tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24399457396908193342023-11-16T08:04:07.545-08:00Abby a ItaliaI'm in Siena, Italy for a semester of...well I'm not exactly sure at this point! I'll be keeping track of whatever I come across right here.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08006258460476085976noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2439945739690819334.post-82528724753140924982009-12-14T10:29:00.000-08:002009-12-14T14:16:18.130-08:00Hey Italy, I Hope You Remember All the Good Times We Had!A much-needed cleaning of my room ended with my suitcase being unearthed from the depths of my closet, and partially filled with clothes and the material accumulation of almost four months in Italy.<br /><br />As I started to sort through all the things that I’ve accumulated over the course of the semester, I battled the pack-rat’s urge to hold on to various useless mementos—ticket stubs and fliers and receipts—which are tangible reminders of a semester that still doesn’t seem real. I think there’s some part of me that worries that if I toss my grocery receipt in the trash, I might also lose the memory of all the tomato and mozzarella salads I’ve eaten. And also, as I begin the packing process, I’m slowly erasing any mark of my occupancy of this space for the past four months.<br /><br />Even from this side of the ocean, I can see that Italy has left some pretty big marks on me. I already know I’m going to be that annoying person answering my cellphone “Pronto!” and peppering my conversations with ciao ciao’s and che bella’s and andiamo’s. I’ll turn up my nose at college pasta, tomato sauce, lasagna, and pizza for the rest of my life, and probably be in a permanent state of sticker-shock at the prices of stateside vino. I know that studying abroad has been one of the biggest things I’ve ever done, though I don’t think I’ll be aware of all the ways it’s affected me until I finally get back the US (or, as we’ve come to affectionately call it her, Ahmurrrr-kuh).<br /><br />But what about Italy? It doesn’t seem fair that it could have such an impact on me, but that once my plane launches me out of the country, there’ll really be no trace of my ever having been here. Doesn’t this country care?<br /><br />There will be some less-than-stellar photos left hanging on the walls of the Siena School, and I guess I’ll exist in the medical records of the clinic that treated my Pink Eye…hmm, not exactly the legacy I was going for. Of course, the whole point of coming to Italy was to imbibe all it had to offer, to soak in the sweetness of la dolce vita and maybe come out the other end with some fantastic experiences, not the other way around. And I think I can say that Italy has done that for me.<br /><br />But still. Anytime you spend a significant chunk of time in a place, you start to feel like you own a little piece of it. I have my favorite spots to sit in the afternoon sun, my favorite pasticceria for pastry and gelateria for a sugar fix, and a regular table to meet up with friends at the Baron Rosso. I want to be able to claim these things a little more permanently, to know that even if never come back to Italy again, those places can still belong to me in some way.<br /><br />There’s a pizza place in Florence whose walls are solidly scribbled over with the signatures of thousands of patrons. I was excited to find another Abby who had written “Abby from Baltimore ate pizza here!” and I wrote next to it, “Abby from Boston did too!” Graffiti is and instinctive way of affirming our existence in a place and a time; it’s been going on forever. At the British Museum in London, I saw an enormous Assyrian gate with a board game etched into its side by the palace guards to help pass the time; Michelangelo’s David has a small graffiti initials on his right calf where some Renaissance passerby made their mark, back when the statue stood outside.<br /><br />I’m obviously not going to take a chisel to any priceless works of art—I guess I’ll have to be satisfied all the people who’ve made this whole thing so special—my host family, who are the best, and who I’ll miss a lot. And all the Siena Schoolers , who’ve shared the same experiences as I have and know which bar is the Elizabeth’s Bar, which is the Cheap Bar, which server at Kopakabana gives the most generous gelato scoops, where to get the biggest pizza slices. And exactly what we mean when we say, che schifo?!?<br /><br />Che schifo or not--it's usually more on the side of che brava-- this has been a great couple of months. I'm excited to drag out my time here after the semester officially ends on Wednesday, but I also know it'll feel great to get back to the USA.<br /><br />It's been fun keeping this blog, this may be my last post ever, so I'll say ciao ciao for now : )<br /><br />Che schifo or not--usually it's more on the side of che bravo--this has been a great couple of months, and I'm so excited that I get to drag my time out here are little longer, after the semester finishes this Wednesday. This is probably my last post, so thanks to anyone who's been keeping up with me, I've had a lot of fun doing this!<br /><br />ciao ciao for now : )<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU4noTxWc6tYo_8yZHhwjdUEFcluMfhHUwkNl3RGHr9qyMftmSbitzf4fuZPLaQ8g-4udMc7fU9b8sj0ME9NEyKxiImqObF5fgShpo9ks2IGQGW-Zm1OQzHdiG9n9BFJl3I5oJzKZ6Gdc/s1600-h/101_0629.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU4noTxWc6tYo_8yZHhwjdUEFcluMfhHUwkNl3RGHr9qyMftmSbitzf4fuZPLaQ8g-4udMc7fU9b8sj0ME9NEyKxiImqObF5fgShpo9ks2IGQGW-Zm1OQzHdiG9n9BFJl3I5oJzKZ6Gdc/s400/101_0629.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415212176789830978" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIwmV6y0BM3eF6C3SNyuhgZ6BcV8e5wLiK5D5c4snd5aNTxNqAuCFUAFdrgV6vv-V5ICmqqwRsyH7gJAwc8ZGxi6orTW-1m5CHtlNwdS8xflLJak7FnYEdPcE6UugT8CTr7od4HuBEhiU/s1600-h/Friday+2.10.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIwmV6y0BM3eF6C3SNyuhgZ6BcV8e5wLiK5D5c4snd5aNTxNqAuCFUAFdrgV6vv-V5ICmqqwRsyH7gJAwc8ZGxi6orTW-1m5CHtlNwdS8xflLJak7FnYEdPcE6UugT8CTr7od4HuBEhiU/s400/Friday+2.10.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415212173623545858" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfi-Xm6_cOwq0auIbUytU8RXOBEm58dm7xPnqBUY6tko0TUeBnmrfObeE1IWhFlvaNRXbe8qyyk4y-wNEC5ORnsohs6iENL0eoEBb-J_5QmJ9-nYkBN1mxs5da0s1FOryEDhR6dWcNYrc/s1600-h/101_0630.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfi-Xm6_cOwq0auIbUytU8RXOBEm58dm7xPnqBUY6tko0TUeBnmrfObeE1IWhFlvaNRXbe8qyyk4y-wNEC5ORnsohs6iENL0eoEBb-J_5QmJ9-nYkBN1mxs5da0s1FOryEDhR6dWcNYrc/s400/101_0630.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415212163476141090" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ0VXHy2ZV-4GVqbf4extJrKxgg0GN9wLpfrlb9mq5pI9tP3Yuq8JpLclKE_342QO9a0dX4jD_UvOYE231p2cPN5f4DWrumsG_eH2Qwg8k9zGaGvmUb2QGYIaEwVM0rjnNbBMlsZ5JIHA/s1600-h/101_0603.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ0VXHy2ZV-4GVqbf4extJrKxgg0GN9wLpfrlb9mq5pI9tP3Yuq8JpLclKE_342QO9a0dX4jD_UvOYE231p2cPN5f4DWrumsG_eH2Qwg8k9zGaGvmUb2QGYIaEwVM0rjnNbBMlsZ5JIHA/s400/101_0603.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415212158278732466" border="0" /></a>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08006258460476085976noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2439945739690819334.post-73353364483693771362009-12-13T12:02:00.000-08:002009-12-13T12:39:37.578-08:00Review Part Four<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Even though it may seem like I'm constantly praising the beautiful weather here, I lie not when I say that we have crappy days, too. </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">This fog is thick like ribollita.</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguQnXdQklZmeb9WNBfpi48iAcc2VQyT7X9RAOFQ43JjcA6rIQ4k6DQt6JHDROw0aafaygrXmgcLvxTQCxm40BRpn3pj0nJ8qUz3seUuEh9HmSbIjewClOxkKmtgqnKIwSOtuzuLmp9SMo/s1600-h/101_0118.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguQnXdQklZmeb9WNBfpi48iAcc2VQyT7X9RAOFQ43JjcA6rIQ4k6DQt6JHDROw0aafaygrXmgcLvxTQCxm40BRpn3pj0nJ8qUz3seUuEh9HmSbIjewClOxkKmtgqnKIwSOtuzuLmp9SMo/s400/101_0118.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414817712016899602" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">During our first weeks in Siena, piles of colorful confetti kept cropping up along the streets leading to the Campo</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">. Contrary to popular belief, Siena was not fetting the arrival of American students--it was just leftovers from all the weddings that were taking place on the Campo.</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_xhRbgtU9UQ6by-VQHJgV2HEmBtf7PluSnIO4qa8Pka7Kr3H2X9T6kBa3UGT1b3IBdpxqM4WzUYS9sGq7oGeHV2IAxN1oa1TZx2dWhAapOwxvx6KN-ucVm7fYYIyiobz8IvTXPN5ymcY/s1600-h/Italy_blog+pics+012.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_xhRbgtU9UQ6by-VQHJgV2HEmBtf7PluSnIO4qa8Pka7Kr3H2X9T6kBa3UGT1b3IBdpxqM4WzUYS9sGq7oGeHV2IAxN1oa1TZx2dWhAapOwxvx6KN-ucVm7fYYIyiobz8IvTXPN5ymcY/s400/Italy_blog+pics+012.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414817734301244818" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">This is a sunset on our way back from the Chestnut Festival. The sunsets have changed so much since late summer! They're still pretty though, just not as warm looking.</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxC9qJ9imRFneOFC-wdHDoU3K7qDcIi1sEGZRS33qcQ-d-mLSmiMlyhVXBUVxdHZ2-gQ-rIUwWLnl_0-m8T-D6wuc_f8p-DJd9_6yavwZCLYJMu962vd-RL0r-fFY2dz064FEoclJ1euI/s1600-h/101_0684.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxC9qJ9imRFneOFC-wdHDoU3K7qDcIi1sEGZRS33qcQ-d-mLSmiMlyhVXBUVxdHZ2-gQ-rIUwWLnl_0-m8T-D6wuc_f8p-DJd9_6yavwZCLYJMu962vd-RL0r-fFY2dz064FEoclJ1euI/s400/101_0684.