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.

video

I made a video of the acetaia tour. It is now nestled into a corner booth in the restaurant of YouTube.

il secondo

Quickie day trip that really happened to be one of the better ones. Erik's dad's birthdat was today and apparently he really loves balsamic vinegar. For his dad, Erick decided to visit La Ca' dal Non (the house of grandparents?) an acataia (vinegar maker place) near Bologna. It really was a great idea. From now on, when someone I love has a birthday, I will also just go someplace cool "for them". Anyways, we went to this place that we found at the end of a dinky road, home to only grape vines, cows, chickens, and old stone homes. At the door we were met by this really dapper man (compared to our tennis shoes and hoodies). He welcomed us in and sat us down, beginning the explanation of how balsamic vinegar is created. After, we progressed into the acataia itself. This man certainly had has priorities set. While we were not asked to remove our shoes into his house, we could not take a step into the acataia without putting un surgical booties. Booties in place, we continued. The building was profumed by the decades-old wooden barrels and their savory contents. We could easily see the whole process right before our eyes (mind you, the process takes 12 or 25 years, so don't wait up). The barrels were in order from largest to smallest, as a progression for their evaporating contents. The smaller the barrel, the older and more pungent the vinegar. Try putting your nose to one of these barrels, I think it cleared out my cold with one sniff. But anyway, the place was beautiful. This man was the grandson of the man who started the whole place and their were pictures of him with his grandparents when he was only one year old, at the same door that we were standing at now. So many of the tools were exactly the same ones as the originals. The barrels, scrapers, stoppers, testers, whatchamacallits and others. It was really beautiful and certainly interesting. Not the least of which was the clear joy this man had in displaying his life's work. Let it be known, that I was also very pleased to be able to partake, especially in the tasting. With only a few drops on a plastic spoon, the flavors from the vinegar shocked my tongue and got my mouth to water like a faucet. The sweetness of the wood was rich the texture smooth. It was all very complex, especially to my tastebuds accustumed to Schnuck's brand products.

So content with that tour, the day could have ended there and I would have been happy, but we cooled our heals at a restaurant that may have appreciated pork fat more than McDonalds before they switched to vegetable oil. In the name of travel and cuisine, we opted to forget our arteries and our wallets (not always so willingly) for a really good and really rich lunch. Afterwards, we traveled to the nearby city of Modena to walk off our food coma if for nothing else. The new town and clear sky was entirely welcoming and ultimately very beautiful. After a pass through, we called it quits. Follow that with a game of Guess Who with the family, and that is a good weekend.

American culture, alle Bolognese

I never have liked Queen more than after watching a Queen tribute band in The American Bar of Rock and Roll.

Indeed, it was also the only english I heard all night. A few evenings prior, the BCSP office had a party for all the American students as well as the students traveling to the states next year. It was a fantastic opportunity to get to know a few Italian students who would be attending U of I next year. They were all very congenial, and in fact I had met one of them prior which was pretty amazing. So when one of them suggested that we go see a Queen cover band, it seemed like a ripe chance to get to know a future Illinois student better. So we drove to the American Bar at about 11- past my bedtime, but still awake. Surprisingly, I understood and was able to respond for the car ride as well as when we met his few friends (about 20) at the club. Even though the extreme number of strangers who didn't speak my native language was overwhelming, the hanging American flag, hamburgers and banana splits on the table made me feel right at home. Surprisingly enough, that was not even the best part. Imagine this...long-haired, Queen-shirted, air-guitar playing fans in the front row and surrounding the stage; fog machine; screaming for the one that everyone was wating for - Freddie Mercury. The real Freddie Mercury could pass for Italian and this one was amazingly similar, perhaps only with a bit bigger nose. Costumes, the same. Microphone air-guitaring, the same. He really was quite a showman as was the rest of the band and you can sure bet that I felt like a superstar when I could sing all the words to Bohemian Rhapsody. Really, Americans and Italians are not all the different. Every so often, we all have to let lose and surround a stage to watch a true rock spectacle after eating taglietelle e ragu Bolognese with french fries and ketchup.

