To volcanoes and beyond

I remember very well how excited I was in the fall to find vulcanologia as a course that I could perhaps take. At that point, it felt like a pipe dream but now I am so excited to be crawling into bed to wake up early to catch the train to Vesuvious and after, the Aeolian Islands. Just proof at how the time flies and how things just work out sometimes. With my batteries charged and memory cards blank, I am ready to go. After, I will be with mom and Whitney on a grand adventure to Rome, Naples and the Amalfi coast. It will be strange being away from Bologna for so long, but the summer is wrapping up for me here and there are still lots of things to fit in. Can I mention that sampling in Rome might actually happen now? This is getting overwhelming!

No one even asked to see my ID!

Sitting around the picnic table with the family in the garden, with candles lit, full bellies, and my favorite Bolognese cake topped with 21 candles, I knew that it really was a Happy Birthday. Even being away from so many family and friends, feeling at home here in Bologna made it beautiful and not at all sad. Besides the love, and cards and food and all that good stuff, it was a good day for so many reasons. The sky was clear and the air was that perfect temperature where you could feel the warmth of the sun without sweating. Not like I even felt the outside until almost noon, after waking up late and a plate of french toast. However, some of the best news of the day came from my trek over to the Geology department to meet with one of my assistant professors. With an idea in my head about starting a research project with some field work during our fieldtrip, I asked him about the possibilites. Just the fact that he was so receptive to the idea made me feel so much more comfortable. Along with a specific idea on how to make it work, he started me off with some material to look into, papers and such. The other assistant professor, as I was making copies, came in to talk to the first guy. When I returned to the office, he asked me about when I was leaving Italy. He mentioned that if I had the time, perhaps I could spend a week on Stromboli working at a research station that monitors the actions of the vulcano. This was something he had mentioned in class before, but I had assumed it was only for the Italian students and that the dates where for July. Yet as we were talking, he really seemed excited and optimistic for me to be able to make this work. In addition to being able to live on a vulcano and do great vulcanology stuff for a week, I would be able to expand my fieldwork to as much as I could fit in during that time, and not just a quick day with the class. Please excuse my nerdness, but having the opportunity to maybe actually get somewhere with a project is too exciting. What's more than that, is that it is on a vulcano. 'Nuff said. With that meeting behind me, and the seal of approval that my new trekking boots are vulcano-worthy, there was no way I could call it a bad day. Add to that a gelato, some good friends and a long night of dancing I would call it a winner (even if the kids call me old).

Just trying to take it all in

Lots of time and lots of events have passed since the last time I sat myself down to write. It isn't for lack of material, but because the quantity becomes overwhelming to sort through. In addition, it usually isn't too difficult to convince my lazy self that no one really reads this anyway. However, those are excuses. With blogging comes a certain frustration of trying to capture the sensations that make an event worth recapping. Some moments blow me away such that I have to ask, "how did I get here...could I ever forget this?" Then, hours, days or a month later, I sit with paralyzed fingers, unable to explain the unexplicable details of the landscape, the little jokes that were so funny (before I tried to tell them to someone else), my relationship with whomever I have shared the moment with, or the journey itself. There are things that only can be experienced. When I tell the stories of what happened, I want to relive them and I want the listener to be there so that they could really understand how grand it was. Then there are those moments that are not great. Perhaps awkward, uncomfortable or lonely. I am thankful that now those feelings don't pull me down as heavily as they did at the beginning of the semester, even though they are often caused by the same thing. I still don't understand Italian all the time. I don't get Italian jokes. I could be in a car of Italians and not catch a word. Although more resilient than four months ago, it still hurts a bit when I hear "lei non ha capito = she didn't understand", guess it is a plus that I learned what that meant.

To prevent this post from just being a rant, allow me to include some of the happenings of today.

Today was Letizia's first comunion and I was expected to attend. As (my) mother knows, I have not spent a whole lot of Sunday mornings in a church recently (or any other time of the week for that matter). Therefor, I was a tad nervous about sitting in on mass. Also, let's be honest, I remember quite well having difficulty staying awake during mass as a kid. Today, mass was in Italian so I was bound not to understand a bit (which always makes me a bit sleepy) and I crawled into bed the night before not long before the sun woke up. Fortunately, there was enough to keep my attention. Besides the mass, the whole day became a grand celebration. Extended family and all, we enjoyed, then later lamented full bellies of a complete Italian lunch. Indeed it was elegant, with four different glasses set at each plate and just as many forks and knives. Fortunately for me, the conversation wasn't necessarily as refined and I could casually enjoy the company of the family. Indeed I was able to talk politics, thanks to my Italian politics course - bad grade excluded - as well as more fun topics like backpack travel. The day really did remind me very much of my own first comunion; how I refused to smile in every photo, and how I wore my dress not more than 2 minutes after I returned home from the church in favor of shorts and a t-shirt. To be fair, Letizia seemed glad to exchange her white shoes for converse and dress for a t-shirt as well. Now, at least, I feel a bit more validated that maybe my 9 year old self wasn't so different after all.