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414817723486144802" border="0" /></a>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08006258460476085976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2439945739690819334.post-12500201979131813012009-12-12T04:20:00.000-08:002009-12-12T05:03:39.508-08:00Review Part Three<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Some Siena School pals (Lindsay, Allison and Avantika) in front of the view of the city way back in September</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg6Ia_gY5t_Avd_LtD5-4hvsvC_Emy9t2UJQEqeqRG-sxjzf5DhukLhbDFpz9JWdOXX1LRj66_2yV_fNRFRsS2UulV7hRbnm0mULagMeR5bkosQe8jiWQmEFZdv00latChNHLa8mzSUuY/s1600-h/Italy+161.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg6Ia_gY5t_Avd_LtD5-4hvsvC_Emy9t2UJQEqeqRG-sxjzf5DhukLhbDFpz9JWdOXX1LRj66_2yV_fNRFRsS2UulV7hRbnm0mULagMeR5bkosQe8jiWQmEFZdv00latChNHLa8mzSUuY/s400/Italy+161.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414325754118378258" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Hot chocolate at the Chocolate Festival in Perugia in October.</span></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmzc0zHrxaF1LogTrOhoG99MOHORlMaIJEDfkSAFCQ7JzCuNeYlRyr0zuQO8jf7p1ArbjLPu-GmTnWXdTuHlihPLedZ5igoG187PHgVFeWHi9Jr0mSso-aoeejggj8iMQPfEQZre93FlI/s1600-h/DSC03759.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmzc0zHrxaF1LogTrOhoG99MOHORlMaIJEDfkSAFCQ7JzCuNeYlRyr0zuQO8jf7p1ArbjLPu-GmTnWXdTuHlihPLedZ5igoG187PHgVFeWHi9Jr0mSso-aoeejggj8iMQPfEQZre93FlI/s400/DSC03759.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414325749559667570" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Italian fashion is weird. </span></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf9JR1QQCleWboUcsgHyBFNroYHRJSxkjoByZHwWnHDW2cVxvs6zEllgvYNqWJIserkVwRwnYkIFqgEGpFQArq9ZeX5RV53fPBHsj1-yTaIEgKZ-2rb9oBQAud0m-aEYF8NXH7AWq_NwQ/s1600-h/italy+28.09+through+5.10+030.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf9JR1QQCleWboUcsgHyBFNroYHRJSxkjoByZHwWnHDW2cVxvs6zEllgvYNqWJIserkVwRwnYkIFqgEGpFQArq9ZeX5RV53fPBHsj1-yTaIEgKZ-2rb9oBQAud0m-aEYF8NXH7AWq_NwQ/s400/italy+28.09+through+5.10+030.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414325741460235858" border="0" /></a>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08006258460476085976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2439945739690819334.post-25778627168477199532009-12-09T13:38:00.000-08:002009-12-09T13:57:59.368-08:00Review Part Two<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br />This is another segment of my daily walk to school past the Fortress. This was really early on a Sunday, which is why it's eerily deserted...we have a lot of foggy mornings like this, where you can't see the end of the street.</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9gWIyNV0_XjLeYG8eA3ZeJj7HN7OGC_uyzq6y85OuuefozeSJAMSR10XqX7LDSAHfkywy_H4CxI6fx3Wn4V-iQcRZuK8R0tlRcmRxx0qtU8hF9cP5ONsy4Iz4fj6irUrR-gEP0K2XHXQ/s1600-h/101_0652.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9gWIyNV0_XjLeYG8eA3ZeJj7HN7OGC_uyzq6y85OuuefozeSJAMSR10XqX7LDSAHfkywy_H4CxI6fx3Wn4V-iQcRZuK8R0tlRcmRxx0qtU8hF9cP5ONsy4Iz4fj6irUrR-gEP0K2XHXQ/s400/101_0652.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413358108834881442" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">This is the Campo, playing host to a "medieval' festival a couple weeks ago. This picture doesn't show the people playing medieval music, or the jester's puppet show. But it's always fun to see the normally expansive, sloping main piazza transformed for an event. This is of course where the famous Palio horse race takes place three times a year, and a great spot to soak up the sun. Even in December!</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOjoO3iistzOHlGw9ZPt8WUVAhByiUUci24X3QOKMsHVZOZWgLy2p5XklnlHVwXPoDUR60YE7_yieCV8WwiwMZ2pViZMLEAOEKOGiZyOI2P_OD_xjf_7DSFHwu53rhjQfK048h4CCYKXI/s1600-h/101_0570.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOjoO3iistzOHlGw9ZPt8WUVAhByiUUci24X3QOKMsHVZOZWgLy2p5XklnlHVwXPoDUR60YE7_yieCV8WwiwMZ2pViZMLEAOEKOGiZyOI2P_OD_xjf_7DSFHwu53rhjQfK048h4CCYKXI/s400/101_0570.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413355407168320690" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">A mini River Arno, flowing through a piccolini Florence. After we finished taking many artsy shots through this tiny replica, we realized it's actually a Braille map! If you look at the right bank in this picture, you can just make out the row of raised bumps naming the street. I've never seen anything like this before, or really thought about the fact that blind people can't take in a visual cityscape...a map read by touch is such a great concept.</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjf4KgbGirU13qEY8MobwEviE8HhodwUTdkpOiQxfiBLv_5GtlKH5AQuwiWM1TSQG4qF8_jkLc3up38ahkQhAJdfP_uDcADvlh1EMWwMTsXMRdUbBppeLXTO8IlR8lFul0wcTnTkel3kM/s1600-h/101_0634.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjf4KgbGirU13qEY8MobwEviE8HhodwUTdkpOiQxfiBLv_5GtlKH5AQuwiWM1TSQG4qF8_jkLc3up38ahkQhAJdfP_uDcADvlh1EMWwMTsXMRdUbBppeLXTO8IlR8lFul0wcTnTkel3kM/s400/101_0634.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413355400498829986" border="0" /></a>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08006258460476085976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2439945739690819334.post-23007326020443098632009-12-08T05:39:00.000-08:002009-12-08T06:00:56.685-08:00Comprehensive ReviewOK, I don't know how many full-length blog posts I have left in me, considering this is technically my last week of classes, next Wednesday is the Siena School Final Dinner, and the following day I depart for PARIS...and from there I commence my merry traipsing aboot for the next couple weeks. So, as I start reviewing for my final "exams" here, I will also try to recap by uploading a few rando pictures at a time, since I have been terrifyingly lax about that, and it's a good way for me to think about what in heck I have been doing here for the past 14.5 weeks.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Some Christmas lights like I mentioned in my last post! These are not the most exciting ones; they come in many shapes and colors and patterns. Florence has some pretty awesome ones but I didn't actually take any pictures of them...</span></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn95cQJiZxe3lyENWCnjyNWYhROtI9_4yv6maUJVJLnIx90JY3SbD6riDmEVZ6uXMKbcN7qArIlO_fiS3zig6kiDbXlgS3V4mjQNOp_QQs-jkBsvafpsrYbwnrCH451O4xL8klqkKYvoc/s1600-h/101_0708.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn95cQJiZxe3lyENWCnjyNWYhROtI9_4yv6maUJVJLnIx90JY3SbD6riDmEVZ6uXMKbcN7qArIlO_fiS3zig6kiDbXlgS3V4mjQNOp_QQs-jkBsvafpsrYbwnrCH451O4xL8klqkKYvoc/s320/101_0708.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412860728026653554" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Every day I walk past the Fortress right outside the city walls, from below you can see all the trees growing on top of the walls. This was a really pretty pink sunset last week.</span></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2JsX-6bb02BGf4T84tfus-UN9q9MxhARgCFZBACXw2G1NE_AwOV_xtKfP08RVli-8UbOaHSYcfZMQt8nhuWfTzENyO3pZry_Q5jsTMAEbXgY3o_BCNcKw6jroGfZGMA5O4YMPFBFfbK4/s1600-h/101_0622.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2JsX-6bb02BGf4T84tfus-UN9q9MxhARgCFZBACXw2G1NE_AwOV_xtKfP08RVli-8UbOaHSYcfZMQt8nhuWfTzENyO3pZry_Q5jsTMAEbXgY3o_BCNcKw6jroGfZGMA5O4YMPFBFfbK4/s320/101_0622.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412860726192618754" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Our Creative Writing professor took us to this crazy art park out in the country side on our way to a really cute Chestnut Festival a couple weeks ago; this is my class taking in the spectacular view/being blinded by the sun.</span></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh44vcQw3Pl1F269vFqYaWLZIsOrk41cGaIZyiFlWM3gZ3vQeZRFfC_cT-7g5-lhttX_HDsHOBjgGBnUACCLZNXheN1m5Q0OcizOoKIRtmrCaSgRT2pUvUPCn3vqjDwHFPhknjQ92s7KI/s1600-h/101_0661.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh44vcQw3Pl1F269vFqYaWLZIsOrk41cGaIZyiFlWM3gZ3vQeZRFfC_cT-7g5-lhttX_HDsHOBjgGBnUACCLZNXheN1m5Q0OcizOoKIRtmrCaSgRT2pUvUPCn3vqjDwHFPhknjQ92s7KI/s320/101_0661.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412860716234052914" border="0" /></a>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08006258460476085976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2439945739690819334.post-44339359487127931412009-12-06T06:08:00.000-08:002009-12-06T06:33:32.475-08:00No Pasta AllowedI’ve taken a bit of a break for the past couple weeks, hopefully my loyal readers haven’t been pining after my posts too much…<br /><br />Anyways, the most significant change since my last update has been the official commencement of The Holiday Season, kick started a few weeks ago by Siena Schoolers with a screening of “Love, Actually.” We crowded into one of our classrooms and endured about 45 minutes of technological snafus before finally launching the movie (there was some feeble debate over whether or not to watch Italian, but who are we kidding—it’s so much better in English).<br /><br />Since returning from fall break, there’s been a bout of RTGH (ready-to-go-home) Syndrome running rampant in the student body—but basking in the collective glow of Hugh Grant, Colin Firth and the Mariah Carey belting out “All I Want for Christmas” proved a potent anecdote.<br /><br />We may have been a little early in anticipating the holidays, but Thanksgiving rolled around a week later. While Thanksgiving marks the traditional segue way into The Holiday Season for Americans, not so in Italy. And yet, undaunted by the many obstacles to celebrating a proper American Thanksgiving, we boldly sallied forth to recreate the holiday of our forefathers. <br /><br />Though local grocery store windows stood painfully clear of paper turkeys, Pilgrims'N'Indians, and cornucopia displays—though unaided by promotions on cranberry sauce, stuffing, and basting pans—though dogged by the scarcity of brown sugar and sweet potatoes!