It's been a whirlwind.
I just spent 4 nights in southern Italy, Sorrento to be exact. On the first night I met one of my roommates, Anita, from Brazil. She's one of those friendly, outgoing types, so she makes friends wherever she goes. We decided to go to Pompeii and Amalfi together before she left Friday morning.
Pompeii--I've always wanted to go. When we got there, at about 9:30, it was hot out. And Pompeii is huge. HUGE. I wandered about half (?) of it and didn't even make it out to the amphitheatre (which, I forgot, is where Pink Floyd recorded "Live at Pompeii"--bummer) before being completely exhausted from the heat and dust and walking around. A couple things annoyed me: the map and guidebook downplay the brothel area, to the point of making it impossible to find. It may have been under archaeological survey anyway; I walked down the road that Rick Steves (good old Rick Steves, right) noted, and was stopped by a fence. Okay. The other thing that was supremely annoying is that the cafeteria inside was closed and they failed to mention that as well. And you cannot leave and come back in. A British couple said, "If this were America, they'd have a proper guidebook and a themed caffe. They know how to do it!" Well, it was pretty amazing anyway. But I have to say, Herculaneum was better. I'll get to it.
After that we wandered to Sorrento and eventually found a place to eat pizza. We were so hungry, despite the meager snacks we had brought along, that we ordered a pizza for 2 and then another small pizza...and it wasn't even very good, and the waitress was rude. Then we made our way back, stopping first for coffee and then for gelatto. Like you do.
The next day: Amalfi Coast! The amazing bus ride reminded me of the California coastline but amazed Anita. We stopped in Positano, a long way (up) from the beach. Probably a thousand feet up from the beach, I'm guessing, based on previous hikes and lookouts. The coastal towns are built on terraces, steps, and into the sides of cliffs, with houses on top of each other. Down a set of steps and stairs that slinked in and out and over everything, to a river channel, and out to a fabulous shopping quarter, and then we found the beach. To me, it was amazing. To Anita, who lives in San Paolo, it was okay. We swam and sunned, and then found out from a local (thanks to Anita--it helps to travel with someone who speaks a little of the language and also happens to be good-looking) about a smaller beach just a 10-minute walk away. So along the side of a cliff, then we dropped down into 2 little beaches with a little restaurant. I had an amazing plate of local tomatoes (I have NEVER tasted better tomatoes than in southern Italy--they're yellow, huge, sweet, and have none of that bitter pulpy flavor at all) topped with local mozzarella and basil, along with a shot of limoncello. A bit later, swimming! in the smaller beach. It was portioned off with cliffs. It's weird to me that the cliffs jut straight into the ocean, but immediately under the water there's sand. Why don't the cliffs just keep going?
Anyway, swimming in the Mediterranean is a bit like walking in space. You can't sink. I think it's all the salt. And the water's so pretty, so I ventured a ways out (for me) without fear. It was wonderful. This will not be my last time swimming in the Mediterranean, even if I AM spelling it incorrectly.
We caught a water taxi to Amalfi, had the world's best gelatto (for real)! and observed a nice looking Italian man standing on a balconi in his underwear. Then, two very tired girls got back on the bus and endured a two-hour bus ride back to Sorrento, then walked home from there (another 25 minutes). Poor Anita having to get up to leave the next morning!
The next day, I splurged on the boat tour. Seven Hostel has a partnership with a family-owned tour business. It was Saturday, so I was part of a big group and they had two boats. I took the slow, wooden sailboat (has a motor too) run by a man we called Capitain Cook and his son. Okay, so we started on our adventure and sailed along the coast below the cliffs of Sorrento. In the side of the cliffs you can see old Roman walls with arches built in. Along the way, there was a particular set of ruins, but I failed to notice them because suddenly the captain said "Okay, I stop and you are jumping and swimming to that natural swimming pool." I looked in disbelief at an opening in the rocks along the shore. I could see little people in there, swimming and standing on a little shore, but I have never jumped from a boat into deep water and swam away from the boat before. Okay. So we did it. It was a little scary for me to swim between rocks that were only about 6 feet apart, in deep water! But it was exciting.
Next we jumped out again and swam under a little, cold waterfall. Then the ride to Capri, which took about 40 minutes. I can't even remember the order right now. We just jumped out into crystal blue or teal water, beside towering white cliffs, and swam through various caves. Once he stopped the boat beside a rock staircase in the cliff, and we climbed up into a cave above a grotto. It was fantastic.
I'm running out of time, so more later!
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Roman Holiday
Yesterday I got lost in Rome, which is a way of celebrating the fact that I'm traveling by myself.
After a morning of working on that ?£$%@$ paper (3/4 done now, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel), I went to Rome in the late afternoon. You have to walk to the Pantheon, which looked really far on the map, but as Stephanie and I have been joking, that European map scale... it was only a few blocks. It was too late in the day for a beam of light, except beside the occulus on the ceiling. After that I visited an antiques dealer and then headed off for the Colosseum...in the wrong direction. Turned around, went back toward the Pantheon and beyond. Somehow, I managed to go all the wrong directions and end up at all the major landmarks. I was clearly lost and an Italian man started to help me. He led me to a ticket office but wanted the money in his hand...and then I realized that he was scamming me. I said, "No thanks I just want to see the Colosseum, I don't want a ticket"; and he swore in Italian and replied, "First you want to go in the Colosseum, then you don't, I don't understand you" and muttered to himself like a lesser-known godfather away from the ticket station and into the sunset. Well, away from the sunset, rather.
