Mmm... Belgium!

One word to describe Belgium: delicious. They should rename the country Belg-yum. I kid you not. Indulge my exposition of Belgian cuisine...

Frites! They are the literal cause of a heart attack on a plate, or in a paper cone, or however you choose to eat them. I had heard that these babies were to die for, but when I saw them I wasn't so sure.  Personally, I prefer crunchy/salty (a la In-N-Out) to soft/potato-y, and when I was served thick-cut frites I was a little skeptical. One bite into these piping hot, fresh from the fryer taters and I was in heaven! The secret to frites is animal fat. Instead of vegetable or olive oil, Belgians fry their potatoes twice in what is basically lard. Oh, yeah... did I mention they fry them twice? So. Good. Yet. So. Bad! Many Belgians like to put sauces on their frites. I tried tartar and my friend Sean had curry-ketsup, but the list of sauces is pretty extensive. Two servings of frites in a weekend was plenty for me, though.

Waffles! What we have in America doesn't even come close to being as good as true Belgian waffles. Although a pamphlet proclaimed that all waffles taste the same, it was wrong. There are two types of Belgian waffles: the kind you eat in a cafe, and the kind you eat on the street. Both are served with sugar. In the cafe, the waffles are served with powdered sugar on top and are often accompanied with fruits and whipped cream. On the street, for your consuming convenience, the sugar is within the waffle so you don't spill it and all the extra toppings all over yourself. The more toppings on a waffle, the more expensive it is. I had Belgian chocolate on one, powdered sugar on another and Speculoos on a third. Speculoos is a spread that has the consistency and color of peanut butter, but it tastes like sweetened ginger snaps because that is what it's made of: crushed Speculoos cookies. A friend of mine is obsessed with it. It's all right in my book. I must admit that I'm missing peanut butter a bit. There nothing quite like a spoonful of Skippy to bring me back to childhood.

Aside from the food, the trip to Belgium was a lot of fun! I wouldn't say that it's my favorite country, but definitely worth visiting in the long run. After surviving the scariest taxi ride of my life—in which our driver honked, flashed, and sped his way from the airport to the city center—Sean, Nicole and I navigated the metro system to our hostel that was located a distance from the historical city center. We found the place to be busy and full of Spaniards (lisps and all), so we took to the streets to explore the capital of Europe. There aren't too many things to do within the city itself except for walking around to the different landmarks, though the architecture in the historic square at the heart of the city is absolutely amazing and makes up for the lack of activities. Soaring spires and intricate Gothic ornamentation dominate the facades of most civic structures. The heaviness of the decoration weighs down on the buildings with an austerity that is absent in Italy. Surprisingly, my Renaissance Architecture class has taught me to appreciate the uncluttered simplicity that characterizes Italian buildings, and even favor it over the overwhelming Gothic.

We wandered Brussels, munching on the aforementioned frites and waffles until sundown, stopping at the cathedral, royal palace, and famous Manneken Pis. You can't pass any of the tourist or chocolate shops without seeing a model of this little guy (who is only 24 in). The peeing pipsqueak is quite a crowd pleaser for there is a constant herd of tourists at the base of the fountain. Nobody really knows where he originated, but rumor has it that he was made in honor of a little boy who saved the city by putting out a fire with the only weapon he had at hand. I think he's a bit of tongue-in-cheek Belgian humor that no one will ever truly understand.

After a days worth of traveling and aimless wandering, we enjoyed a Thai dinner in a nightlife area of the city before crashing back at the hostel. The next morning we got up early to visit Bruges, a small medieval town near the coast, which is romantically complete with canals and horse-drawn carriages. Bruges was very much a tourist destination, though the frigid rain kept them at bay for most of the day. We went to a chocolate museum to escape from the weather. I learned (among many random facts about the history and making of chocolate) that I prefer dark chocolate with 71% cocoa. Our visit concluded with a chocolate demonstration in French and Dutch and a sample the product the confectioner created. The rest of the day was spent wandering, dodging in an out of stores to get warm, and eating. We headed back to Brussels for a kebab dinner (a near relative to the gyro instead of the American shish-kebab), waffle dessert, and a final visit to Manneken Pis.

