Hey 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.

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.

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).

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?

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.

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.

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.

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?!?

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.

It's been fun keeping this blog, this may be my last post ever, so I'll say ciao ciao for now : )

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!

ciao ciao for now : )

Review Part Four

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. This fog is thick like ribollita.



During our first weeks in Siena, piles of colorful confetti kept cropping up along the streets leading to the Campo. 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.



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.

Review Part Three

Some Siena School pals (Lindsay, Allison and Avantika) in front of the view of the city way back in September



Hot chocolate at the Chocolate Festival in Perugia in October.


Italian fashion is weird.

Review Part Two

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.



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!



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.

Comprehensive Review

OK, 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.

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...


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.


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.

No Pasta Allowed

I’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…

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).

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.

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.

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!—we persevered. 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.


(oh hey Marina...I stole these pics off your facebook!)