—<span style="font-style: italic;">we persevered</span>. Many key ingredients proved impossible to procure—my host mother informed me that as far as she knows, cranberry products exist only in concentrate form as a remedy for urinary tract infections—and yet when we gathered at the school at the appointed hour, the potluck spread was miraculously traditional.<br /><br />A butcher had been induced to custom-slaughter two turkeys for our little event, and almost all the students pitched in: Angela delivered magnificently on her promise of two amazing Southern-style apple pies (for which she ditched half of Sociology class to prepare…certainly a fair trade); there were three types of mashed potatoes, three types of stuffing, and ample (though moderately congealed) gravy. Marina discovered brown sugar in a specialty food store and made ‘mixed nut’ pie (no pecans available); Franny and Julia diced their turnip dish to resemble sweet potatoes. Logan contributed apple cider/sauce/mush which although insufficient for the roughly 30 attendees of Siena School Thanksgiving, exuded a delicious aroma.<br /><br />We squeezed along a length of classroom tables clogging the central hallway, and took turns saying something we were thankful for. Thanks were showered upon each other, the food, the wine, and Ryanair and EasyJet, as well as the chance to celebrate a first Thanksgiving (that from the Italians in the group, which included the barman from across the street). All in all, it was a much needed follow-up to the skype date I had had with my entire family right before hand as they geared up to celebrate my favorite holiday without me.<br /><br />While none of us would have complained about settling down for yet another delicious home-cooked Italian meal with our host families, it felt so good to do something to celebrate this holiday together. The most important rule of our dinner was that there should be no pasta present—and no one had a problem with that.<br /><br /> Since then, Siena has followed in our wake and started holiday preparations. At night, curtains of lights completely fill the air above each narrow street within the city walls, illuminating the road ahead. The porcupine contrada erected a Christmas tree in their neighborhood yesterday, and a skating rink has been set up in one of the parks. I’m getting really excited for the next big holiday approaching, and the week I’m going to spend in Paris right before Christmas, and then spending the actual holiday with my (real) family here in Italy.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheOvubDJIgis9K5QiBvOYib344MA2-MKFq6LKTXEPfQVsgujYfWMAxYHUt3xw04RXI-sHajoYmLVsnojBGq1jv4lwEFRr4DihLkgr_E0s91NjiI7ivSLxiaK_E9IWXkUZVfN6IuUQfARM/s1600-h/ISLA+thanksgiving+food.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheOvubDJIgis9K5QiBvOYib344MA2-MKFq6LKTXEPfQVsgujYfWMAxYHUt3xw04RXI-sHajoYmLVsnojBGq1jv4lwEFRr4DihLkgr_E0s91NjiI7ivSLxiaK_E9IWXkUZVfN6IuUQfARM/s320/ISLA+thanksgiving+food.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412126921211030642" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM7vDchD-lnHAL5a65xGzdL1td12GbZKx6jQLo1Yr2V7PmU4ad49PU7hHSTIWp0dlMF4Ad5VDje6y6BIfn7SuJuKYnr8zdxQjnoPjE28G2oqg_y2i0Rykzg1l7aTnkXEMwzo_FbhhihcM/s1600-h/ISLA+thanksgiving+table.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM7vDchD-lnHAL5a65xGzdL1td12GbZKx6jQLo1Yr2V7PmU4ad49PU7hHSTIWp0dlMF4Ad5VDje6y6BIfn7SuJuKYnr8zdxQjnoPjE28G2oqg_y2i0Rykzg1l7aTnkXEMwzo_FbhhihcM/s320/ISLA+thanksgiving+table.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412126926826905506" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">(oh hey Marina...I stole these pics off your facebook!)</span>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08006258460476085976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2439945739690819334.post-74259915852683344942009-11-12T11:59:00.000-08:002009-11-12T12:43:23.919-08:00Travels to English-Speaking LandsI'M BACK! (in Italia)<br /><br />(which reminds me...I've been meaning to excuse myself for the little grammar mishap going on in my blog title. Grammatically speaking, it should be "Abby in Italia," but I made the blog before I knew that. And, while I'm doing corrections, I'll get another one off my chest: It's SIENA, not ever, neverever, SIENNA. People get very annoyed at this. 'Sienna' is a Crayola color, indeed inspired by the hue of the bricks in the fabulous Siena Piazza del Campo, but we don't know why Crayola felt the need to fiddle with the spelling. So yeah. No double 'n')<br /><br />Moving on.<br /><br />I'm back from break, a changed person! Not really, but I did have an AMAZING break. I was lucky enough to see friends, the boyfriend, and even family. My trip had three main stops: a maiden voyage to London and Dublin, and a long-overdue return to port in Belfast (I apologize for the corny metaphors, but you know you like them). Anyways, I will attempt to self-censor a little/ A LOT in the interests of actually doing homework at somepoint during this semester, so here's visual/textual recap:<br /><br />LONDON!!!!<br /><br />Cheerio lads, trick-or-treat!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiifKFxqsJMOWgTU-6kHJxA8ucd2hyphenhyphen-T_tg69m32tPagRc8cFuKbinyFe2P1gst-FsBpWBBZ7VIggXC451xAU2TiiTbSBP_8nAaeRPCpl42bckq7VV3Vq4yiacHcEkXd1O6gZJiIM3WDHg/s1600-h/101_0250.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiifKFxqsJMOWgTU-6kHJxA8ucd2hyphenhyphen-T_tg69m32tPagRc8cFuKbinyFe2P1gst-FsBpWBBZ7VIggXC451xAU2TiiTbSBP_8nAaeRPCpl42bckq7VV3Vq4yiacHcEkXd1O6gZJiIM3WDHg/s320/101_0250.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403311647985484978" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Afternoon Tea? Nooo, that's Italian-style caffe!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6CSMUiFO95qHjgr_vq8noPa2gjakRVySywJ9cHQEvH9myJNjeTNfyrExU80EWtHjL2BxA6esUMaOnbv7wxtDuZJzR4_4NHcWm0gmBzE7m8zpvPHNnOtS_dqRDK37vkniQPHPrlctT35w/s1600-h/101_0275.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6CSMUiFO95qHjgr_vq8noPa2gjakRVySywJ9cHQEvH9myJNjeTNfyrExU80EWtHjL2BxA6esUMaOnbv7wxtDuZJzR4_4NHcWm0gmBzE7m8zpvPHNnOtS_dqRDK37vkniQPHPrlctT35w/s320/101_0275.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403313882827598850" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />DUBLIN!!!!<br />This picture reflects the fact that Sean and I cooked a LOT, but we did not take a lot of pictures. Sean talks about what we did in Dublin on his blog (http://smdoocy.wordpress.com) so take a look at that if you're interested.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYkvvCelxh2jSOQjK62fyH4Z-DFC437dgTBoP9qQX-ozkoUqHiW-qqgs4FK8ZJivZuP-jwFvy8h8YYG-Bndq906upn1LZi4IDiyVQzx-1ahZvi_Jdo8JgZ8Yr31qmR2dVb2m3cDRWB1ZU/s1600-h/101_0299.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYkvvCelxh2jSOQjK62fyH4Z-DFC437dgTBoP9qQX-ozkoUqHiW-qqgs4FK8ZJivZuP-jwFvy8h8YYG-Bndq906upn1LZi4IDiyVQzx-1ahZvi_Jdo8JgZ8Yr31qmR2dVb2m3cDRWB1ZU/s320/101_0299.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403313887527777106" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />BELFAST!!!<br />Again, major fail in the picture-taking department...but I like this one because I always associate bad weather with the times I've been in Ireland.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBQXftEWquOo6FLvUh3HAzP2cPm74tw1rdnB-iYh9HnbTrmybmbEAwjecahhBY63t9hKzhw3lNX0iuFr_S9UiXls80oCfOK-Z0ASosrbq7_avkkVq73iKi9xDdckthgH96Lb0KQwkNDMg/s1600-h/IMG_1015.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBQXftEWquOo6FLvUh3HAzP2cPm74tw1rdnB-iYh9HnbTrmybmbEAwjecahhBY63t9hKzhw3lNX0iuFr_S9UiXls80oCfOK-Z0ASosrbq7_avkkVq73iKi9xDdckthgH96Lb0KQwkNDMg/s320/IMG_1015.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403313896001759506" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />OK, hopefully I will get back with some more on things that actually happened during break...we'll see.<br /><br />Before I sign off, I just want to note that Italy, and Siena specifically, have changed in my absence. About half the trees are bare now, signaling the inevitable approach of winter and by extension, the end of my semester here. Today I walked through the streets towards Kopakobana, a gelateria closing it's doors for the season (and celebrating with generous portions of free gelato...), and didn't have to elbow my way past a single tourist group. The streets are noticibly quieter, a lot of boutiques have also closed for the winter...and it's all kind of nice. Something I've always loved about New England (and missed in Italy) is the drastic change from season to season; the disappearance of the crowds from the Siena streets is a welcome change of the same kind.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08006258460476085976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2439945739690819334.post-48196203531443014322009-10-29T13:13:00.001-07:002009-10-29T13:26:59.714-07:00!!!FALL BREAK!!!OK, this is a bit of a slacker post...I'm going to add my piece for Creative Writing this week, because it was inspired by a party I went to with my Uncle Bob this past weekend when I visited him in Rome. I just want to emphasize: THIS IS CREATIVE WRITING, NOT AN EXACT ACCOUNT OF ANYTHING. I actually had a <span style="font-style:italic;">great </span>time at this party, and got to meet a great girl who's doing an internship in the art-restoration wing of the Vatican, and who's going to visit me at some point in Siena! It was also just really fun seeing Bob doing what he does in Rome--I've only ever gotten to see him doing the side of his job which takes place during large family get-togethers, and isn't nearly as glamorous! <br /><br />Anyways, tomorrow I head off for Fall Break! I have to give a 5-minute oral presentation in Italian class on a subject of my own choosing (which will be the TV show "Glee!"), and then I'm free! I'm having a good-bye lunch with my host fam, then catching a bus to Florence to spend the night with Erikka, and then flying out to London for the weekend! Much Indian food will be consumed, and then I will be in Dublin and Belfast for the remainder.