I took a few more steps and found myself at the river. More than at the river, but at a footbridge leading to the famous island in the middle of Rome. So I wandered beside the water for a while, headed back into town in the general direction that I believed correct. By this time the sun had set and it was getting on to dusk. Then I rounded a corner to find an entire hilltop stretching off, covered in ruins. It made me gasp. I followed a wall around until there was a viewing fence and I was beside the Roman Forum and such. Then I climbed a hill with a church and a lookout, which happened to be behind a major square which I had just accidentally stumbled upon an hour before. Finally, I slowly made my way to the Colosseum, which by now was lit up and stood out against the night sky. So I've always wanted to see the Colosseum at night. And even though I might not make it into the structure, I feel satisfied with my visit.
Now I'm at a posh hostel in Sorrento and I'm looking forward to Pompeii, Ercolano, and the Amalfi Coast, as well as a boat ride to the island of Capri and the grottoes. That's my big splurge, but it'll be worth it.
Signing off!
After a morning of working on that ?£$%@$ paper (3/4 done now, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel), I went to Rome in the late afternoon. You have to walk to the Pantheon, which looked really far on the map, but as Stephanie and I have been joking, that European map scale... it was only a few blocks. It was too late in the day for a beam of light, except beside the occulus on the ceiling. After that I visited an antiques dealer and then headed off for the Colosseum...in the wrong direction. Turned around, went back toward the Pantheon and beyond. Somehow, I managed to go all the wrong directions and end up at all the major landmarks. I was clearly lost and an Italian man started to help me. He led me to a ticket office but wanted the money in his hand...and then I realized that he was scamming me. I said, "No thanks I just want to see the Colosseum, I don't want a ticket"; and he swore in Italian and replied, "First you want to go in the Colosseum, then you don't, I don't understand you" and muttered to himself like a lesser-known godfather away from the ticket station and into the sunset. Well, away from the sunset, rather.
I took a few more steps and found myself at the river. More than at the river, but at a footbridge leading to the famous island in the middle of Rome. So I wandered beside the water for a while, headed back into town in the general direction that I believed correct. By this time the sun had set and it was getting on to dusk. Then I rounded a corner to find an entire hilltop stretching off, covered in ruins. It made me gasp. I followed a wall around until there was a viewing fence and I was beside the Roman Forum and such. Then I climbed a hill with a church and a lookout, which happened to be behind a major square which I had just accidentally stumbled upon an hour before. Finally, I slowly made my way to the Colosseum, which by now was lit up and stood out against the night sky. So I've always wanted to see the Colosseum at night. And even though I might not make it into the structure, I feel satisfied with my visit.
Now I'm at a posh hostel in Sorrento and I'm looking forward to Pompeii, Ercolano, and the Amalfi Coast, as well as a boat ride to the island of Capri and the grottoes. That's my big splurge, but it'll be worth it.
Signing off!
Sunday, July 26, 2009
"Blitzed out on sun and art"
I've been reading Douglas Adams' "The Salmon of Doubt" by the poolside in the evenings, and that's how he described his time as a youth in Florence: "blitzed out on sun, cheap wine and art." It stuck with me, because A) I am, indeed, blitzed out on art. I am overindulging on art. Bernini, Michelangelo, Raffael (their names sometimes have several spellings and I can't remember, bear with me). Extravagent trompe l'oile ceilings (again, sp?), marble tiled floors, mosaics, oil paintings, gardens, statues. Statues! I never really loved statues before, but the works of Bernini and Michelangelo are so amazing. I saw M's "Pieta" in St. Peter's Basilica today, and I couldn't pull myself away.
Let me back up. It turns out that the Vatican Museum is free on the last Sunday of every month! So I endured long lines and went to the museum and St. Peter's. The lines made 6 hours feel like 10, but it was an amazing day. The Sistine Chapel was a madhouse, a zoo of people. But you know what? That makes me happy. At least half of that crowd is there because they love art. They want to see something beautiful, and they stood for a while, using cameras even though they weren't supposed to (I'm guilty too) (but FLASH, for, er, Pete's sake! Come on!), and they were there under the roof of the major portion of a master's life's work. It makes me glad to know that so many people want to be affected by art. I hope even more of them were. The whole room is just overwhelming. I think we take for granted lots and lots of pretty things being achievable and presented at once in our information age, but it's just amazing when you stop and think that the ceiling and one huge wall of the very large chapel is the work of one man. All those incredibly beautiful forms each in their own poses, all those shadows and details, all the shapes that are carefully planned out, all the color expertise.
St. Peter's, at first, was too much. All I saw was marble. It looked like a hideous display of wealth. But then I started to notice how light came through the occuli and hit certain statues, or how each niche had an entombed body or a masterpiece and I made my rounds 3 times (no small feat; St. Peter's is the biggest church in the world). There was a Pieta statue in white marble, behind glass, and I couldn't pull myself away. It was incredibly moving, and Mary was so beautiful. Then I read in my guidebook afterword that the Pieta is by a young Michelangelo and is "incredibly moving." Well. Unfortunately, I could not find the dark medieval statue of St. Peter, which I've kind of wanted to see since I was a kid. But the back portions of the church were closed off, and I assume crowd management is a little different on the free Sundays, so he may have been on vacation from crowds for the day.
