Nostalgia

It's starting to get cold in Los Angeles. The sun continues to shine, but it's a cruel lie: I step outside in the morning, burrow into the collar of my coat, and wonder why I left the warmth and comfort of my bed. I check the weather forecast on my phone, convinced the arctic temperature I'm experiencing is merely a passing ice age. The high for today? 57 F, which translates to 13 C. A quick comparison with Bologna reveals a high of 36 F (8 C). Guess it's time to reapply my sunscreen...

It has been almost four months since I left my home in Italy. I miss it every day. When I got back to the US, I experienced way less culture shock than I had anticipated. In fact, everything felt normal, right up until I walked into my house. I wandered around my room, pacing back and forth, and feeling that something was not right. It was bizarre to be back in the house where I grew up, even though it had been such a large part of my identity for the majority of my life. The feeling eventually dissipated, but the first shock of being back in Oakland made me question the meaning of "home."

I didn't write a closing post, partly because I was lazy, but also because I wasn't ready to accept that my one short year was already in the past. After my trip through Central and Eastern Europe, I came back to Bologna, where I made some new friends and discovered the city through different eyes. In late July, I visited Sicily with Trung and his sister. At the beginning of August, Ilaria and I went to Puglia, where we spent every day at the beach. I even spent two days in Accadia, where I met distant relatives. I took the train back to Bologna alone, and after a day of packing, it was time to say goodbye.

When I tell people I was away for a year, they excitedly ask me, "How was it?!" I respond with enthusiasm, saying things like "It was fantastic" and "The best year of my life." But it is so impossible in these short exchanges to convey the awe I had at first, the subsequent comfort, the eventual sense of belonging, and the inevitable nostalgia that I've had ever since. As soon as I settled into my apartment in LA, I put up a collage of photos spanning from September 2012 to August 2013. One thing remains consistent throughout: my smile. I didn't know it was possible to visually recognize the happiness I felt in each moment. The pictures allow me to revisit the places, friends, and experiences that combined to create a perfect year.

I am not sure if I will continue to write, now that I am back in California. I had forgotten how time-consuming the quarter system is, and in the winter I will be writing a sort of interdisciplinary thesis. Not exactly motivation for me to maintain my blog. But I shall leave you with this: study abroad. Leave your comfort zone. Travel. If you can, put your life on hold for a month or two. Sure, the cities and monuments aren't going anywhere (except maybe Venice), but travelling when you are young will give you such a different perspective on everything. If you aren't "young," and somehow missed the mark, do it anyway. I realize it isn't feasible for everyone to drop everything and book a plane ticket, but consider it. I promise it will have a huge impact on the way you continue to live your life.

Central Europe Part Two

Disclaimer: it has taken me several months to finish writing about my trip, so it is a bit disjointed. Stay tuned for a wrap-up post about my last month in Italy!


My trip has made me reflect a lot on how the modern era has changed traveling. I already mentioned the constant need for Internet in my last post. Another curious element of traveling is the relationships you make. I've met so many fellow travelers (not in the sputnik/communist sense of the term). Facebook of course is so common that it's almost impossible to lose contact with someone. But out of the roughly 40 people I've talked to on this trip, I've only friended five of them. It just happens that way, I guess. You can spend an entire evening with a group and not even exchange names.

From Vienna, I took the bus to Bratislava (I'll save you the 30 second google maps search, it's in Slovakia). I arrived in the evening and left the next evening for Budapest, so I only had one day to explore. It is a small town, presenting the stark architectural contrast between Austro-Hungarian grandeur and drab communist uniformity. I had been planning on taking another free walking tour in the morning, but got sucked into listening to a heated debate about American political issues. One of the guys mentioned he was going for pancakes. I also had read about the pancake place in the free map from the hostel, but was going to skip it for the tour. I decided on pancakes (and new friends) instead. The pancakes were really more like crêpes. I had some sweet ones and one savory, the latter was with a sheep's cheese that is only made in Slovakia. They were so cheap that I didn't say anything when the guy ridiculously overcharged me (they were supposed to be like 20-30 cents each, I paid 50¢…seriously, they needed it more than I did). After the pancakes, we killed some time before the afternoon tour. One of the highlights of the tour was the Blue Church, an Art Nouveau building that somehow survived communism. It looked as if it belonged in Candyland, powder-blue with white frosting. Directly across the street was a hideous, run-down hospital building from the Soviet era. The contrast was quite stunning.

From Bratislava I ventured to Budapest, which was one of my favorite cities on the trip. The numerous bridges and presence of water reminded me so much of San Francisco that I did feel the slight pangs of homesickness. I didn't actually visit any of the main sites, although I saw the main market and rode on the second oldest subway in Europe (from 1896 I believe). I went on two excellent tours (again, free!) - communist Budapest and Jewish Budapest. The tour guides for the Communism tour were in their forties, which means they experienced firsthand the restrictions (and eventual liberties) under Soviet rule. It made for a very personal tour.