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Tonight's Gonna Be A Long, Long Night</span><br /><br /> The doorbell sounded over the murmur of voices, and several more people trickled from the hall into the apartment foyer. It was a spacious apartment, reminiscent of a recently-converted hotel room: gold-framed watercolor landscapes broke the monotony of bland walls, and a wooden table with a vase of fake flowers sat in the entrance. The hostess fluttered between kitchen, door, and dining room, monitoring the food and the people. <br /> The new arrivals shrugged off their coats and scanned the scene, deciding how to insert themselves. They were a mismatched group: a tall, worn-looking man with graying curls and thick glasses (who several of the guests approached with recognition), a mousy-haired woman who introduced herself with great seriousness and urgency in a heavy Polish accent, and a girl apologetically wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and an uncertain expression.<br /> The partygoers were of a distinctly Catholic set; there were five priests in collars as well as journalists and writers brought to Rome by the tantalizing buzz of the Vatican hive. The t-shirt girl had heard the phrase ‘all roads lead to Rome,’ and saw that within her uncle’s sphere, all roads lead to the Vatican. Standing tangent to a circle immersed in theological debate, the girl assumed a benignly interested look. After twenty minutes of polite listening (and no offer of a drink), her expression collapsed from interest to boredom, and then dissolved into discomfort. She slipped away down a side hall lined with shelves of books which offered a desperately-needed distraction.<br /> Sadly, her solace did not last. <br /> “Excuse me- are you doing all right? Can I offer you an appertivo?” inquired the fluttering hostess, brandishing a tray of what looks like pasty grey brain atop star-shaped French fries.<br /> The girl stepped back quickly from the shelves she had been making a show of perusing, exclaiming “Oh, thanks- um, can I ask what this is?”<br /> “It’s brain on stars! Haha! Mother and I made them!” the hostess twinkled. She was in fact the same age as the girl, but wearing heels and popping out of a low-cut cocktail dress, and relishing the part of the benevolent hostess.<br /> “Oh wow,” the girl quavered before taking the plunge, “Sure I’ll try one, thanks…” She slid a star off the tray and tried to balance it with her plastic cup of water. “I’m just, you know, looking at the books here…are they, I mean, do you…”she fumbled the brain-star, almost dunking it in her cup, as she struggled to figure out who exactly she was talking to. As far as she can tell there were at least three other women playing the hostess at this party. “Do you live here?” she finally blurted out, trying to maintain her cool. <br /> “Yes, I do. I am Italian. Italian-American, actually. Of Boston.” That explained her impeccable English, but not the extremely proper diction.<br />The girl’s eyebrows flew up in relief, “Oh, really? Where? I mean, I’m from Boston too!”<br /> “Hmm, fancy that. My grandparents have their property in Chestnut Hill. I summer there each year. And why are you here?” the hostess inquired coolly, glancing over her shoulder with disinterest, reluctant to join in the game of mutual knowledge. The girl was reminded again of her appearance, her clear deviance from the rest of the partygoers. “Oh, well I’m just visiting my uncle for the weekend, but I’m spending the semester studying in Siena. He didn’t tell me we’d be going out anywhere, you know…I haven’t even had a chance to drop off my stuff at his apartment,” she explained, then plunged on, still searching for some friendly common ground. “I’m actually from Somerville, right next to Cambridge, like on the Red Line? The Porter Square T stop is near my house? There’s an Anna’s Taqueria there, I’m sure you go to the one in Chestnut Hill when you’re, uh, summering. God, I miss Mexican food!” the girl blurted, immediately cringing as the G word popped out of her mouth.<br /> “No, I don’t think so…please excuse me, I really must deal with some things in the kitchen. Don’t hesitate to let me know if there’s anything I can get for you.” She smiles indulgently, pleased by her own poise and generosity, and waltzed off with her tray of brain-stars.<br /> The girl looked back at the shelves of books, and then into the stagnant soup of priests and journalists, and took a small, brave bite of brain-star. Turning slightly from the room, she deftly spit it into her napkin and tucked it into the empty cup. It was going to be a long, long night.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08006258460476085976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2439945739690819334.post-55888641433306665322009-10-23T12:07:00.001-07:002009-10-23T12:42:43.785-07:00The Renaissance (condensed version)Just got back from our first Art History field trip to the Uffizi Gallery, which was also my first trip to Florence.<br /><br />Our teacher is a Florentine art historian with the best accent ever, prone to Englishisms like, "Ciao ciao, you disciples, I go to die now!" when voicing the meaning of Gothic religious artwork. The Uffizi was quite an experience--in (barely) two hours we worked our way from Giotto to Duccio to Botticelli, fighting for space in front of the masterpieces and getting shushed by an ornery German tourguide just for being American students and therefore unable to appreciate culture of any kind. After each painting, our professor urged us on with a fervent "Now we really must run very fast now!" It was completely overwhelming to be surrounded by works of art I've seen in art classes at Amherst and books on the Renaissance, and to just walk by them as we scampered to check off today's pieces from our list. Embarrassingly enough, I walked into a glass display case because my head was swiveling so fast trying to process what was on display in the rooms we didn't stop in as we rushed to finish the tour. When the closing announcements began to play, our professor actually said, "OK I am so so sorry but we have just ten minutes so we will quickly see Michelangelo and Da Vinci." Seriously? We just looked at each other and laughed with the ridiculousness of this proposition. Luckily we have more fieldtrips to the Uffizi.<br /><br />After we finished half an hour late, I made a mad dash for the bus back to Siena. I ran the last couple blocks to the station, completely soaking my Keds and flipping my poor flimsy umbrella inside-out several times. It was not graceful, but it was extremely satisfying to hop into the bus approximately 33 seconds before it pulled out. Overall, quite a whirlwind first trip to Florence.<br /><br />The frantic scramble of making buses and trains (and soon planes!) makes me incredibly nervous, but the sense of relaxation I get once I'm aboard is great. When you get moving towards your destination, you have a chance to process the experience you just had, and to begin planning for wherever you're headed next. These past couple of weeks have slipped by, punctuated with trips to Bologna, the Maremma, Perugia, Florence today (and Rome this weekend, and London the next!) By the time I get back to Siena from Fall Break, I think I'll be ready to settle down for a bit, and process the first half of my 'semester abroad.' I've been in constant looking-forward mode, with a new trip always lurking in the near future, and it will be nice to return from break and savor my remaining month and a half (is that really all?) at the Siena School.<br /><br />And yes, I think I'll savor some winter baked specialties along with that...Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08006258460476085976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2439945739690819334.post-71415939446523477542009-10-18T04:40:00.000-07:002009-10-18T04:42:51.037-07:00Season of Gelato gives way to Cioccolata Calda<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CAbigail%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><link rel="themeData" 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mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">With a sudden drop in temperatures, time has started whizzing by.</p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">I’ve been in Italy for seven weeks now. I’ve found that I can successfully buy bus and train tickets, order at restaurants (even if I’m not quite sure what it is I’ve selected), and make bad jokes to my host family (Olga, gesturing at my plate: Do you like it? Me: Haha. No, me no like, that is why I eat much a lot of it. Haha)</p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">The academic side of my stay here has been educational in many ways—I’ve learned about the Italian “academic fifteen,” which is quite different from its American counterpart, the dreaded Freshman Fifteen. In Italy, there’s a generally acknowledged pillow of fifteen minutes (more or less) between the appointed start time of class, and when you’re expected to be there. Our Italian teachers were the ones to actually inform us of this practice.