Dinner conversation

Mother, I hope you don't mind me sharing this story.

We received your letters today, sent from across the Atlantic. Because I was not expecting your handwriting to be written to anybody but me, I opened the one addressed to Mrs. Paola and family. Let me simply say that Paola, Saverio and Francesco all read it separately and all commented that you had written "safe". "She thinks you are safe here?" According to them, you must be misguided as to what is actually going on in this house. It was also pretty funny to hear Francesco read, "Clear Paola,..". Your handwriting is hard for me sometimes, but then give it to Francesco and it just becomes comedic. Other than Saverio, who had to be convinced that "Paola and family" on the front of the envelope was because mothers need to write to mothers and not because he wasn't the head of the family, everyone appreciated the gesture and found it to be a very nice letter.

Another oops today...

"I decided" is not "ho deciduto" in Italian. That means "I died".

Monday morning

There is a certain advantage to living in Bologna over Rockford. Wherever you live stops becoming a novelty after a while when you stop looking up and noticing new things. It doesn't take too long, maybe a few weeks. There is certainly plenty to do in Bologna that I haven't done but now it is my home base so I don't consider it so much when I decide to take a bit of time to explore. Rockford, similarly, has things to do. That list of things has been exhausted over my years of teenage wanderings. Using Bologna as a home base serves as an excelent hub to travel elsewhere without much effort. Rockford could do this as well, if you were interested in traveling to Freeport, Roscoe, DeKalb, Shirland, Belvidere...
This Friday a friend and I took a day trip to Ravenna. It isn't anything super special, but Dante is camped there and there are lots of mosaics. Mostly it is a good opportunity to spend the time somewhere else and just walk for a day. The detail is really astounding and the rocks are great. Those old Italians really had a taste for the beauty of rocks. These little excursions are not geology field trips, but I can't help but notice and I tend to take pictures of columns with maybe a pencil for scale.
Yesterday I spent most of my time in my room trying to read this history book in Italian. That stuff is hard enough to read in english. After all that sitting, I am really craving to do something so I might make a plan for Sicily. Pipe dreams maybe, but it should be warmer down there and I heard they are predicting snow here for tomorrow.

More pictures on Photobucket and a new video for youtube as well :)

In case you didn't know

A few hours ago I was playing soccer with 9 kids that had an average age half of mine as well as a religious man named Padre Marco Giuseppe with a long gray beard and a sports whistle. Can you imagine that the girl with 20 years and red hair was the odd man out? One of the girls asked if I was German. The other looked pretty confused when I told her that I live with Francesco. For some of the other games we played, the brown cloaked, white cord belted, rosary toting Padre was the official and master gamer. His explanations were only half clear to me, the other half coming after I watched the kids and I looked pretty stupid for the first few rounds. We all played together as the sky began to grow dark and until everyone left the playground for their afternoon snack, including Padre. Francesco and I stayed in the playground to play. I, with a basketball and him, obviously, with the soccer ball. No matter how much time passes, I still love to shoot. Getting frustrated with my missed shots and exalted with the best ones, somehow helps in the thinking process. First off, even though the playground environment is very unassuming, it is still always difficult when Italians (children, bearded, whomever) speak to you in english when you are trying to communicate and form coherent sentences. I always get the "what's the point" feeling when the other can speak english. Also, when you listen very intently to someone, trying to understand and ultimately don't, it can be really hard not to feel stupid or that you are somehow incapable. This was all on my mind while I was missing most and making a few of my shots. Even on the playground it can be hard to feel ok. Probably after I had a few "makes" I remembered that the situation itself was pretty awesome and rather funny. Whether I understood every dialogue or not, I had still played freeze tag, Padre style. If I had a picture of it, I know I would laugh.

Also while gettin' my game on, I thought about the week altogether and realized that my experiences and how I felt about them through the week really illustrated who I am and what this adventure is to me. To begin. I found the geology buildings and saw the dinosaur posters, hand specimen cabinets and geologic time scale...it was the most fulfilling and excited feeling I had had all day - I will visit the department's museum of minerals before I go to any art museum. A less exciting experience... sitting in my vulcanology class with a room full or people who know eachother and not me. It was the same as being the new kid in shool, but in the new school, everyone speaks with their hands and you don't understand hand speak. Once the professor began about granites and magmas, I could not have been happier.