After Budapest, I went to Zagreb. The train ride was about six hours. I spent the first hour standing up, face in the wind, because I had the misfortune of sitting in a reserved seat, which I subsequently had to give up. To be fair, it wasn't my fault -- the train guy was about 20 minutes late putting the "reserved" signs up, and by the time he came around, the train was full. I did eventually get a seat, in a compartment full of Aussies (seriously they're everywhere). Zagreb is a pretty neat city. Purely by chance, I was there on the eve of Croatia's acceptance into the EU. There was a concert in the main square and fireworks at midnight, but otherwise it was rather low key.

From Zagreb I went to Ljubljana. I only stayed one night, since at a certain point, after two weeks of traveling, I was ready to go home. The next morning, after missing my train due to its departure from a different platform, I headed to Trieste. Because of the schedule and the relative difficulty getting back to Bologna, I only stayed in Trieste for about an hour. (Basically from Ljubljana, I took a train to Gorizia, a town that is half in Slovenia and half in Italy. From Gorizia I went to Trieste, then Trieste to Venezia, and Venice to Bologna). Needless to say, I was happy to be home when the train finally pulled into Bologna Centrale.

It's now been two months since I made the solo trip through Central Europe. I am actually quite proud of myself, since I've never been that assertive of a person, and traveling alone requires some amount of self-assurance. In total, I've now been to 17 countries, 3 continents (well, 3.5 depending on how you count Eurasia), and have made countless international friendships.

Central Europe Part One

Ten months ago, I was not the kind of person who could travel around Eastern Europe alone. Yet as I sit here, reflecting on my recent experiences, it's hard to gauge when exactly that change took place. Perhaps it has been a gradual process, as each new city presents new challenges and new information. Perhaps it's due to the independence I've had to acquire in Bologna, each day becoming more of an adult. But it's also quite possible that I didn't find the conviction to take this solo trip until a week ago, when my plane landed in Poland and I had no other choice.

As the flight left Bologna, I was met with a strange sensation. Or rather, no sensation at all. I was not exactly anxious about my trip, but I was not excited either. It felt like something that I had to do, like laundry, instead of an adventure. Everyone assured me that if I got too lonely, I could easily just go back to Italy. I knew I wouldn't.

I arrived in Krakow Tuesday evening. The hostel was perfectly located in the Old Town Square (so perfect that I could hear the trumpeter from the church tower every hour in the middle of the night). I went to a Georgian restaurant for dinner, recommended by friends. Since it was still light out when I finished (eating before dark?! Unheard of!), I climbed up to the castle, where I watched an unbelievably gorgeous sunset. After listening to a great band in the square for a bit, I went back to the hostel to prepare myself for the next day.

I should mention that my main reason for doing this trip (even after my friend Cecily had to cancel her plans to join me) was to right a so-called wrong. When I was in high school, I was offered the opportunity to take a Holocaust Study trip, led by one of the best teachers at Bishop O'Dowd. It was supposed to be heavily funded by some organization or another, but in the end there was no money. I couldn't afford to go. I promised myself that one day I would make the pilgrimage to Auschwitz, to witness the remains of the most unspeakable atrocities humanity has ever seen. The bus ride was an hour long. There was apparently a train as well, but to take a train to Auschwitz seemed offensive. I spent the day in silence. I went to Auschwitz II - Birkenau first, because Auschwitz I required a guide until 3 pm. I wanted -- needed to be alone. I teared up several times during the day, letting the silent whispers of the dead, the gassed, the shot, the hanged, the tortured, the starved, the mutilated, the sick, the beaten, the exhausted, the liberated envelop me. In total, I spent six hours at Auschwitz. I took no pictures. I simply wanted to be.

My day of silence came to a much happier end when I got back to the hostel. I started talking to some Irish guys who had been traveling around Poland for two weeks. They invited me to join them at the Irish pub (typical) the following night, which was a welcome invitation after being alone. On Wednesday, I decided to take the free walking tour of Jewish Krakow. The tour guide pointed out several spots that were in Schindler's List, and we finished at Schindler's factory. During the afternoon, I went on another free walking tour of Old Town Krakow. Both of the tour guides were real characters: the first one, Maciek, was a long-haired Lord of the Rings fan, and Chris, the second guy, had a very sardonic sense of humor. They were both from Krakow, which gave some credibility to their reputations as tour guides. After the tour, Brian (Irish lad #1) and I went to find Chris (Irish lad #2) at the hostel for dinner. The guys made me choose, but they were fussy and not very adventurous (sorry lads, you guys were grand anyway, real legends), so in the end we settled for Indian. As promised, we went to the Irish pub afterwards, where a group of drunk old men were singing along to young Latin guy's questionable renditions of songs. Back at the hostel, I wasn't ready for our brief friendship to end, so I dragged Brian outside to the square, where it was already light out. We made friends (=were accosted by) several homeless guys, but nothing too exciting happened. We did see a quasi-arrest take place right in front of us, and rather than move away to give the group some privacy, we provided our own commentary on the scene.