</p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">One week ago, I was still wearing shorts and feeling slightly guilty about it. Since then the weather has turned: a fifteen degree temperature drop and spiteful wind have brutally proved to us that summer ends, even in Tuscany. Since Italian families tend to eat foods that are in season, bean soup, pumpkin risotto, and some kind of deep fried bread dish have been making appearances at the family table. The desire for gelato after every meal has been replaced with pastries or hot chocolate. We American students have been scolded by our Italian teachers for complaining about the constant cold, which has been difficult to adjust to. Apparently in Italy heating systems are regulated by the government, and so most public buildings, and many private ones, won’t be able to turn on the heat until a prescribed date in November. Which means a damp and chilly day…will be a damp and chilly day inside and out.</p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">Yesterday Angela and Erikka and I clawed our way to the European Chocolate Festival in Perugia (catching three trains or varying lateness and battling menacing crowds of chocolate fanatics). Pergugia was absolutely swarmed by thousands of people who descend each year to taste and buy some of the best chocolate to be had in Europe. It was the coldest I’ve been in Italy thus far, with wind whipping up and a down the narrow streets and the sky grayed over with thick clouds. But there was something exciting about the onset of fall and the threat of winter in the air. The delicious feeling of a cup of cioccolate calda warming your numb fingers while you walk aisles of chocolate kebabs, chocolate French fries, chocolate covered apples and chocolate dipped bananas wouldn’t be the same in summer weather.</p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">After a brisk walk home from the train station, I put an extra comforter on my bed and nestled up with my warm computer (for an episode of Freaks and Geeks), and nibbled on chocolate dipped apricots before falling asleep for twelve hours.</p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">I’ve got two weeks of classes before the start of my ten-day fall break; I hope I don’t go into full hibernation first.</p> Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08006258460476085976noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2439945739690819334.post-12148413479025370672009-10-06T13:01:00.000-07:002009-10-06T14:20:32.414-07:00"The Learned, the Red, and the Fat"Siena is clearly the best place in the world in all possible ways, but Bologna made a daring bid for the number one slot this past weekend. Angela and I hopped the early-bird bus on Saturday; it was still pretty dark and the clouds were ominous. The 2.5 hour ride lulled us into a stupor, which we immediately snapped out of when we reached our fair destination: Bologna, known for ages as "Letto, Rossi, e Grossi" or Learned, Red, and Fat.<br /><br />We dropped our bags at a tiny hotel off the Piazza Maggiore, where Megan and Kelley would meet up with us later that afternoon, and headed off into the city. We weren't as captivated by the "Letto" aspect of the city, and instead pursued all things Grossi, which included two of Bologna's award winning gelaterias. And here was our first mind-blowing discovery: GELATO CON FOCACCIA. It's sort of the Italian love-child of a hot dog and an ice cream sandwich, only prettier. And minus the processed meat products. A fresh-baked, cinnamon-dusted, sweet-bread-bun-thingy sliced open and heated for 3 seconds in the microwave, and then filled with four scoops of the best gelato you can imagine. Absolute ecstasy, no joke.<br /><br />After our first gelato, we explored some more and ogled the continuous overhang of porticos extending over virtually all of the city sidewalks. Everywhere you walk, a protective ceiling shades you and lovely arcades of columns extends between you and the busy streets. The longest one goes for a few kilometers and is apparently somposed of 666 consecutive porticos! Bologna would def be a good rainy-day destination, since you're always out of the elements.<br /><br />The food was without a doubt the highlight of the trip. There was a farmer's market on Saturday, where a lot of the local restaurants stock up for the week. Once Kelley and Megan joined us, decided to go for the full foodie experience, and reserved a place at little place that was supposed to be good.<br /><br />We arrived a little early for our 8 o'clock reservation, and were seated under the sidewalk portico. Immediately food began arriving at our table and our glasses filled with proseco; we weren't sure if we would even choose our meals or not. After the starters, the Ms. Owner Guy sauntered over and began to recite, in rapid gutteral Italian (read: incomprehensible) tonight's options. Um...could we see a menu please? We felt pretty ostentatiously American; we were younger than the other people there, and hesitant about ordering. With some coaxing, we chose pastas, and breathed a sigh of relief. Then the wine came out, and soon after our pastas, and we began to relax a little.<br /><br />The next time Mr. Owner Guy came by, he didn't seem quite as intimidating, and we were able to order mains without too much embarrassment. By now it's dark, and we notice the rose petals scattered on the ground near us, and admire the enthusiastic toast being given two table over by an older man with arms extended over his head. We're slowing falling into a food coma; I can't even describe the crazy goodness of what our waitress brought out. When it's time for dessert, the group two tables down has expanded to include a deliciously quaint accordian player and everyone's singing, it's ridiculously perfect. The American couple sitting next to us pull out their camera and snap a photo, we congratulate ourselves for not giving into that particular indulgence. When dessert arrives, Angela and I are astounded to see that we have ordered what appears to be...a dish of frothy fresh-whipped mascarpone cream, speckled with shards of dark chocolate. Seriously, Bologna? Straight-up whipped cream and chocolate? This is the kind of thing that would not fly in America, but you secretly wish for.<br /><br />We're pretty happy right about now, savoring the flavors and music and the sight of the owner getting steadily tipsy with the folks a few tables down. Now we're thinking it might be some kind of wedding celebration, and what do you know? Out dances Mr. Owner himself, holding the wedding cake and strutting about showing off his baby to everyone. Good thing we already had dessert or we'd be jealous!<br /><br />We're waiting to be kicked out as the wedding celebration continues to gather steam, but the staff doesn't seem worried about getting us to leave. In fact, the owner (how were we afraid of him at first?!?) slips up behind Angela and furiously rubs her bare arms, chanting "Non fa freddo! Non freddo!" until he's convinced she's not catching cold. And then his pal comes around with the wedding champage, and pours a little into our reddened wine glasses, swirls it about and dumps it into the next, repeating until the last glass is full of a deep pink wineseco mixture, which he flings behind him, splattering a parked car. He then fills our glasses, spilling liberally over the tablecloth, and returning several more times. By now we're giggling and joking, and feel almost deserving when some of the wedding cake is sent over our way. (It's pure butter and pastry. Actually.) We're loving the jealous looks from the American couple next to us, who get up to leave without any cake. When we finally get our check, it's 11:30.<br /><br />As we get up to leave, Mr. Owner sweeps in front of us, and pulls four long-stemmed yellow roses from the wedding bouquets, and presents them to each of us, accompanied by kisses on each cheek and hearily squeezing our shoulders (and his business card slipped into our pockets). I don't care if it's just an extremely effective business strategy, but I am in love with this place and will remember and recommend it forever to anyone in Italy. Hell, years from now I'll hunt this guy down and invite him to my wedding. Granted he'll have no idea who I am, and he'll probably be busy at his restaurant and with his life and all that...but I think anyone who considers a plate of whipped cream appropriate restaurant fare is very special.<br /><br />Anyways, it was a great weekend, other stuff happened, look at my pictures on flikr, I'll post the link in a bit, blah blah blah.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08006258460476085976noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2439945739690819334.post-59781986153706183012009-09-29T07:09:00.002-07:002009-09-29T07:14:28.041-07:00Diario Fotografico<p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">For the photography class I’m taking, we’re keeping a semester-long photo-per-day “diary”. Every Tuesday we share and critique each others pictures…fun stuff. I’ve been failing in the picture-posting department thus far, so hopefully each Tuesday I’ll have at least seven pics for y’all to enjoy!</p></span></span><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB" lang="EN-GB"></span> </p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB" lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;">“What you want is to be a poet. You articulate sounds that are still formless, you invent what looks like a possible route. And yet the fundamentals are already there: you translate an attitude and rationalize an intuition, using first of all what is specific to photography. There is the refusal of style and the refusal of sentimentalism, there is the desire for clarity and there is the measuring of the distance that separates me from what I see. There is also the will to be like a servant of the image, of its rigorous demands: to take the camera where it needs to be and to make an image that is subservient neither to the real nor to an intention – <strong>for the intention of the moment will always fall short of what you’re really looking for</strong>. You have to record as many details as possible and achieve an order, without taking away the complexity of the real. To voice the real and at the same time to create an image that is a world in itself, with its own coherence, its autonomy and sovereignty; an image that thinks.”