Last night I saw a concert performed. It soothed this inner nagging I had had for so long to go watch music performed. Music doesn't require conversational comprehension. Being able to understand the titles of the movements was only an added bonus. I remember feeling that the price of the ticket was so worth it, and if I had to choose between paying for a meal or paying for my ticket I would choose the music. My eye was always fixed on the cellist. It was impossible not to notice even how syncronized he was with the violist with the sway of his body, the nodding of his head, the intensity of stare.

Indeed, I also made bronwnies this week.

So. I dig geology, basketball, musical performances and brownies. Who knew?

Still lovin delivery

Today felt really good. It wasn't a day where I put on my boots and new pants and tried to look Italian - which is a total waste anyway - I slipped on my trekking shoes, forgot the umbrella and hit the streets, even running if I felt like it. The best thing here that I am learning is how to be happy, or to be responsible for my happiness. It truly can't be faked, but realized. Last night for example, sitting around swapping swearwords with the Italians was only partially enthralling, but the discoteche was the coolest, I know I will miss it when I go home. For me, it is not about the hot new hits or the alcohol or the Italian-speaking men, I just like to dance. Now to the other side of the spectrum. Tonight we had delivery (awesome) pizza. Sitting around the table would probably be boring for a lot of the discotechers, but I could not have had more fun discussing the noises animals make.

For example
I say a dog says "woof woof" They say a dog says "bow bow"

Indeed, simple, but when the whole family starts expressing the language of the animal kingdom, it gets pretty funny. Follow this with some nursery rhymes and I call it a good time.

More than anything else, today has been a good day because I had American pancakes...with Nutella.

Things I never thought I would see

Blue skies, new flowers, warm air, David... Florence was grand. We arrived without an itinerary and only the hope of surprise and new sights. Well, that was essentially the whole day. Florence really was a beautiful city and I had excelent company to see it with. Granted, there were zillions of tourists, even for a Monday in February. It was a tad frustrating for people to speak in english to us, but if we responded in Italian, typically they seemed happy to carry on that way. One of the best stops was at a stationary store that had the classiest ink pens, made paper and wax/seals. The woman who ran the store was incredibly kind. She was so happy to show us how the pens worked and how they made the paper. It really made me want to pick up the art of letter writing and feel like Ben Franklin.

Here are the pictures,


One thing that is not photo-documented but still excelent was my ravioli with walnut cream sauce. Who knew?

Hiccups, of the vocabulary variety

Being a home body, I am quite satisfied with my decision earlier this week to stay in Bologna rather than travel. First reason, I made oatmeal raisin cookies. It is great to bake here because it is very much in line with my "precision doesn't matter" attitude. The Quaker(tm) oatmean raisin cookie recipe does not specify that the butter should be Land o' Lakes, so I enjoyed using Trentino Alto-Adige. My egg was brown with a red yolk. Not white with a yello one. My dough had a strangely orange hue as a result. For cookies, that is fine, but scrambled eggs could be weird. Well, they turned out and I ate my full of dough which was the goal in the first place. On to reason number two. I practice speaking Italian while grocery shopping in an Italian version of Walmart than I do in Vienna with another American. My vocabulary is improving everyday because I am doing my very darndest to practice saying things, even if I don't know how to.

At the Tibetan stuff store...
In my head I say "Is this a necklace" (collana)
In reality I say "Is this a hill" (collina)

Trying to describe a raisin (for the cookies)
In my head I say "It is a dried grape" (uva)
In reality I say "It is a dried egg" (uovo)

At the dinner table
In my head I say "Is it common to boil cabbage for dinner?" (cavolo)
In reality I say "Is it common to boil horse for dinner?" (cavallo)

Third reason. For dinner tonight, we had four different types of cheese.