The next morning I headed for Prague, but I did it the Polish way: I took a bus to a town called Cieszyn, crossed the border into the Czech Republic, and took a regional train to Prague. It was half the price of a direct ticket and twice the adventure. Overall, I really didn't care for Prague very much. The first day I went up to the castle, which is really a conglomeration of several different buildings from different time periods. There was one part, the Golden Lane, which had reconstructed rooms of former kinds of tenants: the pharmacist, the seamstress, the mother of a WWI solider…apparently Kafka himself even lived in one of the houses for a short time. After the success of my walking tours in Krakow, I decided to take the tour in Prague. Well, the guide was from Kentucky. I recognized her tone of voice -- it was the same one I used when I taught preschool. She did give a great recommendation for lunch, and I ended up sitting with some people from the tour. The restaurant was known for its tanks of home-brewn beer, and it did not disappoint. We then hiked up to the metronome, which was supposed to represent the passing of time since the end of communism. One of the highlights of Prague was a small exhibit on Alphonse Mucha, a well-known Art Nouveau poster artist.

From Prague, I ventured to Vienna, this time on a bus, fully decked out with WiFi and personal tv screens. I guess this is how one travels in 2013. It really is amazing how connected we are. I've been relying exclusively on Internet this entire trip to book hostels, look up timetables, etc, and it has been completely painless trying to find WiFi. I can't imagine how my parents traveled around the world in the 80s without the World Wide Web! Of course, the one place with truly awful Internet was my hostel in Vienna. The place was more like a hotel, and I had a room with four beds to myself for two nights. Since WiFi was only available (theoretically) in the lobby, everyone downstairs was on his or her respective device, uninterested in making friends. I left to find some place for dinner, but the rain and wind prevented me from going further than two blocks. I stopped into a Balkan restaurant, and ended up staying until after closing, talking with the Serbian waiters. In the morning, I headed to several museums. The first two were actually an accident, since I had wanted to go to just the Kunsthistoriches museum (Art History). But there was a good collection of Klimt and the Austrian artist Schiele, whom I didn't know previously but am quite fond of now. The main gem of Vienna, however, was the Secession. Klimt's Beethoven frieze is only partially intact, and it's just below the ceiling, making it difficult to see, but my god is it beautiful. I remember in Art History 54, Professor Baker showed us images of the piece as we listened to Beethoven. I wish they had done the same in the exhibit. Directly outside the guarded and temperature-controlled room was a video showing the reconstruction of a piece of a frieze (which is something I'm learning Conservationists do quite often; I love it!). I was mesmerized. After this thrilling affirmation of my future career, I went to meet my new Serbian friends at an American bar. The next day, before I left for Slovakia, I took the metro to the Schonburg Palace. I really had no intention of going inside, so I did a kind of Chevy-Chase-at-the-Grand-Canyon visit. I went to the Belvedere next, where I saw The Kiss (my visit to Vienna really was all about Klimt). One of my favorite thing about museums is not knowing which artworks are inside. I turned a corner in the Belvedere and let out a gasp. There in front of me was David's Napoleon Crossing the Alps! (Or is it St Bernard's Pass?). Look it up, it's incredibly famous. Now, my trip had been relatively stress-free up until this point. As you may know, I like following rules. I bought a 48-hr metro pass in Vienna because it was really convenient. I stamped it at 3:40pm, so I assumed it would expire at 3:40pm two days later. There were no controllers the entire time I used the pass -- except, of course, on my last metro ride. I had gone back to the hostel to get my bag, and needed to go two stops to get to the bus station. This was around 4 o'clock, but I figured I would risk it because, hey, what's life without a little adventure? (Also one ride was 2.10€). At stop near my hostel, where I was boarding the train, I saw a controller outside the station having a smoke. I prayed for the doors to close before she got on. It worked. I thought I was ok, until I left the train. There, at the exit, was an army of controllers in neon-yellow vests. This was the end. I was going to get caught. They would lock me up, take away my visa, and I would never see my parents again. I silently thought up an excuse, but I knew any attempt to evade the law would prove useless. I hesitated a minute, got my pass out of my wallet, took a deep breath, and prepared my last words. The guy glanced at it for two seconds and waved me through.

