Noisy, Nasty, Napoli!

I'm not sure if I could explain Naples in a way that doesn't make me sound completely out of my mind. To start with--it's got a bad reputation. Bad. Like think twice before going there bad because if you don't,  you'll probably be sorry. Pickpockets are notoriously good in Naples, so purses and cameras are not generally advisable. It's hazmat trashy. And Neapolitans don't give a rip about anyone but themselves.

Naples lived up to its bad reputation in a good way.

Sometime a few weeks back my friend Peter and I decided that a trip to Naples was absolutely necessary. We've established an informal mission to eat all the best food in Italy, and thus Napoli was the obvious place to go for pizza. Whenever one orders a pizza over here, it's usually listed on the menu as a Neapolitan Pizza. To be honest, there aren't many differences between American and Italian pizzas as far as looks go. Taste is an entirely different story. But I digress...

We boarded the express train here in Florence on Friday with great success. After having been warned about not validating the ticket beforehand and thus receiving a hefty fine from a grumpy Italian conductor, I located the magical yellow box on the platform. It's surprising how such a small machine, which stamps even smaller numbers onto an edge of the not very sizable ticket, can have such an large impact on a person's trip. I nervously journaled from my seat intermittently staring out at the countryside thinking. Pleaseohpleaseohplease! Don't let anything bad happen to us.


As we pulled up to the Napoli Centrale station, a huge storm cell settle over the city. Rain streaked the windows and the clouds flickered with lightning strikes. Peter and I exchanged an apprehensive look or two as I wondered what in the world had we gotten ourselves into. We disembarked into the crowded station with me leading the way to our hostel whose vague location I had memorized from the map in my guidebook.  We walked onto the street and discovered the truth in the trashy rumor. It was everywhere: on the sidewalks, in the gutters, overflowing from dumpsters, everywhere. Apparently the sanitation workers go on strike very frequently so it all just piles up. We wound our way between trash heaps and street vendors offering umbrellas to find our hostel in a less-than-picturesque part of the city. Dropping off our bags and orienting ourselves according to our receptionist's map and suggestions, we stepped back out onto the streets in search of the Naples Archeological Museum.

On the way there, we stumbled upon the duomo of Napoli, which was more similar to the cathedrals of Rome than the duomo here in Florence, and artisan's market. Although we were the only visitors wandering through the narrow alleyway we were crowded by the wares sitting on and under tables, hanging from awnings, and encroaching the street. Peppers, figurines, intricate model houses, terra cotta, pizzas and trinkets everywhere screamed rustic Neapolitan artistry. I regret not purchasing anything, but all the more reason to return!

We spent the better part of the evening in the museum looking at ancient statues and artifacts from Pompeii. The floor mosaics were incredible! The patience and craftsmanship that the ancient Pompeiians put into their floor decoration is absolutely unparalleled by anything that could be produced today. I've decided I want to make one . . . eventually. We left the museum for apertivi (pre-dinner drinks) in a funky little bar that was more like a lounge/bookstore/record shop squashed all into one. The atmosphere was super relaxed: friends, couples, families all crowded into the space, drinking, smoking (yes, inside) and having a grand time. It felt so authentic, us being the only Americani there. For dinner, we found our way to one of the pizzerias our receptionist suggested and each ordered a pie for €5. We watched the chef hand-stretch the dough with professional speed and technique learned only through tradition. He threw on the ingredients, slipped them into the wood-burning oven, and boxed them in less than ten minutes. Although they were cool by the time we reached our hostel (we cheated by reheating one in the oven) they were the most delicious pizzas I had ever eaten. American pizza doesn't even hold a candle. I think its the freshness of the dough, the smokiness of the oven, and the simplicity of the ingredients, but I'm no foodie. I just like how it tastes!

Saturday we trekked out to the ruins at Pompeii. I witnessed a true Neapolitan argument as I purchased our tickets. The ticketmaster and a customer had a dispute over change and were yelling at one another through the window until the ticketmaster came out of the office. They were two inches away from one another's faces, bellowing over one another, and flailing hands for emphasis and exasperation. It was terrifying and absolutely wonderful. The charged exchange took place in less than a minute, and yet their shouts still echo vividly in my memory. Forty minutes later we arrived at the legendary ruins in the rain, of course and I put my Disney umbrella to use (Thank you, Louise!).