I also went into the basement to see the tombs of past popes. It felt like a sanctified place. It's hard to explain; I'm not Catholic but I felt the emotion and the oldness. I don't believe that any human being is more hallowed than the next, but I do believe in the energy of people's faith and their needs as well. Am I saying too much for a school blog? So be it. I've been studying Cathedrals, for Pete's (there it is again) sake and this is me, Jessi, who has a blog devoted to spiritual essays. So it was bound to go there.
At many of the basilicas I've visited, I've seen people overcome with emotion. Today I saw a woman openly weeping. I think it's a beautiful thing. Being in these enormous temples so lovingly and carefully created makes me almost wish I were here for a pilgrimage, not just the architecture and art. But as a human being and a spiritual person (and an art lover), I don't think the experience is lost on me. Just different maybe. But I wish I had a sign, like the hand cross, that showed my reverence and emotion outwardly.
When I got back to the campsite, (you guessed it) I went for another dip in the pool. Life's rough.
I had a new tentmate last night, but when I went to bed she was sleeping so I couldn't meet her. When I got up and ready she was sleeping. When I came in after getting back she was sleeping. I was starting to worry, or at least wonder if she was recovering from something major. I met her tonight, and it turns out she's a teacher at the high school level. Aha. It turns out that she decided to give herself a week to just relax, because normally she's off and running.
She has a bubbly personality and has traveled to 27 countries on her own and LOVES it. So her attitude is contagious; though I'm not an outgoing person, I don't feel so weird about being here by myself. She's very interesting; originally from Wisconsin, she teaches in England to afford traveling on "holiday." And she meets people wherever she goes, which I wish I could do! I'm glad to have met her.
Well, until the next report! Oh, yes, back to B) Douglas Adams' saying also stuck with me because on my last night in Florence I sat in the rooftop terrace bar of the hostel and ordered a glass of white wine for 1 Euro and looked out over the lit domes of Florence. You know, all that dragging-suitcases-up-flights-of-stairs and stiff-shoulders and sorry-I-don't-speak-blank and how-much-have-I-spent-today really is worth it for the little moments. Just tonight I was reviewing my photos of ancient cathedrals and thought, how amazing it was to be there. Already I'm nostalgic. It's like a grand whirlwind tour and I'm still taking in things I saw a month ago. When it all catches up with me I'll probably be in tears at how beautiful the buildings are.
The only thing that could be better would be if someone were here to share it all with. I really really wish that my family were here. Not so much because I miss them, because that's normal; Montana is as far away, it seems, as Italy, and I can never call my Dad because he keeps ungodly hours. But because I wish they could see it all. I thought of Mom in Canterbury, with the English walls and colorful doors and gardens. I think of Courtney in the art museums...well, I think of all my family members in the art museums. I thought of Courtney in the costume museum. I think of Tucker when I come across Roman helmets or shin guards or anything knight-ish. I wish Megan and I could be playing together at the pool. I'm always taking photos not for myself but for them.
Let me back up. It turns out that the Vatican Museum is free on the last Sunday of every month! So I endured long lines and went to the museum and St. Peter's. The lines made 6 hours feel like 10, but it was an amazing day. The Sistine Chapel was a madhouse, a zoo of people. But you know what? That makes me happy. At least half of that crowd is there because they love art. They want to see something beautiful, and they stood for a while, using cameras even though they weren't supposed to (I'm guilty too) (but FLASH, for, er, Pete's sake! Come on!), and they were there under the roof of the major portion of a master's life's work. It makes me glad to know that so many people want to be affected by art. I hope even more of them were. The whole room is just overwhelming. I think we take for granted lots and lots of pretty things being achievable and presented at once in our information age, but it's just amazing when you stop and think that the ceiling and one huge wall of the very large chapel is the work of one man. All those incredibly beautiful forms each in their own poses, all those shadows and details, all the shapes that are carefully planned out, all the color expertise.
St. Peter's, at first, was too much. All I saw was marble. It looked like a hideous display of wealth. But then I started to notice how light came through the occuli and hit certain statues, or how each niche had an entombed body or a masterpiece and I made my rounds 3 times (no small feat; St. Peter's is the biggest church in the world). There was a Pieta statue in white marble, behind glass, and I couldn't pull myself away. It was incredibly moving, and Mary was so beautiful. Then I read in my guidebook afterword that the Pieta is by a young Michelangelo and is "incredibly moving." Well. Unfortunately, I could not find the dark medieval statue of St. Peter, which I've kind of wanted to see since I was a kid. But the back portions of the church were closed off, and I assume crowd management is a little different on the free Sundays, so he may have been on vacation from crowds for the day.
I also went into the basement to see the tombs of past popes. It felt like a sanctified place. It's hard to explain; I'm not Catholic but I felt the emotion and the oldness. I don't believe that any human being is more hallowed than the next, but I do believe in the energy of people's faith and their needs as well. Am I saying too much for a school blog? So be it. I've been studying Cathedrals, for Pete's (there it is again) sake and this is me, Jessi, who has a blog devoted to spiritual essays. So it was bound to go there.