Lemons grow in the Alps too

Today is an island of pause to recollect my thoughts, delete emails and check facebook. Tomorrow and the rest of the week is still unknown, another project for today. Yesterday and the day before was an adventure and my mind is still reeling. Sometimes I have reflections on where I am and the situation that I find myself in. Walking through a town, Sardagna, away from a chapel shadowed by the Alps I felt this way. How did I end up here? I had just looked over a gravestone for the Battisti family and its members Giusseppe, Giusseppina, Giudina and Giusseppe. It was tightly packed in a yard that was colorful with other gravestones like it. It all was just so random and a place I never could have imagined being. Before that, we were on the side of the road outside of Cadine with nowere to go and nothing to do but to wait for a bus. We certainly are not ordinary tourists, they come in the late spring and summer, but we were witnessing what life is actually like for a population of people in the Alps. Also, there was so sweet geology. Next to the road was an excelent rock face that showed the middle of this hill we were walking through and I could see the folding just as if it had come out of my structure book. Oh, if only I had had my rock hammer.....
The day before Trento, we were coursing the west side of Lake Garda. Bus schedules are a beast to navigate, but I was thankful for our unexpected layover in a town called Gargnano. Best part - While taking a picture of a picturesque little waterfall neighboring an old stone structure, the man there called us up. We walked up the cobble stairs and into the open doors of his limonaia. You would not believe the color and fragrance that 20 housed lemon trees heavy with lemons could produce. Fabio gave us a quick tour and lemons each.
Traveling is best for the little things. The closed doors that open with surprise. The piles of snow that collect in a piazza next to medieval walls. Food, when you don't know what it is. Buses with a great view.



http://www.bcsp.unibo.it/events/events_%27pasta%20evening%27.htm

Pictures and a backwards movie

Link to the Venice photos

http://s899.photobucket.com/albums/ac196/jwaldsm2/Venice%20and%20Murano/?action=organize

My Venice video is on my youtube channel. Just search jwaldsm2, if it doesn't work, let me know.

Gondola rides...80 euros

An immigration meeting is putting the damper on a 9 day long trip to Prague and others, but me and my travel buddy Erik have made some alternative plans. Yesterday, we made it to Venice, which was not the dirty, smelly city that I had heard of. Away from the busy paths of mask and tourist shops were some amazingly tranquil and unique nooks. It was amazing to think that anybody even lived in Venice. More than 20 million day trippers go to Venice every year and most of the population there are only to sustain the tourist crowd. It is a tourist city, but if you can overlook the fact that traveling there makes you one of millions, it is worth it. Many of the streets were only wide enough for two people to walk hand in hand, but turn a corner and you might be in la Piazza di San Marco, the largest piazza in Europe. It would be large enough for a football field I am sure, and it is lined with more columns than you can count. It is impossible to amble there without losing your breath and feeling tied in your chest.
A similar tied in the chest feeling..."Documenti"
I decided to act out of character and take a bus. Boarding with my euro in hand wasn't enough, I found out, after I found the "biglietto" machine, for the ticket I hadn't bought at the tabaccherie. My bad. Two big, official looking man confronted me about this and soon after I was fumbling around for my passport. That was bad. So was the 40 euro fine. Life sucks, then you go to Venice and try a Fritelle di Venezia and realize that deliciously spongy, sweet cake things with raisins make you feel pretty darn good.
When bad things happen, and you just want to go back to bed and forget it, doing something is a way better method of getting over it. This has been a great lesson for me. Today I will suck it up, pay for a train pass and an entrance fee to the parade at Cento, a small town that celebrates carnevale. By the end of the day, I will be glad that I did. For the rest of the week, we might see Vienna, or a castle, but those plans are still in the works. There is a possibility that we will just board a train and hope for the best.

Once my pictures load, I will attach them all, as well as the videos I took. Until then...