Pompeii is cool by anyone's standards, but it has a special connotation for me because it was the subject of the first historical exhibition I remember going to as a kid. Although I can barely remember the details of what I observed, seeing the casts of the bodies and the frescoes renewed my juvenile giddiness. I don't have the time or the words to do Pompeii justice, so I'll leave it at a few pictures taken from my Flip camcorder (Thank you, Uncle George) because I didn't want Dad's camera to get stolen. All in all, we spent 5 hours wandering through the city, which is rather funny considering the first two hours were spent without a map or a guide book.

We read Pompei Viva on a number of signs throughout the
ruins, meaning Pompeii Lives, though at times it seemed as
if we were alone in the ancient city. 

Mount Vesuvius lying dormant in the mist.

Almost every villa, big or small, had a garden in it. Because
of the eruption, scientists and archaeologists continually
battle the modern flora that has taken root in the newly-
exposed fertile soil.

Il Fauno, a recreation of the statue for which the villa is named

One of my favorite floor mosaics. It's less detailed than others
we saw, but the colors are more vibrant.

Peter braving the rain with me.

We rode back to the city after getting kicked out of the ruins and struggling to find the correct side of the train tracks. Upon returning, we went for another walk in search of a bar but ended up going to look at a few monuments on the other side of the harbor, which was an hour's walk one-way. We found Castel Nuovo, the impressive Piazza Plebecito, and the Castel dell'Ovo--a castle built on an outcropping of rock in the middle of the harbor whose foundations supposedly contain a magic egg (uovo in Italian and hence the name "of the egg"). We had dinner at a seafood restaurant in the marina at the foot Castel dell'Ovo's walls: fresh mozzarella, pasta with steamed shellfish, calamari, and shrimp. Absolutely delicious!

We left Sunday morning after wandering through the Neapolitan equivalent of a farmer's market. Similar to the artisan's alleyway, goods overflowed into the streets on both sides. In the sharp Italian of Napoli, vendors shouted for customers to buy their wares, punctuating each sentence with "Prego! Prego! Prego!" We were welcome to buy and look, but lingering too long over a piece of clothing or a pair of shoes before moving on garnered us a few exasperated glares. I felt that they couldn't be bothered by us, that we were wasting their time, which is an interesting sales tactic--bullying the customer, that is.

The train ride home was uneventful, as is school. A group of us students went to a cooking class last week, which was super fun. I know what you're thinking, me cooking isn't exactly a reassuring thought, but I successfully made zucchini alle parmigiana; sauteed cabbage rolls stuffed with turkey, prosciutto, and fontina cheese; and tiramisu. I've signed up to take yoga classes once a week at the school in an effort to work off my growing pasta pooch. I plan on making more of an effort to go to the gym as well. Between seeing the sights of Florence, the rest of Europe, not to mention my homework, I'm finding I have so many things to do and so little time! Next stop: Sicily for the weekend!

Arrivaderci!

The Art of a Foreign Language

She had never put much thought into the squiggles of incomprehension that rebelliously decorated the streets in her own country, much less in the others she visited. Yet within her first hour in the city that was to become her home for several months she noticed the familiar spray of graffiti. The indecipherable stains on bridges and building-sides kaleidoscoped outside the taxi window as she approached her lodgings. So far away from home and yet so similar in practice, she dismissed the spray as a blemish upon the city she anticipated as pristine. She considered it a mild blasphemy to deface the place that boasted a rich artistic tradition.

Gradually she accepted the foreign squiggles and unintelligible script as being a part of living in a metropolis much larger than the one she left behind. A visit to a larger city, one rooted even deeper in antiquity than her new place of residence, confirmed her assumption. Urban living in a foreign country seemed to require a talent for ignorance and to see past the public vandalism was to see the beauty of her surroundings. Although names and shapes marred the surface, meaning resonated in the history and purpose of the structures themselves--so she thought.

In the midst of accustoming herself to the lifestyle of her host country--wrapping her tongue around the language, juggling the currency, and observing the local etiquette of jaywalking--an acquaintance described graffiti as something she had never considered: street art. She pictured the scrawls she observed during her taxi ride. The spray contained little meaning and failed to coincide with her reactionary definition of art. Unlike the critically lauded pieces that marched before her in textbook after textbook, the artwork that decorated the streets resembled the product of a rebellious impulse instead of an intellectually and aesthetically pleasing masterpiece. Her brief introduction to the term 'street art' catalyzed a change in that philosophy.

As she became familiarized with the streets of her host city, she stepped onto the sidewalk not only with the mission to navigate the landscape but to look at her surroundings. The artwork, she realized, had always been around her and she was the one who failed to see it as such. Spray painted words and characters appeared less like vandalism and more like the common form of expression that was as alien to her as the language. Indeed, she realized that it was a foreign language in and of itself.