Yeah, that's how I felt too. I really couldn't believe I had escaped. I was not eager to repeat the experience. I've never been caught in Bologna, but somehow I think Austrians would be a lot more difficult to convince than Italians.

Part two to follow shortly…

Teşekk­ürler

It means “Thank you” in Turkish, and it’s the only word that I quasi-successfully learned to say this past weekend. Unfortunately, it cannot express my overwhelming gratitude and appreciation toward my wonderful friend Ilter, who took care of me in Ankara and Istanbul, despite a broken leg and his impending graduation project.

It has been a dream of mine to go to Turkey for a while now. When the opportunity to visit presented itself, I was thrilled. Here it was, my chance to see the country whose art and food I adored. Then of course, the protests happened. Everyone became unnecessarily worried, but I refused to let a little bit of political turmoil dissuade me. In all honesty, if our media was as censored as it is in Turkey, visitors to the country would have very little idea that anything was wrong. It was only my last day, when Erdogan gave a speech to his followers, that I actually saw groups of people protesting. So to all my readers who were concerned about me, rest assured I was completely safe.

I landed in Istanbul around 6 pm, but I had to take a connecting flight to Ankara to meet Ilter at his school. The fun started on the second plane, when after 4 hours of anticipated waiting (the flight was scheduled for 10pm), it was delayed half an hour. No problem. We boarded the plane, and after 20 min, the pilot apologized, but informed us that there was a maintenance issue from the previous flight. Well, apparently this was unacceptable for the lady sitting in front of me, because she started to yell at the flight attendant. Everyone clapped their approval. Once we finally took off, a sheet of paper collecting signatures started to circulate around the aircraft. I found the whole situation rather humorous, since I didn’t understand what anyone was saying. When I arrived in Ankara around midnight, I was greeted by an entire entourage of handsome Turks. The trip was off to a great start.

We shared a plate of rice from a street vendor, then Ilter and I went to have cow stomach soup. He ate most of it, but I was adventurous and tried some too. The next day, we started off the morning with a full Turkish breakfast: eggs with sausage; bread with cheese, honey, jam, and some kind of cultured milk product; olives; tomatoes; cucumbers; and of course tea. Ilter had to work on his graduation project, so his friend showed me a bit of Ankara. We visited a castle from the Roman or Byzantine period (its origin is apparently unknown) that overlooked the entire city. After, we went to the mausoleum of Ataturk, just in time for the ceremonial changing of the guards. When I got back to the university, I waited for Ilter to finish working (I won’t tell you how long I waited, because it will just make him feel worse). We finally left for Istanbul around 8pm. The drive was about 4.5 hours. The scenery reminded me a lot of California, which became a recurring theme during my trip. In fact, the two bridges that cross the Bosphorus are both suspension bridges…I must have mentioned San Francisco at least a hundred times, and I’m sure Ilter was sick of it by the second time. Perhaps there’s a chance I actually miss home?

On Saturday, we went for breakfast at a place along the sea, where it is very common for Turkish families to eat together on weekends. After, we spent the day at the Topkapi palace, which was the home of Ottoman sultans for 400 years. I saw a couple of women restoring ceramic tiles on the side of the building, which made me very excited about my future career, since it means that I will (hopefully) be able to travel the world. The tiles inside the rooms of the palace were absolutely stunning: blue and white flowers and geometric patterns from floor to ceiling. Upon exiting, we treated ourselves to some watermelon, sold by a guy who surely would have charged me the tourist price if I had been alone. After the palace, we went to the archeology museum in search of Byzantine mosaics. Unfortunately, that section was closed. There were some artifacts from the excavations of Troy, which was pretty cool considering I had studied it in my ancient Greek history class. That night, we ate at Ilter’s parents’ summer house. I returned their hospitality with a fine American delicacy (produced with the most economical Italian products): chocolate chip cookies. The house is only about 30 min away from the center of the city, accessible by a road calmly shared with cars by cows and horses. Again, it reminded me a lot of Northern California, winding through forested hills on a two-lane road (although the cows gave it a slightly different touch).