Contrasts

My emotions here ride with the weather, I am certain. Walking to class today was absolutely beautiful as the sun shone and the snow melted. Having a few extra minutes to get there, I ventured into some of the smaller streets and let the details and newness excite me. The sun made the colors of the buildings, fruit at the stands, and sky appear so vivid. After class, my mode was changed drastically. Something about that boxy classroom and the black-dressed instructor brings me down. All the little details of language learning get to my head and make me really frustrated. It becomes really difficult to see the positive and remember my motivation for
trying in the first place. If I can't say something along the lines of "If she had wanted coffee, she would have asked for it" in Italian, somehow, my life will go on just fine. English grammar was never my niche, and neither is this. Pesimistic thoughts are fueled by darker skies, cold and dingyness. The walk home from class feels like this all the time. It becomes a 180 to my emotions prior to class. Everything looks dirtier, and I can't help but wonder. Italians seem to be incredibly preoccupied with appearance. They smoke, dress like they care and have a certain way to them. Most of the stores are clothing stores, underwear stores or pastry bars (in which, the pastries are made to look impecable). Italians eat, dress and act like they are trying to prove they are worthwhile. This is fine. What kills me is the environment. Graffitti is on everything, no matter what or how old. Dog feces and urine is constant on the sidewalk under frescoed walls. The air smells dirty and the buildings often appear to be in need of repair...or at least a touch-up. For people to be so concerned with their appearance, yet ignore the appearance of their environment really confuses me.
Every city/country has problems. The grass is greener on the other side. That is what this trip is about. I knew that going in, I just didn't know exactly where the brown patches of grass would be. Going forward, I am going to try and continue finding the secluded streets, the interesting details. Everything else that bothers me needs to be appreciated in its own way, accepted and probably just ignored. I am really hoping to figure out this irony and maybe understand why. Italians at U of I don't seem to understand my appreciation for cornfields either.

Cooking is the best when you can lick the bowl

Sunday, fluffy snow, old bananas, homework....the perfect ingredients for a banana bread day. Personalizing a foodtv.com recipe with converted and estimated ingredients didn't slow down progress and the end result was surprisingly edible. I think the fam was happy I decided to stretch my American cooking muscles, which is leaving me inspired to try again soon. Here is the view from the kitchen door...


Just kidding! The first picture is the winner.

Class and life are becoming more standard now and I don't feel so stressed out by the pressure of changing schedules and feeling tossed into the air. My University courses are not set in stone yet, but I hope it will be soon. Just as long as I can take vulcanology, I think I will be happy. Any class that has a portion described as "highly hazardous" is worth the effort and an obvious choice.

Is this thing allowing comments now? Perhaps not the best question to ask considering the mode of response....

J

Primo Pizza

The fam and I went our for pizza tonight, my first pizza since before I arrived. It was a place that served pizza Napolitano-style, which is supposed to be the best. It really was quite delish, though amazingly floppy (the crust had no strength to speak of). It is super cool how little things taste different...cherry tomatoes, cheese, Coke Light (diet), fries Napoli-style. The napkins felt like real cloth too. These little details are really quite exciting, but being with this family makes it really worth appreciating. Tonight, I sometimes really understood what the conversations all meant. We do tend to speak english a bit, but that is ok. It helps them to get to know me better and it is really good for the kids to hear it as well. I like being able to interpret some things for them. Rather than being frustrating, it is pretty funny to try and explain little differences or understand what the other is getting at. Paola is really helpful as well. It is nice that she can help me with my grammar as I speak. I am amazed by how welcoming they have been to me. It is really something that means a lot. It is so easy to become comfortable with people when they bring you in so readily. With some of the fresh snow outside the restaurant, the dad and son started a snowball fight with the rest of us. For whatever reason, seeing a grown man initiate a snowball fight just made the evening that much better. Since they can relax and be themselves around me, it is a lot easier to do the same with them.