Her hypocrisy embarrassed her, for she prided herself on her desire to experience the culture of her host country firsthand; yet she welcomed her mistake. She knew her own foreignness to the culture demanded that she make similar blunders throughout her stay. It became clear that the purpose of immersion within a new culture was not possessing an immediate proficiency, but rather learning how to navigate it--like the streets and the art within them--by trial and error. With a new openness to making mistakes she vowed to try new dishes when eating out, to try going new places, to try seeing life from a local perspective, and to try respecting all forms of expression she might encounter. Since viewing the graffiti in her new mindset, she was convinced that she could be sensitive to almost everything yet unknown to her because she had discovered the art of a foreign language.

When in Rome . . .

Trevi Fountain

I cannot believe a week has passed since I last wrote. I'm praying that the morning I wake up and the semester ends remains a part of the somewhat distant future—goodness knows my time in Rome went by all too quickly!

Colosseum

Part of the Gonzaga in Florence (hereafter referred to as GIF) program includes an opening tour, which provided me with an opportunity to travel without having to worry about any logistics whatsoever . . . other than which suitcase I was going to bring. I piled onto a tour bus with about 80 other spring semester students for a four hour drive to the città eterna. Most of my time was spent drooling over the Tuscan hillsides, spotting villas and vineyards, and attempting to curb my anxiousness to get to the city. Luckily I had nothing to worry about; Rome provided the best beginning I could have ever hoped for. Although I have homework (already), I can only attempt to write a brief account of an amazing weekend.

We boarded the bus in Florence relatively early on Thursday. Staring out over the countryside, I could sense the age of the land, and I found myself mentally fighting my assumption that every pile of rocks or street of cobblestones was ancient and somehow important. Granted, in central Rome this is not the case since the eternal city is nicknamed that for a reason. With pedestrians only slightly less numerous than ancient sites, Rome drips with both opulence and history.

Pantheon Skylight

After we arrived and settled into our hotels we embarked on our first adventure in the city: locating an excellent gelateria! Larry, a coordinator for the tour, took a group of us to his favorite gelateria in Rome, which offers over 100 flavors. Thanks to GIF I enjoyed every lick of hazelnut and dark chocolate with raspberry. Sooooooo good! Later, we regrouped for a three hour walking tour of Rome by night. With my guide's voice percolating from the rather uncomfortable headphone in my ear I dodged errant motorbikes as we wound our way through the narrow cobblestoned streets where gladiators, emperors, philosophers, mathematicians, and artists of antiquity once wandered. We saw most of the famous sites such as the Pantheon, the Trevi Fountain (where tossing a coin over the shoulder guarantees a speedy return to Rome, a second coin secures a Roman lover, and a third provides marriage to the said lover) and the Spanish Steps. With tired feet and an empty stomach, I enjoyed every bite of the rather large dinner we were served—four courses later my friends practically had to roll me back to the hotel.

The next morning I went on another walking tour of Jesuit-related sites with Father Bryan, the former chaplain to GIF who has been living in Rome for a few years working on his doctorate. Having a "local" show us the places that wouldn't be on a typical tour was super interesting! For instance, I got to see where St. Aloysius Gonzaga and St. Ignatius of Loyola (founder of the Jesuit order) were buried,  interior of the Pantheon (which was closed during our evening tour), and I even touched a statue carved by Michelangelo! After lunch at the Hard Rock Cafe—no matter how far I go Americana is right behind me—we went to the Villa Borghese. One of the well-known art museums in Rome, I was absolutely blown away by the sculptures of Bernini. To think that stone could look so lifelike! Absolutely incredible! 

Miles and miles of Roman skyline

A few friends and I decided to spend an evening on the town, and headed to first to see the Colosseum. Although it was closed and I never got a chance to get inside, I believe I couldn't have seen it at a more magical time than during the evening. All lit up, the ancient archways and columns stand so solidly and stately against the modern skyline—a testament to the enduring legacy of its builders. Incredible. From the Colosseum we wandered through the Trastavere area on the west side of the il fiume di Tevere (Tiber river), south of the Vatican city. There, we found an Italian ristorante, where a small group of us sat street-side (yes, in January) and ate rather authentic Italian meal. An appetizer, a prima piatta, a seconda piatta, and two bottles of wine later, I found myself sharing a wonderful evening with great company in the city I came to love.