Sunday morning Ilter’s mom made breakfast, again with the typical spread of dishes. My stomach took a few days to get used to the food, and so I was not able to eat as much as I wanted. I guess this means I will just have to return to Turkey in the near future. In fact, I didn’t really get to eat any of my favorite things: manti, lamacun, or doner. There just wasn’t enough time, and my stomach did complain a little bit. After breakfast we went to the Hagia Sophia and the Sultanahmet Mosque (also known as the Blue Mosque). They are both located next to where the Hippodrome of Constantine was, today demarcated by three remnants of the ancient world: a stone column that once stood in the hippodrome, an Egyptian obelisk, and a broken bronze column from Greece commemorating the Greco-Persian war. The blue mosque was absolutely beautiful inside. I think Islamic art is much more visually appealing than Christian: upon entering the mosque, I was overwhelmed by the swirling geometry of the tiles and peaceful symmetry of the architecture. The Hagia Sophia was equally enchanting, although much different. As usual, I was a bit put off by the incessant picture-taking. A large part of the nave was blocked by scaffolding, but I could still glimpse some of the mosaics. I also noticed traces of changing denominations and iconoclasm: the outlines of crosses removed perhaps during the Muslim history of the building, or the ghosts of figures destroyed for being false idols. From there, I visited the basilica cistern on my own (since my incredible guide had a broken leg). I had never heard of the cistern, but it was one of the coolest parts of Istanbul. It looked just like the Chamber of Secrets, and now that I think about it, the most well-known columns inside have capitals in the form of Medusa -- yes, the one whose stare turned people to stone. In retrospect, it was a bit unwise of me to go down there without a mirror, although if there really had been a basilisk, I could have easily outrun the other tourists. We stopped for kofte (meatballs) at a place that had been in business for 94 years (the original of course, not the knock-off down the street that had an extra word in the title). Afterwards, we went to the Chora church, which had a much better presentation of my much-sought after Byzantine mosaics. I tried to impress Ilter with my rudimentary knowledge of early Christian iconography, but my attempt was most likely unsuccessful. To finish the afternoon we took a boat ride on the Bosphorus. Since it was a commuter boat, it took a different route than the tourist one (or so I assume). We passed by several ferries filled with groups on their way to the pro-Erdogan rally, waving flags and shouting his name. The passengers on our boat responded with their middle fingers.

And then, as quickly as it had approached in the days leading up to my trip, it was over. I sincerely hope it won't be my last time in Turkey, since I missed out on some of my favorite foods and forgot to buy myself an evil eye (sometimes you just have to be cliche). My experience would not have been the same without Ilter, who is such a kind and fun person, and as I mentioned in the beginning, it is impossible to convey my thanks through words. Wherever our paths may lead, I'm glad they converged, if only temporarily, in the Rome of the East.

Back, By Popular Demand

I’d like to think that rather than writing about my adventures, I’ve been living them. It is not always easy to find time to write, and it is not exactly a hobby of mine. However, as my parents have pointed out, now that I am finished with finals, I ought to include my friends and family back home on my latest adventures. I will try to give a brief but substantial recap of my three month hiatus, as requested.

Last time I wrote, I had just returned from Rome. March saw two more trips: one to Barcelona and then to Belgium. Barcelona was absolutely beautiful. It was my first time in Spain, and I could not have asked for a better introduction. I met up with my family friends Clair and Betsy, who were coming to Bologna on business the following week. We toured the Picasso museum, admired the iconic Gaudi architecture, and enjoyed several dinners (tapas!) each night. Now, I have been living in Italy for almost a year. I have been to France many times. I went to Catholic school. So I have seen a church or two in my day. The Sagrada Familia is like no other. If you step back a moment and ignore the conceptual aspects of Gaudi’s genius – the symmetry, the harmony with the natural world – and instead just focus on the ethereal atmosphere inside, it is overpowering. I really don’t have the capability to describe it. The cathedral is one of those places you need to experience in order to fully understand.

My next trip was to Belgium, and really it deserves a separate post. I’ll commit to a paragraph. I went with Trung and Natalia to visit our dear friend Sam. First, we spent a few days in Leuven, where he goes to university. Some highlights include the library (built by Americans – you’re welcome), the Faculty Bars (run by students from their respective academic faculties, where you can get a Stella Artois for 90 cents), and our trip to a local farm to fulfill Trung’s dream of milking a cow. After Leuven, we went to Sam’s home just outside of Antwerp. We visited the House of Rubens (as in the artist, not the delicious sandwich, which is Reuben. That would have been awesome, though) and the cathedral of Antwerp. Sam’s mother made typical Belgian dishes each night for dinner, and breakfast was an entire feast: pistolet (rolls), beer cheese, cured meats, américain (raw beef spread), and of course, the star of the show, Speculoos. Traditionally eaten as gingerbread cookies around the holidays, in the past six years or so, speculoos cookies have been manufactured into the better version of Nutella. Anyway, I could go on about this heavenly creation for days, but I won’t. Just know that I could. The other cities in Belgium I visited were Bruges, Brussels, and Liège, and we even took a day trip to the Netherlands to see Delft, the birthplace of Vermeer. On Easter Sunday, we went to the Tour of Flanders. After standing on the side of the road for several hours in almost freezing cold temperatures, we cheered as the cyclists climbed up the cobbles to victory. Sam and his family were so welcoming, and it is difficult to properly describe their generosity and hospitality. So Sam, if you’re reading this, a big dank je wel to you!