Time is Pasta

To Italians, time isn't important when it comes to being punctual and cooking. Our bus to leave last night that would be "on the road by 5" probably didn't roll until 5:20. It did not matter how hungry we all were when we arrived at our destination. If we wanted to eat, we had to prepare first. Slowly. Easy Mac doesn't exist here. Even from the skilled, strong and old hands of these women, it doesn't come without lots of time. Paola told me the Italian word for these women. They are very, very skilled and each one does it a little bit different from the other. My program group (with Princeton tagalongs) clammored around a massive wood table, heavy with 4' rolling pins, brown eggs, flour, aprons, ricotta and others. One woman at the end demonstrated the flour and egg "volcano" that she started with to mix her ingredients. She stirred it, then kneeded it, then rolled it for ages until it was a thin sheet as soft and durable as linen. It was a long process...even longer for me. I was happy to volunteer but my hands hurt on the rolling pin and my volcano might have had a few mishap eruptions in the beginning. Francesca was my guru, giving me tips and support that mostly I didn't understand. She showed me how, and I did my best to do it just like her. The other old women around the table were helping the rest of the group, always repeating "forza, forza! Brava, brava!" It became a sort of epic, rolling pin battle as we all combated for space to spread out circles of dought that inevitable hung of the wood table in all directions. I was amazed to see it stay intact to the point where Francesca showed me how to cut it into tagliatelle. I know I need lots of practice, but I was happy to finish my pasta and pile it up onto the pan where they ran off with all our creations to the kitchen.

If we actually ate what we made, I would be surprised. For dinner we were served different types of pasta that appeared much more skillfully made than mine. It all tasted so much more substantial than what we eat out of a box, a totally different item. We sat for hours eating plates of prosciutto, formaggio di mucca and formagion di pecore, pane, dolce and drinking sparkling water and wine. Nothing seemed rushed and we all just sat around several big tables and talked about whatever we could.

It is easy to see that sort of mentality everywhere here. From my first glass of fresh squeezed OJ to the precise fences of brick or trees. It is a comforting mentality that emphasizes that life is worth appreciating. I wouldn't mind if people were more punctual, but I guess it is an all or nothing thing.

Last night we returned to Bologna from the villa after midnight. It was the first snowfall I had seen in Bologna and it was beautiful how it coated everything...except the road. I could have walked faster than our bus, but then again, should I really care how long it takes?

Fondu lunch

I am so amazed that Paola doesn't like meat! Bologna is such a meat-centric city, that is seems to be deep into the culture to have meat all the time. Lunch today was kinda like that. Her father and brother came over for lunch and it was probably the most exciting lunch I can remember. Everything was centered around two pots of hot oil and two plates brimming with meat; beef, chicken, sausage (salsicce?), mutton. There was bread, a bottle of wine, and chunks of cheese, all swarmed by a bustling, chatty family. What really cracks me up is the presence of ketchup at many meals. The youngest daughter loves the stuff, and saking her food in it. She must have a bit of American in her! It was quite fun to contribute to the swarm as best I could, but it was quite difficult for me to keep up with the conversation when it was coming from so many different directions. Once the chaos simmered down and the uncle didn't keep offering me so many pieces of oil-soaked goodness, the conversation became more manageable. Apparently this is the side of the family that runs the pasteiceria I mentioned before. It is like being in the presence of a Bolognese icon. We chatted about fondue and how in the US it is mostly chocolate and fruit at pricey coffee shops, risotto, Rockford and how big it is. I got to show them all Google earth of Rockford and Chicago and all the stomping grounds in Illinois. It was quite a good time and they really liked the pictures I had of the cows and dogs as well. The kids would really like one, but Paola doesn't...similar to any argument I had ever heard before. Mothers tend to be the sacrificial dog caretaker once the kids become too tired to let the dog out early in the morning....same routine. Besides all that fun, I had to write a 600 word essay for class. It really took forever and I am happy it is over. Frankly, if my grammar is awful, I don't care. It is done, and I wrote it in Italian. That should be good enough! Ci vediamo!

Unpacked and a full belly

So happy I was to get out of that hotel, and also nervous to ring the doorbell to my new family. Paola had such a welcoming smile on her face when she opened the door, that I couldn't be concerned after that moment. It was a day of struggling over phrases and a few blank stares, but it was really the best day I have had since I arrived. My room is wonderfully comfortable with my stuff finally in a resting place for a while. I developed a little shrine of pictures and cards over my dresser that really is the best. I am so happy I brought them, it really adds to the ambiance of natural light and pigeons cooeing in my windows. Strangely, I am not as well adjusted to the sounds of pigeons as I should be :)

Paola is very modest about how well she cooks, but she really shouldn't be. She asked if I wanted orange juice. A few minutes later, she presents to me a glass of the heartiest, fleshiest, ripest flavored orange juice I think I have ever had. No big, she just made it from oranges. Minutemaid could hire her. Later, was my first introduction to meal time. We (she) made fresh gnocchi for lunch (or il primo piatto) of lunch. We also had turkey and, get this, horse. They were all surprised to hear that it was illegal to slaughter horses back home. I can't say it is my favorite, but apparently it is full of iron, and I know mom will be happy to hear that.