We arrive back in Florence Sunday afternoon after an early start and a crowded bus ride to the airport, which was not nearly as life-threatening as that first taxi ride. The week flew by without much event. I submitted my first book review, which should be published soon! This weekend is going to be dedicated to studying for midterms, which begin next week. After that, Budapest! Until then, I promise another update and this one will be more timely!

Ciao for now!

Florentine Fun

So . . . I met the man of my dreams. That's right. He's a tall, really good looking white guy. He's pretty quiet. You might know of him, actually! He goes by David.

After coming down with a bit of a cold, I was looking forward to a nice quiet weekend in Florence. Thursday after lunch I went up to the Piazzale Michelangiolo, located atop a hill on the southern side of the Arno River. With an amazing view of the city and a bronze copy of my man David, it quickly became my favorite place in Florence. While relaxing above the city, I took these shots and watched two boys tossing confetti at one another, which became the focus of my piece "The Confetti Throwers," (included below) for my Writing Traveler class. 

Florentine Skyline

Ponte Vecchio

The Duomo, Santa Maria Del Fiore

On Friday I went to the Academia with a few friends to see Il David. I know what everyone says—that you have to see him in person to truly appreciate him—and I was prepared to have my breath taken away, but when I turned the corner and glimpsed him for the first time I did not anticipate the impact he would have on me. It was impossible for me to take my eyes off him. He really is that amazing. Looking at him, I half expected him to shift his weight or step down from his platform. No copy does him justice (and there are two here: the bronze model pictured above and a plaster model that occupies his former spot in front of the Palazzo Vecchio). The rest of the museum is dreadful in comparison, aside from Michelangelo's unfinished Slaves that line the hallway you walk down to get to David, but I look forward to my return.

On Saturday I went to the art gallery Florence is known for, the Uffizi. It contains practically all of the artwork from the Italian Renaissance. From Botticelli's "Birth of Venus" and "Spring," to some lesser-known works from Da Vinci, and pretty much everything in between (minus the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, of course) this museum is an art aficionado's dream! Tired from walking a good portion of the city before entering the gallery, my friend Peter and I barely scraped the surface with this gallery. All the more reason to return when Mom and Dad come to visit in March!

I spent a lazy Sunday working on homework, which led me to produce the following piece of work. Speaking of work, I will be an interning journalist for the English print Florence Newspaper. I received my first assignment yesterday and will be writing the book review for the next issue! Up next on my saga of adventures: Belgium!

The Confetti Throwers

I.

Although the Florentine skyline dominated the vista, I found my attention drawn not to the Duomo—Brunelleschi’s unparalleled architectural triumph, Tuscany’s crowned jewel—but to Piazzale Michelangiolo’s other visitors. Those who came to admire the view had no idea they themselves might be admired. Two boys, no more than five-years old, seemed more beautiful than even the bronze goliath that stood sentinel over the scene. They could care less about the river that wound its way below us, or the galleries along its banks that held the artwork of masters. Instead, they giggled uncontrollably as they ran around the open square, tossing handfuls of confetti at one another. Their au pair hovered a safe distance away. She shepherded them away from innocent bystanders but mostly allowed them to have their fun. They emptied their bags handful by tiny handful until all that remained were pools of paper bits on the cement, marking their jovial clashes. After the smaller boy tossed a final fistful at me I watched them go and wondered why all wars weren’t fought with confetti-bombs and didn’t end with smiles.

II.

Miles of buildings, a tower here and there, some spires, a dome. It’s what I came up here to look at: a classy arrangement of stone, plaster, marble, and terra cotta. Picturesque? Sure. Pristine lifelessness. Not even the bronze guardian breathes as he surveys the scene. He turned sickly green in his patience, waiting to exhale. A boy runs after his friend, their jackets blur against the static skyline and I welcome their distraction. His laugh, happy and vital, bubbles from the depths of his belly, shaking his small frame. He spins in a haphazard pursuit of his dwarf-like companion. They leave a trail of color across the giant’s shadow in their attempts to douse one another with confetti. Clumsy handfuls pollute the air with kaleidoscopic explosions. Bits of paper flutter where my little friends left them in the breeze. They swivel, dance, and twist like the hands that threw them. Motionless, I watch them, trying to remember how it felt to rush all wild, uncontrolled. Instead of joining their revelry I assume a statuesque pose of maturity and hold my breath as their chase nears my vantage point. Chase me with your confetti clouds! The one with a yarn puff on top of his hat dusts my legs with the last of his sweet, magic flecks. A smile softens my cheeks and I can breathe again.