In April, my friend Orianne came to visit me for the weekend. We did all of the tourist things in Bologna – hiking to San Luca, seeing San Petronio and Santo Stefano, eating piadina…and some non-tourist things as well, such as a picnic with Ilaria and her friends. I can’t remember anything else particularly exciting about April, probably because nothing can compare to the delightful Orianne.

May was a month of art and culture. I went to Ravenna on a class field trip to see the numerous Byzantine mosaics. I returned to Florence for the fourth time (actually it was to go to the Giro d’Italia – more on that in a bit), and after much unnecessary hassle, was given free admission to the Palazzo Pitti for being an art history student. I took a solo day trip to Padua to see an exhibit on Giuseppe De Nittis, one of the so-called Italian Impressionists. He was close friends with Degas and Manet, and you can clearly see their influence in his paintings. Finally, at the end of the month, I took another class field trip to Rome to the Galleria dell’Arte Moderna. In Rome, I went to the Castel Sant’Angelo (again for free, and again after much unnecessary hassle to prove I study art history), the Forum and the Palatine Hill, and many of the churches I saw on my previous visit. Back to Florence: I met up with my friend Cecily for the museum, and afterwards Trung (a newly converted cycling fan and my soon-to-be adopted brother, apparently) and I went to the race. We were within 100 meters of finish line. I think it was one of the only times I had been to a non-circuit stage of a race. Once the riders flew by, they disappeared behind the official barriers. We tried to get some signatures/pictures, but it didn’t happen. A Canadian woman we met on the train, who had been travelling for two years, was very assertive and got some great shots with Ryder Hesjedal and Maxim Belkov (who won the stage). She tried to get one with Cadel, but he ever so politely declined, speeding away on his bike and saying “I’m sorry, I’ve got to run!”

My last exciting bit of spontaneity was three days ago, when Trung and I went to Modena to eat at Ermes for (my) last time. The owner, Ermes, is a real character. He doesn’t take reservations, and if he decides not to let you in, too bad. Saturdays are the only day of the week that his wife cooks (handmade tortellini!), so it is a bit of a special occasion to go. We decided, after a two hour meal of tortellini, tagliatelle, rabbit, tripe, potatoes, cake, coffee, and nocino, to head to Vignola for the cherry festival. I contacted our Italian friend who lives there, a very sweet and gracious guy who gave us a great tour of the town. We visited the castle, which was a lot of fun. Ugo Foscolo, an important Italian writer and revolutionary of the late 18^th/early 19^th century was imprisoned there.

That’s been my life for the past three months. I have also had exams and my internship to keep me busy. I embark on a new adventure in a few days…but for now it remains confidential! 

I have never liked being a tourist. When I was a kid (and even now), My stubbornness drove my mom crazy. I always fussed when she wanted a picture of me because it drew attention to us. Today, I'm a little more forgiving, but not very much. This makes me the perfect travel companion for myself.

At least, that's what I discovered on my first solo trip to Rome. Aside from the lonely dinners (which are quite reminiscent of every meal in De Neve freshman year, except with real food), I enjoyed traveling by myself. One of the traits I've inherited from my dad is the ability (and desire) to wander aimlessly for hours on end. When I lived in Rome ten years ago, I was less than thrilled to participate in such wandering, but somehow I put up with it.

Things have changed since then: now, I drink coffee, I speak Italian, and I study art. With that in mind, I tried to combine childhood nostalgia and adult curiosity as I explored Rome…