At many of the basilicas I've visited, I've seen people overcome with emotion. Today I saw a woman openly weeping. I think it's a beautiful thing. Being in these enormous temples so lovingly and carefully created makes me almost wish I were here for a pilgrimage, not just the architecture and art. But as a human being and a spiritual person (and an art lover), I don't think the experience is lost on me. Just different maybe. But I wish I had a sign, like the hand cross, that showed my reverence and emotion outwardly.
When I got back to the campsite, (you guessed it) I went for another dip in the pool. Life's rough.
I had a new tentmate last night, but when I went to bed she was sleeping so I couldn't meet her. When I got up and ready she was sleeping. When I came in after getting back she was sleeping. I was starting to worry, or at least wonder if she was recovering from something major. I met her tonight, and it turns out she's a teacher at the high school level. Aha. It turns out that she decided to give herself a week to just relax, because normally she's off and running.
She has a bubbly personality and has traveled to 27 countries on her own and LOVES it. So her attitude is contagious; though I'm not an outgoing person, I don't feel so weird about being here by myself. She's very interesting; originally from Wisconsin, she teaches in England to afford traveling on "holiday." And she meets people wherever she goes, which I wish I could do! I'm glad to have met her.
Well, until the next report! Oh, yes, back to B) Douglas Adams' saying also stuck with me because on my last night in Florence I sat in the rooftop terrace bar of the hostel and ordered a glass of white wine for 1 Euro and looked out over the lit domes of Florence. You know, all that dragging-suitcases-up-flights-of-stairs and stiff-shoulders and sorry-I-don't-speak-blank and how-much-have-I-spent-today really is worth it for the little moments. Just tonight I was reviewing my photos of ancient cathedrals and thought, how amazing it was to be there. Already I'm nostalgic. It's like a grand whirlwind tour and I'm still taking in things I saw a month ago. When it all catches up with me I'll probably be in tears at how beautiful the buildings are.
The only thing that could be better would be if someone were here to share it all with. I really really wish that my family were here. Not so much because I miss them, because that's normal; Montana is as far away, it seems, as Italy, and I can never call my Dad because he keeps ungodly hours. But because I wish they could see it all. I thought of Mom in Canterbury, with the English walls and colorful doors and gardens. I think of Courtney in the art museums...well, I think of all my family members in the art museums. I thought of Courtney in the costume museum. I think of Tucker when I come across Roman helmets or shin guards or anything knight-ish. I wish Megan and I could be playing together at the pool. I'm always taking photos not for myself but for them.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Bernini
I accidentally traveled in luxury from Florence to Rome. And paid for it too. I thought, from reading various online things about Eurorail, that passengers over 26 were obligated to travel first class. So I bought my ticket to Rome and it cost (gulp) 59 Euro, or 89 or so dollars. Then, the next day when I was purchasing my ticket from Rome to Naples ahead of time, I had to wait in line. I watched a lady in her 40s pick second class. So I did the same. THAT ticket was 10.50 Euro. For a journey of roughly the same distance. Needless to say, my two-hour journey was extremely comfortable. The seat comformed to my back. The headrest had a built-in pillow. There was a smart fold-out table which I used to review my paper notes. Most of the seats were empty, and those that were filled contained the well-dressed and put-togethers. I pretended not to be a dirty backpacker for a minute. Until my cheap rolling suitcase, which I bought from a street vender to ease my load, suddenly remembered that it was lopsided after all and fell over, hitting a woman with the handle on the side of her leg. I felt bad, said Sorry again and again because I can't remember anything in Italian right now, and she was nice but it clearly hurt. I felt awful!
Other than that, I enjoyed watching the Tuscan and then Umbrian landscape roll by. It's funny; I knew exactly when the regions switched. Everything was green and sort of romantic and red-tiled, and then we went through this little tunnel, and came out in a dustier, green white and brown landscape. Umbria is pretty too. All through Europe, I' ve been wanting to catch a shot of a super old farmhouse, preferably partially in ruins. I've seen many, while my camera was off and put away. Even when I have it out, I'll notice a ruin, lift the camera and then wham! truck or tree. Or, my camera will be on but will choose that moment to go into sleeper mode. C'est la vie, I suppose.
Getting from Termini station to my campground was an adventure. The metro travel was very long, which I don't mind. I arrived at the pick-up point for the campground's shuttle bus and waited. And waited some more, so I pulled out the directions and my little clock. "On the half-hour," it said. Oh, wait. Except between the hours of... So I hopped, with all my luggage, onto the bus that said "Mare" and watched the beach go by for a while. Started to get nervous when the bus didn't turn around. Went to the window and asked the bus driver, "Scusi, ritorno Colombo?" He couldn't hear through the glass, he claimed. Sat down and started to panic, as we were now going through a small town and had potentially changed directions. Felt better when I realized that we were actually traveling back down the coast the other way.