</span></span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB" lang="EN-GB"></span> </p><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB" lang="EN-GB"><?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p><p style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB" lang="EN-GB">At this point, I’m just trying to bear in mind the part about always falling short of what you’re really looking for. But it’s a nice thought overall, if a tad overwhelming…anyways. Enjoy! <o:p></o:p></span></p></o:p></span><o:p></o:p>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08006258460476085976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2439945739690819334.post-18002477054828831282009-09-29T07:09:00.001-07:002009-09-29T07:09:17.948-07:00Monday 28/9<div style="text-align: left; padding: 3px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/39386562@N04/3965065163/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2479/3965065163_8f31dd00de.jpg" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/39386562@N04/3965065163/">7Monday</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/39386562@N04/">abbymrry</a>.</span></div><p>At school, Kelly and Megan. Look how bright that Tuscan afternoon sunlight is! And I love the expressions on their faces (they're not quite in agreement with me on that one)</p>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08006258460476085976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2439945739690819334.post-41582052922863390652009-09-29T07:07:00.001-07:002009-09-29T12:51:30.059-07:00Sunday 27/9<div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/39386562@N04/3965066291/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2482/3965066291_286f584340.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0); width: 373px; height: 281px;" alt="" /></a> <br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/39386562@N04/3965066291/">6Sunday</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/39386562@N04/">abbymrry</a>.</span></div><p>Lazy Sunday. Macchia my host-dog is taking in the sun on the porch.</p>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08006258460476085976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2439945739690819334.post-79322799668441412762009-09-29T07:06:00.001-07:002009-09-29T12:52:33.677-07:00Saturday 26/9<div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/39386562@N04/3965063905/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3460/3965063905_eebcc06c9e.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0); width: 380px; height: 286px;" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/39386562@N04/3965063905/">5Saturday</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/39386562@N04/">abbymrry</a>.</span></div><p>Went for a long walk on Saturday and found a great garden.</p>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08006258460476085976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2439945739690819334.post-32792557989933845442009-09-29T07:05:00.001-07:002009-09-29T07:05:32.974-07:00Friday 25/9<div style="text-align: left; padding: 3px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/39386562@N04/3965061887/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2438/3965061887_f28ee9e581.jpg" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/39386562@N04/3965061887/">4Friday</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/39386562@N04/">abbymrry</a>.</span></div><p>My bedroom. I was feeling super sleepy at 2 in the afternoon (class finishes at 11 on Fridays), and the sun decided it was a good time to spotlight my running shoes...but I still went for the nap</p>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08006258460476085976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2439945739690819334.post-18339546143360679302009-09-29T07:02:00.001-07:002009-09-29T07:02:51.373-07:00Thursday 9/24<div style="text-align: left; padding: 3px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/39386562@N04/3965060733/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2563/3965060733_0eb28637d6.jpg" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/39386562@N04/3965060733/">Thursday</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/39386562@N04/">abbymrry</a>.</span></div><p>The gelato I bought myself to celebrate successfully withdrawing money from my account for the first time, and paying my fees for classes. <br /><br />What flavors, you wonder?<br />Extra Fondente (extra dark chocolate), Meringuata (basically whipped cream), and Nocciola (hazelnut)</p>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08006258460476085976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2439945739690819334.post-58082349931828674692009-09-29T06:59:00.001-07:002009-09-29T12:53:09.703-07:00Wednesday 9/23<div style="padding: 3px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/39386562@N04/3965833240/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2437/3965833240_ff7f583025.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0); width: 415px; height: 312px;" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/39386562@N04/3965833240/">Wednesday</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/39386562@N04/">abbymrry</a>.</span></div><p>Looking over the wall of the Fortress down onto the weekly market</p>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08006258460476085976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2439945739690819334.post-22160572262766415132009-09-29T06:58:00.001-07:002009-09-29T06:58:49.244-07:00Tuesday 9/22<div style="text-align: left; padding: 3px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/39386562@N04/3965058315/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2488/3965058315_0e02c19c4b.jpg" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/39386562@N04/3965058315/">Tuesday</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/39386562@N04/">abbymrry</a>.</span></div><p></p>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08006258460476085976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2439945739690819334.post-80531308447793298882009-09-26T10:31:00.000-07:002009-09-26T10:57:40.176-07:00Italians go to school on Saturday?!Well, I was grateful to not be on the normal Italian school schedule today. My host sister Olga was in school today (seriously! how terrible!), but I got to enjoy a nice weekend day.<br /><br />Today was a very relaxing Saturday after my first full week of classes. I spent the morning walking around the neighborhood, just exploring. I found some great spots, including a "private" hotel garden which I just wandered into. It had a really sweet tunnel of grapevines about 50 yards long. I spent almost two hours just trying out new roads and shortcuts. Since it's so hilly here, there's a network of pedestrian-only stairs and ramps connecting the roads which wind up and down the hills. I had fun people-watching; at the local stadium a group of men in their fifties put on quite a show in full spandex, and I spotted a hilariously obvious tourist couple wearing matching hats and fanny packs.<br /><br />I've also been really surprised by the attitude of pedestrians here- even though Italians in every other aspect of life seem to have very little regard for following rules and regulations, crosswalks are another story. People almost never jaywalk here, which is really strange to me, since I'm used to Massachusetts where pedestrians belligerently assert their right-of-way. I've had to fight very hard against the urge to step out into the street without a little green man giving me the go-ahead, but even in the rush of the morning commute, pedestrians will wait patientlyat the corner, even if there's not a car coming. And if they're reallllllly in a hurry, and decide to go for it, they're much more likely to scurry across with a sheepish face. In the US, it's pretty common for someone to step out in front of oncoming traffic, and glare at the driver as is challenging them to lean on the horn. It's a point of pride; any quickening of pace undermines the assertion that the jay-walker has every right to bring traffic to a halt. Here, I literally saw a man with a cane break into a limping jog AND doff his hat apologetically.<br /><br />Moving on.<br /><br />In the afternoon, my host family left for an overnight excursion to visit family, so I'm fending for myself. It's nice though; just having a space to relax and watch a movie with some friends feels pretty novel. Earlier, I went into the city with Angela who had to practice sketching for her art class. I am certainly not an artist, but it felt very appropriate to sit out in the nice weather and try my hand at it.<br /><br />OKkkkk well that's it for now.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08006258460476085976noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2439945739690819334.post-6710670649396168132009-09-20T09:04:00.000-07:002009-09-20T10:13:07.119-07:00Honey, Antiques, and 3 Euro Vino**WARNING**<br />This post is dangerously long! When I started it like half an hour ago I said "I've been putting off posting since recapping everything that's been going on here is a bit daunting, but I'll try to give a quick sum up of the past week"<br /><br />It is not quick. Please bear with me.<br /><br />Last weekend I met up with my friend Erikka from Amherst, who's studying in Florence, and she came with me and some other Siena Schoolers to Montalcino. Montalcino is a beautiful tiny little town south of Siena known for it's fabulous Brunello wine, but we went for the annual Honey Festival. There was samples of a zillion kinds of delicious honey and various other products- honey beer! honey grappa! peanut flavored honey! honey candy! Sadly the bus schedule was not cooperating and we had to rush to catch a bus home after less than 2 hours. But it's definitely good to have an event to attend when you're doing a day trip to such a tiny town; without the Honey Festival we might not have schlepped out to Montalcino.