I'll try not to wait a month next time :)

From hill tops to Galery seats

Ok my dearies, this one's for you

Blog worthy things seem to happen plentifully but by the time I get back to my computer I have retracted into my complacently lazy self. Today, after swearing all weekend to study, blogging seems more important.

So the overall goal of learning Italian is still a wavy experience with conflicting highs and lows of success and failures. Today would probably be a fail, but that means tomorrow should be much better. In reality, Italian probably will never be so terribly useful to me, but the experiences gained here will be. If learning Italian got me here, I will keep trying to learn, but if I never become so great I know I can be happy with the friends I have made and the opportunties I have experienced. And really, misunderstanding a language really isn't the worst thing. Last night, I follwed a man's directions poorly (which probably would have also happened had they been in English) and found myself at a theater for flamenco dance rather than instrumental music. Not so bad.

Don't expect me to ever become a fiery whirlwind of long-skirted dresses, rhythmic feet and elegant balance. As much as I may wish, flamenco is just crazy hard. It doesn't even look easy. The woman I saw last night was just absolutely beautiful in the way she looked and moved. The men had more work ahead of them. Male Flamenco dancers in themselves don't attract that much attention, but the way their posture, elegance and insane foot coordination fit together is rather astounding. Plus, the music they built the rhythm with was just beautiful. Buttery soft with rapid precision, guitars like you have never heard.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qs4ieRAEjyA&NR=1

Just like me on the Ukulele.

Not.

Yet, I do love that little blue wonder courtesy of Marie and Jason's willingness to carry it through 22 hours of cross-Atlantic travel. It is a glorious way to fill time that should be spent studying. In the grand scheme of it all, isn't life about the little things? Perhaps in the future I will be able to play for my grandkids. They will find me way cooler for this than if I were to tell them about the corruption of Italy in the 80s.

Now let's consider the more useful of my academic interests. Vulcanology. I am sorry, but if a vulcanic eruption the day after we discussed vulcanic risks isn't a sign that I should become a vulcanologist, than nothing is. Even if it isn't a good excuse, vulcanoes are the coolest and everyone wants to know a vulcanologist after their flights around Europe are cancelled. I also went to the mineralogy museum twice last week. Go ahead, judge me - the second time was with a camera.

And this morning, I tried Orienteering for the first time, urban Bologna style. Pretty grand.

Me in a cistern


Me on a hill with Tiffany.


Bologna

Time is never enough

How do I recap the days of Jason's visit when the best details could fill a book? If brief, a recap is the same as reading an outline or a travel itinerary. If nothing else, you could describe our travels as a bit out of the ordinary. We did not follow the flocks to Greece or try and hit the major cities. We followed our noses to sunnier skies and let a few long train rides rock us into serenity, only hindered by a few impossibile word puzzles and inconsiderately loud phone conversations. Side by side, we rode to our destinations, happy to be side by side once again. Realizing we had an extra day to spare the weekend before Easter break, we opted to Asissi, in central Italy. Indeed, it was not straightforward. By the time we had walked through the doors of our hostel that night (11:25pm) we had missed three trains, waded through ambiguous directions (with cell phone out of commission) and quite nearly given up hope, or, at least I did. The following days were much easier as we romped around the countryside over St.Francis's old stomping (or prayer) grounds. We climbed through a castle and picniced with bread and olive oil on a hill side. All of this we did in time for me to make it to Vulcanology the next day at 1.
Thursday, we hit the trail/tracks again.
Rain was forecasted for Tuscany and Cinque Terre. Sardegna was a bit complicated to arrive at. So the night before going somewhere, Saverio asked why we weren't going to Puglia. Well, good question. By noon the following day, we were heading to Bari. The accomodations I found were nothing more than a shared appartment that had been converted into rooms for rent, but it served the purpose. Our goal was to arrive in Monopoli to rent bikes and we were able to do so just fine, without missing trains. From Monopoli we made a grand loop of two days that took us up away from the Adriatic, to a city with very confusing signs but delicious fruit and into "trulli" country. Trulli are goofy cone houses that are everywhere around the town of Alberobello, which, in itself, is unfortunately dependent on trinkely souvenir shops. Out of town, however, was the real beauty. Here we found open fields of spring flowers and the most twisted, anchient olive trees you could imagine. Think of the old tree in Lion King and these olive trees were not far off. Riding through was unbelievable, and fortunately, I needed lots of breaks so we were able to see them from a closer perspective as well.
At the end of the day, we rode our weary bodies up the driveway to a bed and breakfast we saw as we rode by. They had a beautiful little appartment available that was impossibile to resist as the sun began to set over the valley filled with the goofy trulli. It put us in the best position for the morning, allowing us to ride to the beach without hardly pedaling. Although the water was cold, the coast was beautiful. At the end of the ride, the pain in my butt made the return to Bologna seem rather appealing. The folks in Puglia were really fantastic and they left us with a great impression of the region and doggy bags of food. Not so bad.