III.

Today will barely stain your memory. It is but a moment, a flicker of color in your years. So many await. Blink and you miss a lifetime: a suspension of milestones. It’s exploding from you, at this point from which you spin. Right now. You can’t see it? No. You have no inkling that as you walk, skip, leap, twirl, your life launches more into the world. It will burst all around you wherever you are. From today until an eternal tomorrow. Then life stops. Yes, yours will too. All your color, your wonderful, your terrible, your being will cease completely. The bits you sent into the world will fall gracefully from the sky like the confetti in your hand. They will scatter across pavement. They will be trod upon. And they will be forgotten. Sleep tight, tonight. 

Learning to Be On Time or Surviving Sicilia!

What a way to conclude my first month in Italy! 

Last Tuesday, the night GIF students take the Florentine pubs by storm since most of us have late classes (or none, in my case) on Wednesdays, I went to my first secret bakery! Quite literally a nondescript hole-in-the-wall, the secret bakeries of Florence open at 1:30 am to start baking the pastries which they distribute fresh to pasticcerie (pastry shops) throughout the city. Chocolate-filled croissants and mini pizzas are only €1, and if they're well worth the late hour if eaten warm. Unfortunately, the group I was with arrived at 2 am providing me with a cooled, though no less delicious, croissant. It seems I'll just have to go back! 

On Thursday evening I finally purchased a European SIM card for my international phone, and went to see the ballet production of "A Midsummer Night's Dream" with a few girlfriends (finally my knowledge of Shakespeare comes in handy for something other than an English class!). The next day I departed for the south of Italy with my friends Lindsay and Stephan, on a trip which can only be described as an adventure!

About two weeks ago we decided to take a trip to Sicily and booked our flights through the budget airline known as Ryanair. In order to keep ticket prices down, Ryanair does not fly out of large airports including the not very gigantic Florence Peretola. The closest airports Ryanair does fly out of are in Pisa or Bologna, both about an hour away by train. That being said, we were so intent on booking a cheap flight over the weekend that we neglected to look at arrival and departure times. Another friend interested in traveling with us asked me for our flight information and I discovered our mistake: we were to arrive from Palermo into Bologna at 12:30 am on Sunday night. Final train? Midnight. Awesome! We're spending the night in Bologna and miraculously finding our way back to school bright and early on Monday morning! By the end of the week, I was not looking forward to the trip.

Friday afternoon we hang around Florence until our 7:45 flight out of Bologna. We agree to catch a 4:30 train to be safe and get there early. I (not exactly the world's promptest person, I'll admit) delayed printing off some homework until the very last moment and wasn't ready to leave for the 15 minute walk to the train station until the time we agreed upon for departure. It's okay, we reassured ourselves. We left time for stuff like this. Knowing that there were several trains departing around 5, we booked it over there only to run into our first major roadblock. Lindsay purchased her ticket separately from Stephan and I for the train that was leaving at that very moment. Deciding to wait for the two of us, she assumed that her ticket would still work for the later train. She was wrong. An official told her she would have to get her ticket changed. With not enough time to accompany her back to the purchasing counter, Stephan and I got on the train, hoping she would manage to slip on before we left, but no such luck. As we pulled out of the station, we wondered what we would do if she wasn't able to get to the airport in time for our flight. Should we go without her? We can't she has all the hostel information. We wouldn't know where to go. Should we meet up with her at the station or at the airpor—my phone was ringing! Lindsay sent me a text (SMS) saying she was on the train after ours and that we would meet up at the station.

