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 : )

The 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.

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.

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.

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.

And yes, I think I'll savor some winter baked specialties along with that...