Day One: I pulled into Roma Tiburtina around noon, just in time for lunch. I stopped at a place right outside the station where I had been with my parents as a kid (and briefly in November on my way to Egypt). I was hoping to eat spicy eggplant pizza, but they didn't have any, even though I asked. My dad apparently dreams about this pizza, so it was a bit disappointing that there was none. After lunch, I checked in at my hostel and left without a jacket. I was being too optimistic: although the sun was shining, it was still cold. For a moment I had thought I was in California! I toured the neighborhood of San Giovanni, but quickly gave in to the weather. After returning to get my coat, I wandered. I found my way to the Colosseum, then Piazza Venezia, then Torre Argentina. I never worked up the courage to return to the cat sanctuary where I had volunteered, but I was happy to have another slice of pizza at the place across the street. I have never before experienced such a powerful taste-memory. I bit into that piece of prosciutto pizza, and I was ten years old. I decided to continue my trip down memory lane with a visit to my old street behind the Campo de' Fiori. After reminiscing about dinners on the rooftop terrace, I wandered around some more. I stumbled upon the Chiostro del Bramante, where there was an exhibit on the Flemish painter Brueghel. Which one you ask? Great question, since there was actually an entire family of painters with the name of Brueghel. The most well known of course was Pieter Bruegel the Elder (without an "h"), but there were paintings by Pieter Brueghel the Younger, Jan Brueghel the Elder, and Jan Brueghel the Younger too, as well as some I didn't know. The Northern Renaissance painters were known for their precise attention to detail (think of Jan Van Eyck) and in later years, representations of daily life (Rembrandt). After the exhibit, I made my way to St. Peter's, where there were very few people considering the election of the new pope the day before. I decided to take advantage of the small crowd by going into the church minutes before closing time. Pretty damn impressive, I must say. Unfortunately I didn't get a chance to rub St. Peter's feet for luck, since there was a guard shooing everyone out of the church. However, I spent plenty of time admiring the beauty of Michelangelo and Bernini (we'll get to him later). Afterwards, I headed to dinner at Filetti di Baccala for fried fish and puntarelle with anchovies. I chatted with a couple of accountants from London (originally from Singapore and Hong Kong), who had eaten at the restaurant six years ago (I told them it was ten for me!).

Day Two: I started day two at the Galleria Borghese, which gave me mixed feelings. When compared to the Uffizi, the art collection is niente di che, although the Galleria does house some pretty important stuff. I had just studied Canova's sculpture of Paolina, sister of Napoleon, as Venus, so seeing it in person was great. Of course, the real treasures of the museum belong to Bernini: David, Apollo and Daphne, etc. The best part, though, was neither the artwork or the architecture; rather, it was the museum's strict no-photo policy. With no iPhone background or Facebook cover photos to worry about, visitors really have to look at what they are seeing, rather than simply snapping a picture. I left the museum feeling a bit underwhelmed. Strolling through the Villa Borghese gardens reminded me of Golden Gate Park. Fortunately, my bittersweet nostalgia didn't last long, since soon after I explored the Etruscan museum at the Villa Giulia. Not much to report from there, since pretty much everything else I had studied was either in Bologna, Florence, or in situ. I walked down towards Piazza del Popolo, where I had my second flashback. Nothing specific, just an overwhelming recognition of where I was. I saw the church, Santa Maria del Popolo, which is home to Caravaggio's Crucifixion of St. Peter and Conversion of St. Paul. I know I managed to see all of the churches I had studied in Art History 57, but I don't remember which days. These include Il Gesù, S Luigi dei Francesi (more Caravaggio), and Santa Maria Della Vittoria (ya boy Bernini). Dinner the second night was at Enoteca Cavour, where I had cannelloni with ricotta and cime di rape.

Day Three: Again, underwhelming museums. Saturday morning, before my visit to the Vatican museums, I stopped by Checco er Caretterie, the bar in Trastevere where my parents and I often had coffee and pastries. I'm trying not to think about how awful life will be without a cappuccino to start my day. The Sistine Chapel was still closed from the papal conclave, but I did wonder in admiration at Raffael's frescos. After the museum, I went back to Trastevere for pizza at La Renella, another childhood spot. I wandered through the area and up into the hills. Quite accidentally, I stumbled upon the church of S. Pietro in Montorio. Another gem from art history class, Bramante's tempietto, was waiting for me in the courtyard.

Day Four: Since my day is never complete without art, I went to an exhibit onTitian at the Scuderie Quirinale. If I ever need someone to paint my portrait, I will definitely have my people call his people…he really captures beauty in an effortless way. After the museum, I wandered back over to Piazza Venezia, where I watched the last stragglers of the Rome Marathon make their triumphant finish. Happening simultaneously was a Folk Dance festival, so I stood out in the cold for 3 hours watching Irish, Greek, Cuban, Colombian, and Venezuelan performances. The police caused a bit of a commotion when they cancelled the end of the show. Since it was March 17, there was a ceremony to commemorate Italian unification. I waited behind a barrier as the Italian military, dressed in their finest uniforms, fell into position. The marching band welcomed the president with the national anthem, and after he laid a wreath on the statue of Vittorio Emanuele, a burst of green, white, and red erupted from planes overhead. It was certainly a special day to be in Rome.

I finished my trip to the capital with a large portion of bucatini all'amatriciana, a fitting reward for my first solo voyage.

Florence wasn't built in a day...

