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 : )

Diario Fotografico

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!

“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 – for the intention of the moment will always fall short of what you’re really looking for. 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.”

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!