Anyway, I got to my campground, registered, changed into my swimsuit, grabbed my paperback copy of "The Salmon of Doubt," the posthumously collected musings of Douglas Adams, and nearly ran to the pool. I'm staying at Country Club Castelfusana and they have two pools--the one I've frequented is 50 by 25 meters and has lots of deck chairs and a poolside bar. I swam for a while and then sat down and ordered a sandwhich and a couple very nice, er, birthday beverages. This is a school blog. Read some Douglas Adams while sipping my refreshing lime-flavored beverage and listening to a pretty good mix of music. They played a remix of "Whatever Lola Wants" that I actually didn't mind, some Pink Floyd, lots of Marley, a few dance numbers, some Brazilian music (which my inner dweeb actually likes), and David Bowie. After all that work, I had to take another dip in the pool. It was a good birthday.
Today I went to the Borghese area of Rome. It's a very big park with several museums, a lake and temple, and walking grounds. Went to a museum of 6th to 3rd century Etruscan art and then to the exquisite Borghese museum. It's the mansion of an art collector, I think from 2 or so centuries ago. Has a wonderful collection; my guidebook said it was the best collection in Rome (which is a tall order). I fell in love with the Bernini sculptures. I have a few new obsessions from this trip, and Bernini is one.
After a long day at the park, I wandered to the Piazza Di Spagna and washed my feet in a Bernini fountain, didn't know that until afterward. The park had been relatively deserted (relatively) but the square was definitely a hubbub. I took a picture of house 26, which was where Keats spent his final years, but didn't pay the fee to go in beyond the first set of stairs. Then I went back up to the park for a view of Rome from one of its seven hills and returned back to my campground, which was another adventure I'll save for another day. Anyway, at 8:30 I decided, why not? and went for a quick dip in the pool again. Then I ate the first thing I've had all day besides water, a yogurt drink, and some chips. I discovered that the pizza place here charges 2 Euro a slice. Super cheap! I'm pretty pleased with this place; the only caveat is that I should have stayed in a bungalow or room. The outdoor tents are nasty, and they don't even have linen right now to rent. (!). My tent smells funky. Er, I should add, it smelled funky before I got there. It doesn't lock, either, but I don't think anyone will want to come in. But there is a little refridgerator, so that's handy! The other problem is the bathrooms--sure, I expect campground-type facilities, but some of the sinks are plugged and I have never yet experienced hot water in the showers here. But all that for 11 bucks a night, with free access to a fabulous pool, and being surrounded by a forest of my new favorite kind of tree, the Roman Pines. So it's a toss-up.
If I really had the money, I would upgrade the second stay here, August 1-4th, to a room in the farmhouse they have in the middle of the campground. It's a grand, looming, ancient building, and in the big lot they have an ox, some boars, a chicken coop, and who knows what-all.
My feet stink. I need to work on my paper (the neverending story).
Other than that, I enjoyed watching the Tuscan and then Umbrian landscape roll by. It's funny; I knew exactly when the regions switched. Everything was green and sort of romantic and red-tiled, and then we went through this little tunnel, and came out in a dustier, green white and brown landscape. Umbria is pretty too. All through Europe, I' ve been wanting to catch a shot of a super old farmhouse, preferably partially in ruins. I've seen many, while my camera was off and put away. Even when I have it out, I'll notice a ruin, lift the camera and then wham! truck or tree. Or, my camera will be on but will choose that moment to go into sleeper mode. C'est la vie, I suppose.
Getting from Termini station to my campground was an adventure. The metro travel was very long, which I don't mind. I arrived at the pick-up point for the campground's shuttle bus and waited. And waited some more, so I pulled out the directions and my little clock. "On the half-hour," it said. Oh, wait. Except between the hours of... So I hopped, with all my luggage, onto the bus that said "Mare" and watched the beach go by for a while. Started to get nervous when the bus didn't turn around. Went to the window and asked the bus driver, "Scusi, ritorno Colombo?" He couldn't hear through the glass, he claimed. Sat down and started to panic, as we were now going through a small town and had potentially changed directions. Felt better when I realized that we were actually traveling back down the coast the other way.
Anyway, I got to my campground, registered, changed into my swimsuit, grabbed my paperback copy of "The Salmon of Doubt," the posthumously collected musings of Douglas Adams, and nearly ran to the pool. I'm staying at Country Club Castelfusana and they have two pools--the one I've frequented is 50 by 25 meters and has lots of deck chairs and a poolside bar. I swam for a while and then sat down and ordered a sandwhich and a couple very nice, er, birthday beverages. This is a school blog. Read some Douglas Adams while sipping my refreshing lime-flavored beverage and listening to a pretty good mix of music. They played a remix of "Whatever Lola Wants" that I actually didn't mind, some Pink Floyd, lots of Marley, a few dance numbers, some Brazilian music (which my inner dweeb actually likes), and David Bowie. After all that work, I had to take another dip in the pool. It was a good birthday.
Today I went to the Borghese area of Rome. It's a very big park with several museums, a lake and temple, and walking grounds. Went to a museum of 6th to 3rd century Etruscan art and then to the exquisite Borghese museum. It's the mansion of an art collector, I think from 2 or so centuries ago. Has a wonderful collection; my guidebook said it was the best collection in Rome (which is a tall order). I fell in love with the Bernini sculptures. I have a few new obsessions from this trip, and Bernini is one.