Perhaps Photobucket can elaborate on the details, not every night is for storytelling

Working the rust out

Occassionally moments occur in life that wake you up. Whatever dull, half-gray day that was happening will be over and you realize that now you are who you really are. Those are the moments in my life that I live for. They are the experiences when all of my senses are alert and my body absorbs every detail. My mind will race, bombarded with too much to realize. Not enough of the details become solidified memories, just that it happened and the feeling that came with. Those types of things I try and write about, but even moments after they happen seem to begin to lose their color. Pulling each sense back to the light from my memory, it is still exciting.
So this time, I was on the bike. The fam and I had discussed already that I would use Saverio's bike, if I wanted, on Thursday's when I need to leave vulcano class early to pick up Leti from school. On campus, I always bike everywhere. Here, I don't. Especially when Saverio's bike was a 30y.r. model of something that probably never saw the inside of a garage, but about 30 winters. It is blue and rust colored with a bell that rings when you ride over bumps and a brake that half works. Before I replaced the other brake, dismounting and foot braking was absolutely necessary. So perhaps you can understand my hesitation in taking such a bike into the wild, unregulated streets of Bologna. People have told me that Bologna is tame compared to Napoli and other Italian cities, but perhaps they don't understand that the fiercest riding I have faced was down Mathew's, east of the quad, after 10am lecture. With a sunny day and my favorite green pants, I filled the tires and hit the streets with time to spare. My excitement may simply have come from riding a bike again, but it all became way more fun when I turned onto the cobbled street (making my bell ring) and away from the heavier traffic. Balanced on the thin, paved portion of the cobbled street, I sped up through the narrow streets, lit by the low sun. Scooters parked on the side partially blocked the path while pedestrians meandered in and out of the street. Pidgeons, without deciding where to go, would wait until the last moment to fly...into my bike. On the busier, paved streets, I could go as fast as my half-polluted breath could take me. It was a tango between buses and scooters dodging J-walkers. In Bologna there is a lot to see and especially on these roads that I have walked so many times I have seen a lot of it. However, on the back of a rickety bike, speeding through the city all of it became vivid. Not because I noticed anything new, but because it all came at me at once. Flying down the middle of the road, through the center of Bologna, uncertain where a sudden turn or absent-minded scooter-er might leave me, I looked ahead and saw the remnants of what makes Bologna a medieval city, the two towers. They seemed like ancient lighthouses hanging over the city, but warning bikers, not boats. The voyage continued until I arrived at the other side of the center. Too many details will make this too heavy (as if it isn't already), but the whole trip had my mind racing from start to finish. In all, not so bad either, ending with chain-ripped pants and hands greasy from holding my chain lock from falling into the gears of the bike. I don't think I will ride a whole lot in Bologna, out of fear for my life, but it will happen again, at least when I need to wake up.

Chatterboxes

Italians sure seem to like to talk. Having only the need to send a fax to my new landlord, I went to the nearest copy and fax place. Like usual, my broken Italian resulted in a mostly english/italian conversation where neither of us were speaking our native language. Fortunately, unlike most of these types of encounters, the conversation became completely Italian after he learned that I was 1. Not from Australia 2. Studying at the university 3. that I haven't been speaking english the whole time I have been here. He was a really nice guy and apparently graduated in geology way back when. He might have said he actually had a PhD as well. After he said that, he also told me not to try and find a job in Italy...makes sense if he is working a printing and fax store. All the same, he was a great guy who felt no need to end the conversation too early. We discussed (or I listened) to his wisdoms of the corrupt government, the need for geologists to work and study in Italy, how pasta is intrinsicaly better here and where there are good places to view pillow lavas in Tuscany. Really a cool guy...maybe he can help me with my homework. It is great when you meet a fellow geology lover who understands that vacations are great excuses to go see new geology and that it is totally worthwhile to visit a town named Gabbro.

Over the weekend we celebrated the birthday of one of Paola's brothers. Like most occassions here, we celebrated with lots of food and lots of talk. The pizza we had was take-out, but still extraordinary. The pizza conversation was quite good, and especially hilarious when I explained to Paola that a popular establishment on Green St. sold pizza that had tortellini as its toppings. She nearly fell out of her chair. I hadn't realized how scared tortellini are and that there is an unwritten rule in Italy that strictly forbids the use of tortellini as pizza toppings. As is standard, after the load of pizza we had some tea and sweets. There was still a bit of my Irish soda bread left so it shared the table with the cake Paola had made for the occassion. It was quite a compliment that the uncles nearly finished my bread before opting for a slice of Paola's cake. I suggested to her that perhaps next time she should throw a few tortellini into the batter before she bakes the next one (all in good fun of course). At about 11 30 we finally wrapped up after nearly 3 hours of talking. By then, I was about exhausted from concentrating for so long, but very happy to have shared the table with the family.