<br /><br />This weekend was a bit stressful trying to figure out what to do. For most of us, the weekends can be a little awkward if we don't make plans to travel somewhere, since our host families sort of expect us to be out an about, and they make their own plans for the weekend which don't necessarily include us (this Saturday Livio and Olga were participating in an all-day archery competition/picnic). Some pals and I had wanted to go to Bologna but that didn't work out, and so we found ourselves casting about blindly for another day-trip destination as of Friday afternoon. We finally settled on Lucca: a lot of people combine Lucca with nearby Pisa, but the word on the street is that there's not much else to reccommend Pisa besides the leaning tower and so we decided to skip it altogether. Lucca was great; there was an enormous antiques festival going on which we ambled through for most of the morning. After an ecstasy-inducing lunch (we got 4 types of pasta and taste-tested everyone's choices) we walked the city walls, which were completely reconstructed in the 17th century (or something like that). Lucca is filled with people riding bikes, and a wonderful biking/walking path runs along the walls. We wanted to rent bikes but that didn't happen. We did however buy a loaf of the local specialty, <span style="font-style: italic;">buccellato</span>, a sort of anise-raison flavored bun/bread hybrid. We split it uncerimoniously on the train ride back to Siena, the four of us taking turns ripping hunks off with our hands.<br /><br />This was my first European train experience without my mother's guidance, and it felt great to buy tickets and catch 3 trains each way successfully. We also met a chill Polish girl who's an Erasmus student in Siena, and she was totally hating on the Italian party scene! She told us we should visit her hometown Krakow, where they have <span style="font-style: italic;">real</span> parties. She said, "When I got out here, it's terrible! The clubs close at like 3! At home you go out and can come home at 7, 8 in the morning...I don't know why it's so bad here." Needless to say, we thought this was pretty funny...as Americans, we're usually out a lot earlier that the Italians. Some of my friends get home earlier than their Italian host parents on the weekends! Though it's true that Siena is not really know for it's party culture, I've been really enjoying the more relaxed atmosphere here.<br /><br />One of the most relaxing and enjoyable moments this week, and something that I really just can't do at home, was when Angela and I decompressed with a bottle of 3 euro wine (don't turn your nose up, it was really good) in the Fortress after finishing our Italian "final exam" on Friday. It was around 5 o'clock and still sunny, and the view from the Fortess of the city is incredible (I'll post a picture soon). We had to fight for bench space with the hordes of Italian couples who drape themselves over the surfaces of all picturesque places, but we snagged a good spot. We complained about our professor, and laughed over the weird things we'd learned in the course of the past 3 weeks. The Italian word for blush (as in the make-up) is "il fard," a word which cannot be said out loud with a straight face. Italians also have a special word for the act of wiping the your plate with your bread; it's called "fare la scarpetta". This has always been my favorite part of meals, I had no idea it was a verb unto itself.<br /><br />Tomorrow is our first day of "real" classes, and I'm looking forward to it immensely. These past three weeks have been kind of a blur; there've been so many new experiences that I think I woke up practically everyday not knowing what to expect, or expecting to be surprised with something deliciously new and Italian. Now, I'm more used to my host family, the city, the other students, and the culture, and I'm ready to get a more predictable schedule. This is what I'm taking:<br />-Italian/Culture of Italy (a continuation of what we've been doing the past 3 weeks)<br />-Photography (I'm realllllly excited for this; haven't done manual photo since high school, but we'll also be working with our digital cameras, so maybe I'll have some good stuff to post eventually!)<br />-Sociology of Linguistics (I've always wanted to take soc, and wasn't expecting to take it here, but things just worked out...)<br />-Art History-Iconography (ok, just to give you an idea, here are some key phrases from the syllabus: "the political use of art and propaganda", "social iconography...the symbolism of Food and Feasting, Music and Medicine...love and eroticism", "cryptic subjects in art...da Vinci's Nature symbolism...secret messages of Astrology, magic, hermetism, Alchemy and Kabbalah...")<br />-and finally, Creative Writing.<br /><br />OK well I think I've sucessfully overwhelmed anyone who made it to the end of this post with way way way too much information...if you've got a confused/blank expression on your face like I do during much of family dinners, I'm not surprised. When Andreas noticed this particular expression on my own face, he always inquires in broken English,<br /><br />"You have problem?! What your problem is?!?? Tutto'OK?!? OK?! Tutto'OK?!?!?!?"<br />to which the proper response appears to be rapid head nodding and repitition of "Si, sisi, si! Tutto'OK! OK! No problem! Tutto'OK!"<br /><br />So, I hope everyone is tutto'ok back home, all is tutto'ok here...and Olga is asking for help with her English homework.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08006258460476085976noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2439945739690819334.post-69241345614532929072009-09-12T11:33:00.000-07:002009-09-12T12:09:12.440-07:00Setting My Place at the Family TableToday Annalisa asked me to set the table. Let me tell you why this is important:<br /><br />Living with a host family means sharing intimate space with a unit of people who talk a lot, fight sometimes, have loud phone conversations, hog the bathroom, watch their favorite TV shows on high volume, take trips together, have friends over, and everything else. Living with them means constantly walking a line between inserting yourself into parts of their life where there didn't used to be a 20-year-old American girl before. And sometimes it's awkward.<br /><br />It's safe to assume that the Martinis don't usually spend a lot of time fussing over their spot at the beach, worried that a certain palid someone will fry in the Italian sun. And most of the year, 10 year old Olga has her own room, and Mom and kids don't all share a bathroom to politely privatize their second one for a houseguest who drinks more milk than all of them combined and takes longer-than-average showers.<br /><br />As much as I'm part of the Martini household, being such a close observer of their lives reminds me constantly that I'm not actually a part of their family. When Olga and Livio come home, Annalisa hugs them both, slowing kisses them each on the forehead, then her hands on their shoulders and asks them about their day. It's adorable and endearing, but also reminds how far I am from my own family. Annalisa scolds Livio for sleeping too late and berates Olga leaving clothes and shoes strewn across the floor of the room they're now sharing, but would never comment on the state of my room or on my sleeping habits. When she warns Olga to stop taking bread because she'll get fat, she pushes bread-and pasta-and meat!-and cheese!!! towards me with an encouraging smile.<br /><br />Tonight I sat at the dinner table in the kitchen as Annalisa prepared dinner and chatted with a friend who had come over. I felt awkward, holding my book and alternately trying to listen to their conversation and look like I didn't care if I had no idea what was going on. I'm always doing this; trying to be a part of their family life without disrupting it. So when Annalisa looked up from her slicing and dicing, halted her rapid conversation and spoke a slow sentence simply telling- not asking- me to set the table...well, I was pretty delighted. It means having a reason to be in the kitchen with her and her friend and her family, it means doing something useful instead of just adding another place setting and another set of laundry to her household duties.<br /><br />I counted the number of places correctly: one for Uncle Andreas at the foot of the table, regardless of whether he's present at the time of dinner or not. One for Annalisa's friend who said her name too fast for me to catch, and one for Annalisa beside her. Livio at the head of the table. And, as usualy, <span style="font-style: italic;">my </span>spot is next to Olga.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08006258460476085976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2439945739690819334.post-15765624374604980902009-09-08T13:55:00.000-07:002009-09-08T14:41:01.998-07:00Auld Lang SienaHere's a clip of a traditional Italian music concert in Palazzo Communale in the Piazza del Campo. Some of my friends' host parents sang in it!