After a long day at the park, I wandered to the Piazza Di Spagna and washed my feet in a Bernini fountain, didn't know that until afterward. The park had been relatively deserted (relatively) but the square was definitely a hubbub. I took a picture of house 26, which was where Keats spent his final years, but didn't pay the fee to go in beyond the first set of stairs. Then I went back up to the park for a view of Rome from one of its seven hills and returned back to my campground, which was another adventure I'll save for another day. Anyway, at 8:30 I decided, why not? and went for a quick dip in the pool again. Then I ate the first thing I've had all day besides water, a yogurt drink, and some chips. I discovered that the pizza place here charges 2 Euro a slice. Super cheap! I'm pretty pleased with this place; the only caveat is that I should have stayed in a bungalow or room. The outdoor tents are nasty, and they don't even have linen right now to rent. (!). My tent smells funky. Er, I should add, it smelled funky before I got there. It doesn't lock, either, but I don't think anyone will want to come in. But there is a little refridgerator, so that's handy! The other problem is the bathrooms--sure, I expect campground-type facilities, but some of the sinks are plugged and I have never yet experienced hot water in the showers here. But all that for 11 bucks a night, with free access to a fabulous pool, and being surrounded by a forest of my new favorite kind of tree, the Roman Pines. So it's a toss-up.
If I really had the money, I would upgrade the second stay here, August 1-4th, to a room in the farmhouse they have in the middle of the campground. It's a grand, looming, ancient building, and in the big lot they have an ox, some boars, a chicken coop, and who knows what-all.
My feet stink. I need to work on my paper (the neverending story).
Friday, July 24, 2009
TO Rome
Well, I'm off to Rome!
Yesterday I worked on my paper until I couldn't stand it, dipped in the pool and then took a siesta, and then worked on the paper some more. I'm way more than half done, which really means that I can finish easily. I wish I had finished while here, but it's quite an undertaking and a different sort of paper (based on fieldwork) than I've ever done before. Because of my situation I have to wiz through all the pictures on my camera by hand to find the one I need each time, which is no small task with over 2,000 pictures. Well, out of time. See you all in Rome.
Yesterday I worked on my paper until I couldn't stand it, dipped in the pool and then took a siesta, and then worked on the paper some more. I'm way more than half done, which really means that I can finish easily. I wish I had finished while here, but it's quite an undertaking and a different sort of paper (based on fieldwork) than I've ever done before. Because of my situation I have to wiz through all the pictures on my camera by hand to find the one I need each time, which is no small task with over 2,000 pictures. Well, out of time. See you all in Rome.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Florence
Yesterday I had an amazing time. After venting on my blog I felt better. Then I went out to wander Florence. I walked through the old part of the city---oh, wait: it's all old!---down to the church of which I wrote yesterday, only to find out it cost more than I thought to get in. Oh well. Walked toward the river on a back road and found a little square with lemon trees against peeling bright yellow fresco on the way. The view from the river is very pretty. I think I need to be near water at least once a day to feel good. Crossed the river, exchanged picture-taking with some Italian-speaking tourists, walked past a gorgeous little public garden and found my way to the big palace of the Pitti and Medici families.
There were two options: ticket A was the royal apartments and modern art museum, etc. Okay. But ticket B was the Boboli Gardens, some other stuff, and a costume museum. OKAY. I have been looking at fine art and architecture this whole trip so I needed to switch it up, so I chose option B. The costume museum was very cool: fine Italian clothes (full dress) from the late 1700s until now plus an exhibit of clothes removed from the graves of three members of the Medici family who died in the 1500s. Amazing and a little creepy, especially since the rooms were dark to protect the brittle fabric. The clothes are partially decomposed (of course) and readerboards provided explanations of who the people were, how and when they died, how they were buried, and how and why the clothes were removed and restored; as well as drawings of how the clothes would have looked.
The Boboli gardens turned out to be extensive manicured land above the palace on a hill overlooking Florence. Okay, it was about 90 degrees out but I did it. I'm a trooper, and I have an umbrella.
After that I bought the world's best cup of mixed fruit from a vendor (world's best simply because it hit the spot) and then wandered over the shopping bridge and back to the hostel. Later in the evening I took a bus (which proved to be an adventure, as I'm incompetent at city travel) to the famous Pilatzo di Michelangelo, which has a bronze copy of David, and overlooks the city. Florence is pretty at night, but the hill was a zoo. There was a lot of spooning going on, which is great if you find the soundtrack of a man playing South-American flute to the tune of canned music and a noisy generator, backlit by crazy traffic, romantic. I'm being transparent, I know. The only thing better than being here alone would be being here with somebody. Oh well!
So today I have a good start on my paper, finally, and I'm realizing that 15 pages won't be so difficult once I get going. Today is a hostel, swimming pool, and Nutella sandwhiches day.
Oh, by the way, I was talking to a young couple from Canada and they had a similar experience to mine; they were shopping in the outdoor market and trying to negotiate like you're expected to, and said that they were interested in a pair of shoes but didn't think the quality warranted 25 Euro. The salesman yelled, "Okay, get out then!" We think that the secret is this: if you say anything, or even question, the quality of a store or product, it's very offensive. Even if you're not trying to insult. Even if you're asking an innocent question. And magnify this with a language barrier, and presto you have a problem of cultural dissonance. So I'll take the lesson.
