing journey, but I realized this isn't the sort of thing you can force yourself, and so I'm still sitting here waiting.
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