Destination: II

May 25, 2007

Today after showering we met Mike at the Piazza della Repubblica and went for breakfast at the Bar Duomo. I had a brioche and cappuccino, it was heaven. The pastry was filled with apples and the coffee was so smooth, no bitterness at all. We shopped for a while and then we went to school to get online and update our email accounts. We then shopped for hours and took pictures. At about 3:30 we went back home to nap until 5:00 when the supermarket opened again. We ran into Juliet and Professor Alfie and he warned us of the crabby store owner--he was crabby. We bought ingredients to make spaghetti carbonara and a caprese salad: spaghetti, eggs, pancetta, olive oil, parmesan, tomatoes, mozzarella, salt and fruit for tomorrow morning. We lit candles and drank wine and talked for hours and then went out again to walk the streets at night and to get more gelato...we tried a new gelateria this time, delicious as always! Of course we walked to the Duomo and ate our gelato on the steps while me and Gabby gawked at all of the hot Italian men walking by...and then as we got up to leave we found even more attractive men on all of the streets. It was like the men were on a silver platter for us, we were drooling. Domani, off to Firenze and wherever else the train takes me!

Destination: I

I have decided to post my journal from my first summer abroad in Italy, titling these entries Destination. Looking at pictures makes me sad but reading my own words and remembering how naive and innocent I was makes me happy. I'm heading to San Francisco in a week and perhaps reliving these travel memories will encourage me to write about the city by the Bay.

May 23, On the train from Roma Termini to Orvieto:

We ran around like crazy people searching for the proper ticket and time and binario...waiting on the platform we struggled and shoved against hundreds of people all vying for a spot or seat on the train. As I hoisted my luggage up the steps onto the train Danielle picked up my slack...inside the train Gabby's bag was too large to fit in the luggage compartments so I struggled to pull it in towards my seat and as I did, my foot got stuck. Flailing for several minutes it finally came un-done. On the train into Orvieto we sat next to a man named Angelo--he spoke NO english and so we attempted to speak with him for over an hour in Italian, lots of broken phrases were thrown back and forth. He sat next to Danielle and rubbed her back and told her she looked like Demi Moore the 'attrice'...ha! He told us he was an avvocato and we told him in English that word is 'lawyer,' he couldn't pronounce it. When we got off the train he waved Ciao to us as we ran past his window screaming his name, blowing us kisses and yelling ciao he waved back at us. I blew him a kiss right back. Alba's husband Claudio picks us up from the train station and drives us to our house or appartamento. As we drive up the plateau into Orvieto I am awe struck...greenery, villas, small shops and even smaller cars swim past us. The city is magic I know it, there is no other way to describe how such a thing could be so beautiful, so bella! Driving in a huge van through streets no wider than a closet, Claudio stops to see if we will fit down the side street, we scrape against some jasmine bushes on the way to our apartment and he says "Well at least they smell good!" And they do! They smell like summer and perfection, sweet and dainty like how you expect a small, hilltop town in Umbria to smell! As we awkwardly haul our massive luggage through ancient, cobblestone streets towards our front door it starts to sink in---I AM IN ITALY FOR 6 WEEKS!!! The apartment is astoundingly beautiful and more than we could ever have hoped for! Two bedrooms, all wood floors, our own walk in closet and master bath, a wine cellar, a brand new kitchen, living room and gorgeous dining room. There are these amazing doorways and ceilings that still have the old stone from when the home was first built, an odd mixture of past meets present. Alba came to get us and we walked to the Piazza della Repubblica which is near the center of town. The Piazza is lined with small clothing shops and bars and restaurants. We then walked to our school which is located directly next to the Duomo. How can I even begin to describe the Duomo, its massive walls are covered in mosaic tiles and the steps completely surround the church walls. Across the street tourists sit and gaze at the building for forever it seems, not really moving, hardly speaking, just sitting in front of the shops staring, mesmerized by how large and impressive the whole church is. There is a Star of David on the ground in front and a statue of the Madonna on the left. It is so large and awe inspiring it almost looks fake. After wandering around the city we get our first taste of gelato--chocolate of course! Then we walk back home and nap and shower and put on our new dresses before dinner, before we meet Mike back at the Piazza della Repubblica. We have pizza and a bottle of white wine at Pizzeria Charlie's and then walk the streets again. We take Mike to see school and the Duomo and then back to eat more gelato at Pasqualetti's. We got to see Mike's apartment and it's safe to say we wound up with the best one! I'm up this morning writing because I can't sleep now, it's very humid in our room. Outside our open windows with the wood shutters I can smell wood burning in a fire place and hear pigeons and birds landing on our balconies. The clock tower chimes...the walls between our apartment and the owner's next door are paper thin, we can hear them laughing and yelling in Italian, we can hear their t.v. at night and I love it! This morning we are going for espresso and a brioche at a local bar and then to shop and take pictures, oh Italy how I love it! I knew before I even got here that I loved it, I just knew it was for me! 

The Tyger:

William Blake was born in 1757 in London, England. He was a Romantic poet who wrote about innocence and experience in the 18th century. In 1794 Songs of Experience was published which contains my favorite poem, The Tyger. I've included the poem below because sometimes when I feel frazzled it makes me feel better.

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies

Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

On what wings dare he aspire?

What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, and what art,

Could twist the sinews of thy heart?

And when thy heart began to beat,

What dread hand? and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?

In what furnace was thy brain?

What the anvil? what dread grasp

Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,

And watered heaven with their tears,

Did he smile his work to see?

Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye,

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

Penne with Fried Sage and Butternut Squash

Attempted a new pasta recipe, I think it came out well enough. My tiny apartment smelled pretty good so I think that's a good sign.

Penne with Fried Sage and Butternut Squash


Ingredients:

• 1 box of penne pasta (please use Barilla, my Italian professors would shoot me had I done otherwise). 
• 1 red onion thinly sliced
• 2 garlic cloves finely chopped
• 1 butternut squash diced into 1 inch cubes
• 8-10 fresh sage leaves
• parmesan
• salt, pepper, and olive oil

Preparation:

• Blanch the squash for several minutes in boiling water to soften it, remove and set aside.
• Fry sage leaves in olive oil for one minute, transfer to a paper towel when done.
• Combine olive oil, garlic, and onions and heat for a few minutes until the onions become opaque. Add squash and 3/4 of a cup of water. Add salt and pepper. Simmer for 10 minutes.
• Meanwhile, boil the pasta al dente (to the teeth people!)
• Combine the pasta with the squash mixture in a large bowl, mix well and begin to shower the dish with parmesan. When you think you've added enough cheese, add more. Then, add a bit more. Finally, sprinkle with the fried sage and serve it up.

Oh most importantly, eat this dish with copious amounts of wine! 

My Nostalgia

Recently I was talking with a friend about the idea of nostalgia, the idea of taking a peek into the past and why this little glimpse makes us feel so sad or so strange. As a child growing up I took comfort in "old things", I couldn't bear to throw the tiniest scrap of paper away. An old movie ticket, a birthday card, a feather I'd found in one of my many nature hunts outside. I hoarded memories and objects like a tiny pack rat, afraid that by tossing out that plastic toy I'd won in a vending machine that I was somehow hurting its feelings, neglecting its very existence. My closet and my backpacks were overrun with stuff, stuff that at the time felt very important and all consuming. As an 9 year-old that soft, checkered blanket with the bunny ears attached felt antique, an object from my past. But what is the past to a 9 year-old?

I used to revel in nostalgia, I would pick and prod and cradle old necklaces, retro Barbie doll clothes my aunt passed down to me, some old rocks I'd collected at the science museum. Even as a little girl I felt that all of these treasures somehow managed to tell my story, they were mapping my life as inanimate objects.

I grew older and I learned to love pictures the way I loved old playdough creatures dried out from the sun. Pictures from my childhood, my parent's childhood, my grandparent's childhood. I would creep into my mom's bedroom and open the wooden hope chest that was overflowing with photographs at the end of her bed, then thumb through each album one by one. It was comforting to imagine my parents as kids like me, then as teenagers who met and got married, then as young parents. It felt good to stare at my family, my history.

At my grandma's house I'd repeat the same process, beg her to drag the giant box of black and white photographs down from the laundry room shelf. Ask over and over again, "is this really you grandma?" "is this really dad as a kid?" A still of my dad in black framed glasses from the 60's or my Italian grandmother herself with big, dark hair that couldn't be tamed in the Florida heat of the 1950's.

There is something very glamours about black and white photos, life's imperfections seem to vanish under the grey tones. Women look beautiful and men look handsome and life seems more perfect.

Nowadays I feel less inclined to look to the past for comfort, I purged my bedroom long ago from my sticker collection and the shoebox of notes I'd passed back and forth in class with my friends. Now I find myself drawn to simple, clean lines. I want my life to feel more like an Ikea showroom and less like a warm space filled with weird odds and ends.

It is so easy to hop onto the computer and stalk other people's memories but now I try to avoid my own. I'm not sure if it's because I'm getting older but I find it painful to look at pictures of my time abroad in Italy, it makes my heart ache for a time that I can't have back. And maybe that is what is most beautiful and sad about our memories, we each long for a moment that has slipped through our grasp all too soon, and it was perfect.

Honesty Is the Best Policy:

It occurred to me recently that in order to get what you want, you have to ask for it. Getting what you want doesn't happen by sitting on your couch and waiting for "it" to blow through your back door and land on your lap like a tiny leaf separated from a bigger branch. Getting what you want means being honest with yourself, it means admitting that you are not going to settle for less.

I used to think that if I was a good person who worked hard and abided by the social contract, that good things would happen. Good things would rain from the sky like, well, like rain. And every so often some of those beads of rain would land on my shirt and I would catch them and think to myself "wow a really good thing just happened to me because I'm a good person." But that's not the case, in this world where everything moves so fast those rain drops can't catch up with you, they'll flutter to the ground next to you unless you stand up and force yourself into the storm.

There is something about getting older that makes you want to stand up for yourself. Lately I've had this overwhelming desire to do good things for myself, to make good things happen to me. I will never get a six pack by wishing really nice thoughts about the person next to me at the gym. I'll never fly to Paris if I keep lusting after imaginary flights. Sometimes, you have to make things happen.

From now on I'm going to make a real conscious effort to be more honest with myself about I want out of life, relationships, family....

Let's be honest it would be a whole heck of a lot easier if I could organize my life while lounging in bed reading Fifty Shades of Grey but that's just not going to happen.

Happy Valentine's Day

It's Valentine's Day today, I'm not going to get emotional, I'm going to get factual.

Tonight I bought my sister a birthday gift, ate dinner, scarfed down a few more girl scout cookies, watched Glee, drank a few glasses of wine, finished my Business Law paper.

Later I'll probably stalk my OkCupid.com profile and see what's good out there in the dating world.