There were two options: ticket A was the royal apartments and modern art museum, etc. Okay. But ticket B was the Boboli Gardens, some other stuff, and a costume museum. OKAY. I have been looking at fine art and architecture this whole trip so I needed to switch it up, so I chose option B. The costume museum was very cool: fine Italian clothes (full dress) from the late 1700s until now plus an exhibit of clothes removed from the graves of three members of the Medici family who died in the 1500s. Amazing and a little creepy, especially since the rooms were dark to protect the brittle fabric. The clothes are partially decomposed (of course) and readerboards provided explanations of who the people were, how and when they died, how they were buried, and how and why the clothes were removed and restored; as well as drawings of how the clothes would have looked.
The Boboli gardens turned out to be extensive manicured land above the palace on a hill overlooking Florence. Okay, it was about 90 degrees out but I did it. I'm a trooper, and I have an umbrella.
After that I bought the world's best cup of mixed fruit from a vendor (world's best simply because it hit the spot) and then wandered over the shopping bridge and back to the hostel. Later in the evening I took a bus (which proved to be an adventure, as I'm incompetent at city travel) to the famous Pilatzo di Michelangelo, which has a bronze copy of David, and overlooks the city. Florence is pretty at night, but the hill was a zoo. There was a lot of spooning going on, which is great if you find the soundtrack of a man playing South-American flute to the tune of canned music and a noisy generator, backlit by crazy traffic, romantic. I'm being transparent, I know. The only thing better than being here alone would be being here with somebody. Oh well!
So today I have a good start on my paper, finally, and I'm realizing that 15 pages won't be so difficult once I get going. Today is a hostel, swimming pool, and Nutella sandwhiches day.
Oh, by the way, I was talking to a young couple from Canada and they had a similar experience to mine; they were shopping in the outdoor market and trying to negotiate like you're expected to, and said that they were interested in a pair of shoes but didn't think the quality warranted 25 Euro. The salesman yelled, "Okay, get out then!" We think that the secret is this: if you say anything, or even question, the quality of a store or product, it's very offensive. Even if you're not trying to insult. Even if you're asking an innocent question. And magnify this with a language barrier, and presto you have a problem of cultural dissonance. So I'll take the lesson.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
A few peas in my mattress
Looking back over my blog, I see one overriding theme: "Paper!!! Ahhh!"
Well, the paper is due on the 31st if I can send it via email. Which, it turns out, I can. I'm in Florence, everything is expensive except walking around, and my hostel is very nice. They have a whole room of computers, and I can use wordpad without even logging in. I was considering checking out and heading to Sienna instead, but I think I have a duty and a serendipitous spot. Hopefully within a day or two the theme will change to: "Paper done!"
I'm in Firenze, as it's truly named, and it is HOT. PLUS Hostel, 22 bucks a night, is decent. I'm in a room with 7 beds. It's spacious and the AC will run for an hour at a time. The bed is really noisy and I'm a tosser, and my corner doesn't really get the AC but does get a lot of street light. That's okay; I slept like a baby last night anyway. After my 16 hour busride! I took Eurolines from Paris to Florence and arrived yesterday afternoon. Eurolines is like Greyhound only efficient, and the people are an interesting cross section as well. I hate to admit it, but I didn't really talk to anyone; I just focused on finding positions of comfort that didn't make my tailbone hurt worse. I slept on an iron parkbench in Milano waiting for the transfer bus. That's hard core.
Getting to Florence was my first time ever arriving in a foreign city without any plan--no map, no reservations, no idea if the bus station was even near the town center. Fortunately, it was. I did happen to know from reading some guides that Florence always has budget accommodations open, as I stated below. It was true. A man even tempted me at the train station with a private, air conditioned room for 30 dollars a night! But I didn't give in, and now I have a place to write.
Okay, so I have to be honest. In some ways this trip is not the magical fairy tale ride through Happy Land. It's freaking hot, and in some places muggy. I didn't pack the right clothes; I feel like a frumpy tool. It's peak season. I have had several instances where service people have been quite rude to me, the way that you can tell that just below the surface they're hostile. And I can only assume that's because I'm by myself and have a small demeanor here because I don't know the language and feel insecure.
Last night I paid extra for a sit-down dinner (gorgonzola pizza and beer). I was under an umbrella and something poured on it and splashed through onto my arm. I told the waiter very nicely, just in a questioning tone, and he said the umbrella was for the sun. Then he immediately went over and told another waiter, and they sat there poking fun at me in Italian while I tried to enjoy my dinner. I asked him why he was poking fun, and he told me in a very bossy and rude tone, "Eat. Eat your food." I left feeling terrible, reminding myself that rude people in America always see me as a target as well. It's something to do with my face or my voice or my demeanor, I don't know--or maybe I'm just fooling myself and I'm too ergly for public life. Maybe here it's because I'm a fat American by myself and people can tell that I don't know how to fight back. It makes me feel pretty crappy. But on the walk back to the hotel, I told myself that I would just be as super nice and smiley as possible so that nobody could feel okay about being rude. But it's not like I'm wearing a fanny pack and speaking in obnoxious, loud English or anything. Oh well. And I reminded myself that English speaking people are notoriously rude, so it's to be expected occasionally that I get the brunt of it. And that every person who has been rude to me is working-class. That's how it is in America too: most of the discriminatory, racist comments about language or nationality come from the lower classes.