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dynJxY5v-vcow1jHeH5mEdUUikGjv571OYVVkkTGgyEIi6CgyOpJMB-_xqyIY92nUETtlKStKukq2mNArlq2Q' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /></div><br /><br />And I just want to give a shout out to my mom--she and I once had a heated argument about whether or not singing was on the decline in America, and I suppose possibly maybe there is a slight chance her argument may have been at least partially valid... She was feeling nostalgic about Pete Seeger's 70-somethingth birthday concert and the idea that Americans don't sing together anymore, and I was staunchly arguing for the sake of argument that to the contrary, my friends and I quite enjoyed singing selections from America's Top 40 and that just because the songs have changed doesn't mean the practice has waned. But watching this concert in the Palazzo Communale sort of overpowered my argument...if Americans put together a concert of "traditional" "folk" songs, would anything on the list still be recognized today? Towards the end of the Siennese concert, the whole audience was singing along with all the songs, and I noticed both young and old people knew the words. I'm not sure I can think of a song that both my grandparents and I could sing all the words to.<br /><br />Anyways.<br /><br />Here are a couple pics of My Life in Italy:<br />Agrituristica Gabbiano, where we did our orientation<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEcD_K3sWbC9YkkRDSSKGDtwIZ8vZr8w5LbH-2aN9ca1kzKr0IWqe1uvjaIJZtySluNq7SFhYr_aRnH9Z7XyWvw-HGxhmvUBTiBzGfpicL-5FTlHNjXZPDDrqW_XIj7eIrtA4TGVxMjYI/s1600-h/Italy_blog+pics+001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEcD_K3sWbC9YkkRDSSKGDtwIZ8vZr8w5LbH-2aN9ca1kzKr0IWqe1uvjaIJZtySluNq7SFhYr_aRnH9Z7XyWvw-HGxhmvUBTiBzGfpicL-5FTlHNjXZPDDrqW_XIj7eIrtA4TGVxMjYI/s320/Italy_blog+pics+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379210935165198402" border="0" /></a><br />The tower of the Palazzo Communale on the Campo (and Angela's eye in the corner)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimNIewV5rKY51Me9kdJn5rN7vMxo5-zAqMRc0ncU4nvTPRIqwPVlyZqOj-ztiFlxxZYppXkkMWHQT5jiKIXTMNt0mZISIAuykVr08B3CnUypYN0wzzaVFHpQ_sQl8Lsyn1Zs1U6uFcQjU/s1600-h/Italy_blog+pics+007.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimNIewV5rKY51Me9kdJn5rN7vMxo5-zAqMRc0ncU4nvTPRIqwPVlyZqOj-ztiFlxxZYppXkkMWHQT5jiKIXTMNt0mZISIAuykVr08B3CnUypYN0wzzaVFHpQ_sQl8Lsyn1Zs1U6uFcQjU/s320/Italy_blog+pics+007.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379210954220961954" border="0" /></a><br />The view from the wall of San Gimignano, a city about an hour away from Siena<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwgBJRxKMiEOlBpEbWxmKlK7M80SlByg9zknln6eU0XW5N71z_AhrqfVop0AT2agbRdDWo9grh4htc1N-asKY2LH_jjR9AzLCHg6hg0SXx8e0tC3NEy908a65KqDx4odVYBYTS2nrviOc/s1600-h/Italy_blog+pics+010.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwgBJRxKMiEOlBpEbWxmKlK7M80SlByg9zknln6eU0XW5N71z_AhrqfVop0AT2agbRdDWo9grh4htc1N-asKY2LH_jjR9AzLCHg6hg0SXx8e0tC3NEy908a65KqDx4odVYBYTS2nrviOc/s320/Italy_blog+pics+010.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379210968861306690" border="0" /></a><br />What we really came to San Gimignano for...the world famous gelateria! This is the line outside (and I'm proud to say we went through twice).<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDIXnNZriDHH6jr5LkVGZOskmA4HrdM8a3MSSqXk8VFE9-nueMW3J1mzYuCG7zzfplUuyJNBhcfgjA8h6qBpR5FFjICQcD3A1cit4CzvsGXtI2nkFx7E2B3koVp3-CM-m-I5h9BRtMp0k/s1600-h/Italy_blog+pics+008.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDIXnNZriDHH6jr5LkVGZOskmA4HrdM8a3MSSqXk8VFE9-nueMW3J1mzYuCG7zzfplUuyJNBhcfgjA8h6qBpR5FFjICQcD3A1cit4CzvsGXtI2nkFx7E2B3koVp3-CM-m-I5h9BRtMp0k/s320/Italy_blog+pics+008.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379210959926626066" border="0" /></a><br />And finally, a glorious self-portrait at the beach! Look how un-sunburned I am! <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdCaXvMfQgw3c5DBCg-SKRnCmpz6lvbXYH5Yg3uO14PqX8C5EcON8F-6dZHWTA0dFg0xunyMa_ZpjylP9WnKEfZlOQRha8YZ3ncWm5T2G2rmzMbP3slkxgsqO9aLr7-ahvYXwxlHnznW8/s1600-h/Italy_blog+pics+018.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdCaXvMfQgw3c5DBCg-SKRnCmpz6lvbXYH5Yg3uO14PqX8C5EcON8F-6dZHWTA0dFg0xunyMa_ZpjylP9WnKEfZlOQRha8YZ3ncWm5T2G2rmzMbP3slkxgsqO9aLr7-ahvYXwxlHnznW8/s320/Italy_blog+pics+018.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379210945532589410" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">(bathing suit courtesy of Siobhan Murray)</span><br /><br />OK enough for tonight!!<br /><br />A domani!Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08006258460476085976noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2439945739690819334.post-67336024321121683152009-09-06T12:02:00.000-07:002009-09-06T12:44:06.134-07:00Is It Always a Beach Day?It's been clear skies and perfect weather every day since I arrived; not a drop of rain has fallen, and today my host family (the Martinis) took me along with them on their third trip to the beach this week. Somehow I had thought my first dip in the warm Mediterranean waters on couldn't possibly live up to expectations...<br /><br />Before getting to Italy, I was fully prepared to experience the typical "honeymoon" part of my semester, which we've been warned turns to homesickness and discomfort while the reality of being in a completely different culture with a whole new set of people begins to set in, and then to look forward to an upswing as our language skills improve, we get over the culture shock, and start to dread the end of our stays.<br /><br />I guess I'm just still waiting for the honeymoon to end. But I keep getting the sneaking suspicion that my "healthy" dose of cynicism may be out of order.<br /><br />I've seen three weddings in the past week, eaten more gelato than I will ever admit, and walked one of the most beautiful beaches I've ever been on (and can now attest that while European tradition of topless women may be waning, but man-speedos are still going strong). And even if the spotless weather had been interrupted with some rain, that just means the parched sunflower fields would have perked up a bit, and augmented the palatte of olive groves and vineyards which borders allllll the highways here.<br /><br />A lot of study-abroad lit and travel writing warns that visitors often have a fairy-tale image of the places they travel to, especially Italy, and this image quickly unravels when confronted by everyday life. And so when I saw the medieval streets of Siena, and my first hazy golden pink Tuscan sunset, I assumed that something this picturesque couldn't possibly have a living, breathing, vibrant and modern culture too. What I'm trying to understand is how tourist-magnet events like the annual Palio horse race in Siena can be more than just a tourist-magnet, but actually a sincere expression of the fierce competition between the different neighborhood "contradas" which compete for the glory of winning. Now that I've walked through their wild, ear splitting weeklong parties and been encircled by late night drumming parades of proud contrada members, I'm realizing this isn't just a quaint little reenactment of an important historical tradition, but a tradition that's still got a LOT of steam.<br /><br />So, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I expected Siena and Italy in general to be completely different from what I expected...andwas surprised that my expectations of having my expectations be wrong were right anyways. Confusing enough for ya? Whatevs, I'm just going with the flow and having a good time, and replacing whatever expectations I might have with actual experiences.<br /><br />I'll try to post the video clip I took of two of my friends host parents singing in a traditional Italian folk concert, and some more pictures once I find my usb cord...Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08006258460476085976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2439945739690819334.post-18361946978871665892009-09-02T07:33:00.000-07:002009-09-02T08:02:51.832-07:00Una settimana under my beltOK.<br /><br />It's been one week, and I'm starting to settle down a bit, but we've been so busy that I really haven't had a chance to process anything. We arrived last Thursday in Rome, drove 3 hours to Assisi to bond and get oriented at an "agrituristica" surrounded by vineyards, then met our families on Saturday evening outside of Siena. My family took me to Arezzo on Sunday, and then I started my 5 hours/day of intensive Italian and culture study on Monday. But I've identified a few trends and aspects of life in Europe, in Italy, in Siena, and even just my host family that I'll be keeping tabs on while I'm here. So, here's what I'll be paying attention to:<br /><ul><li>THE FOOD. Eating habits, attitudes about health and the body, all that stuff. So far, everything in Europe is smaller, fresher, and less processed. The traditional diet is extremely carb-y (think pasta TWICE a day, plus bread, plus cheese), but luckily my whole life has conditioned me to be happiest with this kind of diet (thanks Mom!!). I could go on for ages about the food...oh, and there's gelato...</li><li>Living in a Medieval City. It's nothing like living anywhere in the US. </li><li>Rules of the Road. I really thought I was going to puke when my host mom drove the fam out to Arezzo...</li><li>and of course, my HOST FAMILY. They are an endless source of information and intrigue; we're still getting to know each other but it's been going well. Once I can speak more Italian I think it will be even better!</li><li>**Fashion** Man-purses and super skinny jeans? I'm lovin it (and imagining any male from home rocking the same styles)</li><li>and, ever the American Studies major (and feeling guilty about not getting a single credit towards it), I've been tuning in to race relations here in Siena...just from comments made by my host family, graffiti I've seen in the city, and headlines in the paper it looks like a vibrant issue here! Hooray...?</li></ul><p>That's it for now! I'm taking advantage of a break at school- everyone just went to the Italian post office to apply for Sienese permits of stay; this is yet another hurdle I've been able to bypass with my Irish passport.</p>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08006258460476085976noreply@blogger.com1