I did, however, see it in one. Last Friday, I returned to the city that so-famously exiled Dante, this time with the ambitious intention of visiting three museums in one day. A few weeks prior, I had told my friend Sam that I had been to Florence in January without going to the Accademia (for those of you who don’t know, that’s where Michelangelo’s David is…so yeah, kind of a big deal). This apparent slight against humanity was met with disbelief and confusion: how does one go to Florence and NOT see the David? Well, the same can be said about the Uffizi, which I later found out was one of the museums that Sam had never visited. So we decided to fulfill each other’s expectations by being tourists for the day. The third museum we planned to see was the archaeology one, which should really be called the Etruscan Museum With Like Five Greek Vases And An Egyptian Section (Or to be more precise, Museo Etrusco Che Contiene Tipo Cinque Vasi Greci E Una Parte Egiziana).

Here’s the thing: I had missed out on quite a few Must-See sites in January, so after a quick cappuccino, Sam told me we had to see the Bargello Museum (Donatello’s David). That’s pretty much how the entire day went: “Did you go to the…” “No…” “Come on, we have to go there…” Our meager list of three museums grew to six different sites, all of which we saw (and appreciated) in 13 hours. And so, in chronological order…

Museo del Bargello

Highlight: Donatello’s David (youthful, androgynous, bronze…quite unlike Michelangelo’s version, although still in the traditional canon of David-standing-on-Goliath’s-head)

People come here to see the bronze David. Otherwise, I’m not sure what else there is to see…yes, I study art, and yes, I’m a fervent museum-goer, but this was the first place on a long list of sites. Is it worth it just for Donatello? Well, there are some other sculptures by important artists (Cellini, Giambologna, Michelangelo), but if you had to choose between the Accademia and the Bargello, I would go with the Accademia. And when it comes to the Davids, I’m really more of a Donatello kind of gal (Sam is in the Michelangelo camp). Anyway, I’m happy to have seen the statue, but it’s definitely not as impressive as Michelangelo’s.

Museo dell’Opera del Duomo

Highlight: Ghiberti’s Gates of Paradise, intended for the Florence Baptistery

The way they organize the museum is fantastic, because you get to the end and BAM -- the doors. And let me tell you, they’re real, and they’re spectacular. The ones currently outside on the Baptistery are replicas, so if you don’t want to pay for yet another museum, you can see the fake ones for free. Kind of like Las Vegas, except slightly classier. Also housed in the duomo museum is one of Michelangelo’s pieta, although I prefer the one in Rome.

Cupola del Duomo

Highlight: This isn’t a museum, but you get to climb all the way to the top of the Duomo, which is pretty cool. The panoramic view of Florence (on a beautifully clear, sunny day) is well worth the ticket price, plus it makes for a great background photo on my phone. Also, you get to see the interior of the dome up close, which depicts the Last Judgment and Dante’s version of Hell. Pretty neat. (By the way, Duomo ≠ dome. It’s the Italian word for “cathedral.”)

Galleria degli Uffizi

Highlights: Well I don’t want to name drop but…Botticelli, Giotto, Duccio, Lippi, Piero della Francesca, Rogier van der Weyden, Rubens, Rembrandt, Dürer…yeah they’re all in there.

I mentioned in my last post that I felt a little thrill each time I recognized a painting in the Uffizi. During this visit, I decided to count how many I had studied in my Art History classes at UCLA. The grand total was 13 (Sam, wouldn’t you know it, recognized 14 from high school, so technically he won).

Accademia delle Belle Arti

Highlight: DAVID. Seriously, there’s nothing else there to see, except Michelangelo’s slave sculptures.

This was the only museum that had a line to get in. I’m not sure if it was just the time of day, or what. Still, Davide (as I like to call him) was pretty impressive. And extremely well-guarded. Absolutely NO pictures are allowed, so don’t even think about taking out your phone to update your status to “GUYS GUESS WHAT I’M STANDING IN FRONT OF MICHELANGELO’S DAVID LOL”. The guards are very, very strict (interpret: non-Italian), and anything that even remotely resembles taking a picture will earn you a harsh reprimand and finger wag.

Museo archeologico nazionale di Firenze

Highlights: The Chimera of Arezzo, the Francois Vase, and a bunch of other things I learned about but have since forgotten

The Chimera is a bronze Etruscan sculpture with an inscription to the Zeus-equivalent Tinia, and until recently it was in London (?) for an exhibit, so we were excited to see the real thing, having studied it in class. Would I recommend this museum? It’s not exactly well labeled, so unless you have some background in ancient history/archaeology, it might be kind of boring. To really get the most out of it, I suggest either taking a 12 week course on the Etruscans culminating in a poorly designed oral exam a few days before OR bringing a friend who is extremely passionate about archaeology and knows way more about what you’re looking at than you do. I happened to do both of these things, and my experience at the museum was great.

And that’s that. There are still many sites I missed in Florence (some churches, other museums), but I think I covered the basics in one day. It is definitely a unique city worth much more than the 13 hours I dedicated, so if you are planning to go there, I recommend giving it its due. After all, you can’t rush art.