The worst one I got was funny, and I didn't even realize it was rude until after I left. I went to an information booth in a train station in Paris and said, in French, Excuse me please, do you speak English? And she replaid, No. Do you speak French? I said that sorry, no I didn't, maybe only a little. My naive answer probably made her nicer, because she was helpful after that. And did speak some English; she was just being a smart ass.
Well, anyway. It's 9:31 am and I'm going to go walk around Florence until lunch. I can't find my sunscreen, which is a major pain because I can't wear the lotion kind. So I brought my umbrella. There's a lot of amazing art here, but you have to pay to get into everything, and it's all in different places. Michaelangelo's David: 8 Euro. The museum of fine art (with a collection, apparently, the rivals the Vatican): 8 Euro. So I'll just go see the tomb of Dante and wander around. Down to one of the only markets that covers a river. I'll spend my Euro on gelatto. Somehow I feel spoiled, having just been to the Louvre.
After wandering and having gelato, I'll come back to the hotel and swim during the hottest part of the day. The hostel has a pool. Then in the evening I'll take a bus up to a point on the hill that overlooks the town. Then tonight, more work on the paper, and I have all day tomorrow as well.
Signing off!
Well, the paper is due on the 31st if I can send it via email. Which, it turns out, I can. I'm in Florence, everything is expensive except walking around, and my hostel is very nice. They have a whole room of computers, and I can use wordpad without even logging in. I was considering checking out and heading to Sienna instead, but I think I have a duty and a serendipitous spot. Hopefully within a day or two the theme will change to: "Paper done!"
I'm in Firenze, as it's truly named, and it is HOT. PLUS Hostel, 22 bucks a night, is decent. I'm in a room with 7 beds. It's spacious and the AC will run for an hour at a time. The bed is really noisy and I'm a tosser, and my corner doesn't really get the AC but does get a lot of street light. That's okay; I slept like a baby last night anyway. After my 16 hour busride! I took Eurolines from Paris to Florence and arrived yesterday afternoon. Eurolines is like Greyhound only efficient, and the people are an interesting cross section as well. I hate to admit it, but I didn't really talk to anyone; I just focused on finding positions of comfort that didn't make my tailbone hurt worse. I slept on an iron parkbench in Milano waiting for the transfer bus. That's hard core.
Getting to Florence was my first time ever arriving in a foreign city without any plan--no map, no reservations, no idea if the bus station was even near the town center. Fortunately, it was. I did happen to know from reading some guides that Florence always has budget accommodations open, as I stated below. It was true. A man even tempted me at the train station with a private, air conditioned room for 30 dollars a night! But I didn't give in, and now I have a place to write.
Okay, so I have to be honest. In some ways this trip is not the magical fairy tale ride through Happy Land. It's freaking hot, and in some places muggy. I didn't pack the right clothes; I feel like a frumpy tool. It's peak season. I have had several instances where service people have been quite rude to me, the way that you can tell that just below the surface they're hostile. And I can only assume that's because I'm by myself and have a small demeanor here because I don't know the language and feel insecure.
Last night I paid extra for a sit-down dinner (gorgonzola pizza and beer). I was under an umbrella and something poured on it and splashed through onto my arm. I told the waiter very nicely, just in a questioning tone, and he said the umbrella was for the sun. Then he immediately went over and told another waiter, and they sat there poking fun at me in Italian while I tried to enjoy my dinner. I asked him why he was poking fun, and he told me in a very bossy and rude tone, "Eat. Eat your food." I left feeling terrible, reminding myself that rude people in America always see me as a target as well. It's something to do with my face or my voice or my demeanor, I don't know--or maybe I'm just fooling myself and I'm too ergly for public life. Maybe here it's because I'm a fat American by myself and people can tell that I don't know how to fight back. It makes me feel pretty crappy. But on the walk back to the hotel, I told myself that I would just be as super nice and smiley as possible so that nobody could feel okay about being rude. But it's not like I'm wearing a fanny pack and speaking in obnoxious, loud English or anything. Oh well. And I reminded myself that English speaking people are notoriously rude, so it's to be expected occasionally that I get the brunt of it. And that every person who has been rude to me is working-class. That's how it is in America too: most of the discriminatory, racist comments about language or nationality come from the lower classes.
The worst one I got was funny, and I didn't even realize it was rude until after I left. I went to an information booth in a train station in Paris and said, in French, Excuse me please, do you speak English? And she replaid, No. Do you speak French? I said that sorry, no I didn't, maybe only a little. My naive answer probably made her nicer, because she was helpful after that. And did speak some English; she was just being a smart ass.
Well, anyway. It's 9:31 am and I'm going to go walk around Florence until lunch. I can't find my sunscreen, which is a major pain because I can't wear the lotion kind. So I brought my umbrella. There's a lot of amazing art here, but you have to pay to get into everything, and it's all in different places. Michaelangelo's David: 8 Euro. The museum of fine art (with a collection, apparently, the rivals the Vatican): 8 Euro. So I'll just go see the tomb of Dante and wander around. Down to one of the only markets that covers a river. I'll spend my Euro on gelatto. Somehow I feel spoiled, having just been to the Louvre.
After wandering and having gelato, I'll come back to the hotel and swim during the hottest part of the day. The hostel has a pool. Then in the evening I'll take a bus up to a point on the hill that overlooks the town. Then tonight, more work on the paper, and I have all day tomorrow as well.
Signing off!
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