Corinthian Columns at the Vatican

The next day the group departed from the hotels rather early to take a tour of the Vatican Museum St. Peter's Basilica, and the Sistine Chapel—the last of which was certainly the highlight! Despite the fervor of nervous activity and disrespectful photo-taking that engulfed me as we entered the chapel, the profundity of the experience moved me beyond petty annoyance. To look up at the famous fresco of Michelangelo and appreciate the the gravity and symbolism it holds as both a masterpiece and a religious representation made the moment memorable. Especially under the creation of Adam fresco—the all-famous hand of God reaching out for the lifeless and unworthy hand of man—I choked up a bit. Dinner that evening was spent at some hole-in-the-wall restaurant that I'd love to return to but have no hope of locating ever again. The waiters—adorable old Romans—brought appetizer after appetizer, pasta after pasta, meat after salad after tiramisu, after espresso until we consumed all the table wine and couldn't have eaten a single bite more! It served as a wonderful concluding evening for our last night in Rome.

St. Peter's Square

A relatively early bedtime allowed for a super early wakeup for my friends and I. We decided to climb St. Peter's Basilica before the day's activities began and opted to avoid the crowd that descends upon the Vatican on Sundays mid-morning. As the sun trickled between the buildings, we arrived at an impressively picturesque St. Peters and climbed the cupola in 15 minutes to witness the most spectacular view of the city! Peeking out into the magical haze that mostly comprised of smog, the eternal city sprawled before us, where we stood at the highest point of the smallest country in the world. The breathtaking view made the literally breathtaking climb well worth it!

Me, Lindsay and Michelle enjoying the view

My time in Rome concluded with a walk around Castel Sant'Angelo and a blessing from the pope. I was thankfully left alone by the handsy Italian men (unlike my mother) as he spoke to the hundreds of people gathered in the square. The sun was warm at my back, and the beauty of the faith displayed by those around me made the moment truly unforgettable. The drive back to Florence was marked again by long periods of staring out the window. Exhaustion from constantly walking the city finally caught up with me. Upon my return I was reunited with my friend and roommate, Nicole. I'm happy to have someone to share my room and the semester with. Classes started today and it appears like that semester is going to be fine on the academic side of this experience. Although most of my peers dreaded a heavy workload, which would interfere with their heavy partying schedule, I can't say I'm too worried about my courses. At least, not for now . . .

Sono arrivato!

It's official: I'm an almost permanent resident of Italy. After many long hours of being in transit, I have breathed Italian air, walked on Italian cobblestones, and jaywalked a busy Italian intersection. I'm also exhausted.

Our flight from Seattle to Frankfurt was long, boring, long, boring--and did I mention long and boring? Ten hours of my life was definitely well-spent in a seat the size of a postage stamp! Confined to a middle seat from which I exchanged maybe 15 words with my row-mates, I couldn't have been happier. With a grand total of two hours of sleep I was deliriously happy to spot the Alps during our connecting flight. You think I'm kidding, but how wrong you are!

The magnificently tall Alps sliced into the clear blue sky as we entered the country I'll soon call home. I couldn't help but doze against the window and wonder what awaited me on the peninsula beyond. Adrenaline shot through me as we began to make our descent. I couldn't help but feed my romanticized notions of this admittedly romantic country. Looking up I could see six comet-like jets crisscrossing across the sky. For a moment I wondered if I was missing something. Everyone had a direction they were going; yet I'm just going with the flow. Although this seem like a rather dejected notion, I've discovered that I'm perfectly contented to go with the Flo (Ha!). Today, for instance, after we arrived I unpacked and went to explore the with some of the girls in my pensione.

Let me back up for a moment: a pensione, the building I live in, is similar to a dorm setting. It's closer to a small hotel run by a family that cooks and cleans for the 18 (or so) of us residents who live here. I am in a double room with a friend of mine who is here for the year. Each room also has its own bathroom. We are kept very safe here at Soggiorno Laura, as the front door is locked and monitored 24hrs.

To be plopped down in a city like this is truly amazing! Walking down the narrow sidewalks, I reveled in wrapping my tongue around the delicious words of the Italian language: farmacia, pizzeria, gelateria . . . gorgeous. Most gorgeous of all was the sight of the Duomo. Absolutely incredible. I couldn't drag my eyes from it, which is quite a feat considering how massive it is! I mean, I had guessed it was big, but I couldn't fathom it being as goliath as it really is! I'd normally try to describe it and include a picture so you could follow along, but I didn't take any. I was too dumbfounded by the thing itself. It'll take a few more viewings before I can even attempt to capture its grandeur. Even then--I think such an goal is impossible.

The cold winds drove us from the darkening streets back to the safety of our pensione. I fiddled around until dinnertime--yep, official Italian dinner made by a true Italian family--attempting to stave off sleep; but such is inevitable with jetlag.

Buona notte!