Steve and I arrived in Bologna and found the main entrance. Uncomfortable in the crowd, Steve decided  that we should meet her on her platform. As the swarm of people disembarked, we quickly realize that this was a bad idea. We wandered back toward the main entrance and finally spot her. At this point, we had an hour until our flight. Not wanting to risk the bus system, we caught a cab to the airport—a good 15 minute drive. Our cabbie probably sensed our stress levels and broke who knows how many (nonexistent) Italian traffic laws to get us to the airport in record time. We checked in and found ourselves at the end of 30 minute line to through security. If we went that far only to miss our flight stuck in the security line, it would have been laughable. We filed our way through the scanners in the nick of time, and boarded almost immediately after we collected our belongings. My adrenaline rush began dissipate as we took off. We made it, though just barely! After arriving in Palermo, we found our way to the hostel and finally ate dinner around midnight. Each of us consumed an entire pizza. We were that hungry. Not quite the same as from Naples, but I went to bed full and couldn't complain. 

The next morning we got and explored Palermo in the beautiful sunshine. The city itself was fascinating. Somewhere in some bygone era, closer to the end of WWII than today, lies Palermo. Faded and decayed the city trickles from the high mountains into the sea. Buildings seem to crumble before your eyes, as if the sunlight weighs heavily on the brittle facade. The Cattedrale of Palermo retains only remnants of its once detailed reliefs. Despite the destruction the city has obviously witnessed, life goes on. At one point during our stay, Lindsay remarked that the city was less of a tourist destination than she expected. She was right. The Sicilians, though friendlier than the Florentines, kept to their own schedules paying little attention to us stranieri.

After discovering that Lindsay's phone had disappeared since we arrived—I received another SMS from the bus company responsible for transporting us from the airport to the city—we went on an adventure to retrieve it. From searching for the office to praying that the taxi driver was taking us to the right location, we practically received a driving tour of the city we thoroughly explored the day before. I'm surprised we weren't sore from all the walking we did. I was however unsurprised at the quick deterioration of my health. I literally sneezed my way through Sicily (about 30 a day, ) and finally came down with a cold. Despite of my sniffles, we set off for a smaller town on the coast called Cefalù. A beautiful beach town perched on the edge of the sea, I couldn't help but marvel at the details that were put into everything, including the cobblestones. Unfortunately a storm cell moved in, and the majority of our time was spent wandering through the rain. After checking out the Byzantine cathedral, we asked a souvenir shop owner where to buy cannoli, the dessert of Sicily. After decoding his directions (I am getting better with my conversational Italian) we discovered the BEST cannoli in the world. Words cannot even begin to describe how amazing this crunchy, creamy, delectable dessert was!

Sooooooooo Gooooooooood!

It was also in Cefalù that our traveling nightmare began. In our attempts to avoid being late, like our trip down, we decided to start getting back into Palermo and to the airport early. The first train we tried to take back to the city was an inter-regional train not taking any passengers; the second was cancelled. The  train we finally got on was standing room only—not fun for an hour in a clammy metal box. We ended up in Palermo with plenty of time to spare and made it onto the bus, which also took an hour to arrive at the airport. As we checked in (early, still) we were informed that our flight was going to be two hours delayed. Remember we were supposed to arrive at 12:30? Because of a few snowflakes in Bologna (3 inches max, if that) we took off from Palermo at 2:00 in the morning, landing at 3:15. Luckily we had tracked down Lindsay's cell phone because she was able to contact her cousin Alberto, who lives in Bologna and was willing to put us up for the night. We arrived at Alberto's place around 3:45 and were asleep by 4. I say it lightly now, but we were exhausted. With the scant amount of shut-eye we managed, we decided to skip the early train and arrived back in Florence around 11 the next morning. I slogged through my evening class with my cold in high gear and completely crashed after dinner. It's taken me a few days to finally rest up, but I feel much better. 

My already short three-day week has been practically cut to two after this adventure—not that I'm complaining. This weekend I'm looking forward to spending some time right here in Florence. My plan is to pick up my "Amici degli Ufizzi" pass and actually check out some of the artwork this city is so famous for. The weather is supposed to be really nice so a day trip might be in order. Then again, I already feel like I've been leaving this city more than staying and experiencing. As of today, I've been here a month, and I have yet to see Il David. How am I already running out of time?!