After a bit of time to work on homework, they invited me down to tea. I had brought a gift when I arrived from the oldest pasticceria in Bologna. My group toured around it the day before, so I figured it could find me an appropriate gift. They suggested some fruitcake-type thing (but more chocolatey and delicious). Anyway, it was at the table for tea, and Paola told me how that pasticceria was run by her family. I was pretty impressed. I guess Boogna isn't that big, but that is still a pretty awesome coincidence.

The kids asked me to play Risiko, which prompted my only desire to have ever played Risk before that moment. If I had ever played before, it wouldn't have been such a mess of italian instructions coming from the mouths of kids who talk to fast and a father who was trying to keep it all together. Eventually I understood the instructions, but apparently now welll enough to keep the 8 year old girl from dominating the world, and certainly my (armate).

It was a draining day, but it left me with such optimism for the next few months. I really hope that it all works out and that I can stay here. They are such a nice family and I am happy they are letting me join them for just a while. Hopefully, by the end, I will be able contribute more than a blank stare and also a few good'ol American meals. For all my loved ones back at home, I will do my best to learn Paola's ways of the kitchen as well, you will love it if I can!

Week in review

It has been a week, with hardly any update. I spare you my stress and anguish in the present tense in favor of the past tense. It makes it easier to accept, and not so awkward to read :).

My first day in Bologna made me wonder why I didn't choose to stay in London. It is frustrating to feel defeated by something that you have wanted for so long, but the circumstance seemed overwhelming and certainly not worth the angst. Ha, that certainly sounds more dramatic than it actually is, but that is how life is. Speaking Italian was and still is difficult, and I hadn't really learned how to get around the city by speaking. Language barriers are terrible. It is the same as trying to tell a story by playing scrabble. Or at least, that is the sort of barrier that my Italian skills create. In addition to that and grammer homework (which is never consoling) the appartment search was on and furious. Each appartment was buried in a maze of crooked streets with changing names and incomprehensible directions. It was a great chance to walk a ton and learn the city, despite the dificulties. Now, I am happy that I had to, if only for the experience it gave me with the city and being persistent. Instead of an appartment, I have found a place with a family. My room would be free, in exchange for my english speaking. They have two children with whom I willspeak to in english part of the time. It could be a great chance for us all to learn from eachother. I really hope it works out in the long run! Tomorrow I move in, and it all begins. My hope is for my stress to go down and my intrigue to only increase. Every day I see something I didn't expect. Bologna is an incredibly dynamic city with plenty to experience. One day at a time :)

I will post the London pictures once my internet stops being glitchy, but there should be videos on youtube too. I think if you search jwaldsm2 in the searchbar, you will find my videos.

Do I like this city?

Foggy night, foggy day. With a few days inbetween, my whole perspective changed. Tonight was really beautiful. The city is unique at the biggest scale to the smallest. What is interesting is the contrast between the old and new and how the blend of time is really seamless. I saw my first cobbled street today and had an amaretto sour in a trendy place for dinner...or snackes at least. One great thing is that once you start walking, you don't want to stop. There will be a street that goes off around a bend (because everything bends) and it is just so inticing. The graffitti on the colored walls was a bit disheartening the first day, bt I just hadn't wandered far enough. There are arches over all the pathways and many of the streets are incredibly narrow and shared by cars, motorcycles and people alike. It feels like one of those car commercials where there is a shiny, black car (of some fancy type) zipping through narrow streets with their advanced handling systems as the old painted brick vaults overhead to flowered balconies. It is like being there sometimes. Not always, but I like the feeling when I get it. Makes me want to look around to see if there is a camera nearby.

Too tired to go into more details beyond car commercials, but I want to let you know that I made a youtube channel that has my curacao videos on it. If you are interested.... They aren't organized or tagged, but if you search jwaldsm2, you should find it.

Willemstad-Rockford-London-Bologna

My total number of flights for the last ten days is 6. Flying is really fun and every time I take off, I try and do a countdown to see if the plane will take off right when I land on "zero" or "take-off", but I always jump the gun and have to start adding in fractions. In Curacao, I was never on a computer long enough to update, though I really wish this wasn't the case. Everyday was something absolutely beautiful. Does anyone in the midwest remember that feeling of sleeping so comfortably under just one sheet? How about looking through goggles at just the right point where you can see the line the top of the water makes with the air. Feeling the wind 400m above the earth is cool too, especially when there are fossils in the rocks that you are using to anchor yourself on. More than that, it was great being able to do all these great things with my friends. It takes a very unique group to make dances and sing about a special banana (or twinkie) colored van. For all these reasons, as well as the color, warmth and novelty of a new place, Curacao was unforgetable. I will leave the details to the photos, because laundry listing a good time is not a good time.

With freckles on my face, and only 12 hours, I repacked and said goodbye. Rockford might not be the most glorious of cities, but it is my home and saying goodbye was hard. Mostly for those who live there....and the occasional visitor that I really love :).

Seven hours in the air didn't feel like too long, but perhaps I fell asleep and I didn't realize it. British Airways people are so nice! Maybe it is the accent. That helps a lot. One thing I realized on that flight was how much I love the world from above. Every light shines up and is blanked by a cloud. It was beautiful to see patches of light under the clouds, and when they were gone, I knew it had to be the Atlantic. Never been there before!

Exhausted in London, I checked my time frame and opted to head for the city. I always say that I would rather spend my money on things than experiences so I tried to practice what I preach. For the cost of storing my bags and a day train pass, I got to see London...and order an Ale. I told Whitney I would! I've attached a heap of pictures from that too. Lots of the time I didn't know where I was or what I was looking at, but those are details I can discover next time I go.

So, onto Bologna. My plane was full, mostly with Italian speakers and empty seats. As tired as I was, it wasn't very good to hear Italian. Mostly, it was daunting and the reality was hitting me harder than it had before. All those times when my plans didn't work and now here I was. I tend to overdramatize. I realize lots of things on plane rides. Mostly I slept, though not more rested once I hit the ground. In the taxi, I was able to converse with the driver a bit as he brought me around Bologna and to my hotel. Settling in didn't take long, then I slept for 12 hours...long overdue. Today, I felt a bit better when I woke up. I tried to mee tmy new city and find some places to live and it was hard to be honest. It wasn't like anywhere else I had ever seen. The streets are different, and that is all I saw. I am looking forward to taking a more extensive walking tour once my feet and legs and back feel strong again. Still tired, I called a few of those places and struggled through a few sentences. Tomorrow, a new day. Several of the kids in the program are talking about visiting Florence or Venice by the weekend. What do you think? There is enough here to keep me occupied, for now at least.

Suitcases and travel size zhampoo

Today was a day of meticulous organizing, hasty tossing and errands. There is still more packing to complete for tomorrow, but with three suitcases, a backpack and a pile of extraneous necessities I can't be too disappointed with my progress. Everything is so bittersweet. Going to new places is what I always want to do, but leaving some of my favorites behind is never what I prefer. Packing serves as a wonderful distraction though to clear the mind. So much thought about what shoes will make the cut overrides the pain of an achy heart if only for a while. If only my Skype account would work just right. Being able to see a person is just brilliant compared to hearing only a voice and choppy images and dropped calls don't really suffice. While still home, I hope to make the best of it. Mom says she will make anything I want for dinner tomorrow, and of all the wonderful things she makes, I still sort of just want her to make pancakes. It isn't like pancakes are the most wonderful food or anything, they just make me feel good inside, like how a Saturday morning with the family feels good inside. Perhaps it is some sort of Pavlovian response I have to pancake batter. Bisquick = Happy family thoughts. Perhaps not. That theory will never get published anyhow.