Another Travelin' Song

Hello!

As I'm sure most of you know, I am back in the States.  I have been meaning to post, but we took off for Racine almost as soon as I got to Detroit and then I got to spend a week in Chicago with Adam.  So, finally, I blog.

I flew Delta back .  Oh, Delta.  When I flew to Rome, I flew from Detroit to New York to Rome.  In Detroit, we boarded the plane and then deplaned because they had made a mistake and that plane was not safe to be thousands of feet in the air.  Reassuring, yeah?  My flight out of New York was delayed due to maintenance problems.  I talked to at least three other people who had taken connecting flights to New York and were all delayed because of maintenance; I was expecting the same on the way back.  Thankfully, there were no delays save for an extra 30 minutes to taxi.  Lest Delta jump from America's number one least favorite airline, they had to attempt something ridiculous.  They served us pizza and gelato on the the flight back from Rome.  Sorry, I mean "pizza" and "gelato."  It was an individual, boxed, microwaved pizza, and a Dixie cup with different packaging.  I laughed out loud.  On the flight to Rome, ok, but really?  On the way back, after everyone has clearly indulged in the best pizza and creamy, whole, delicious gelato?  

My second flight was from New York to Detroit--a tiny, crowded plane, you know the kind.  I had the window seat; I love the window seat--better view, easier to sleep, etc.  The man in front of me had a broken seat, one that wouldn't stay in the upright position.  Frankly, it didn't bother me.  Sure, I have an inch or two less leg room, but I didn't really have a comfortable seat to begin with, so what's the big deal?  (Did you hear about the man who got into a physical fight with another passenger on a recent 11 hour flight to Africa because he put his seat back?  They turned the plane around had to have two fighter jets accompany it back in case it was a distraction for a terrorist.  It cost something like $60,000.  Because a man leaned his seat back.  On an 11 hour flight.)  As we were about to taxi, a flight attendant came over and asked him to please put his seat up.  He showed her that he couldn't, but told her that he would just sit up during takeoff (yeah, great idea).  She informed him that she would have to find him another seat for his own safety.  She looked around for a minute and told him there was a free aisle seat a few rows back.  He looked at her, got this attitude, and said, "But I want an aisle seat."  Really, sir?  You are 50 years old.  Don't whine like a preteen girl.  It was an hour and fifteen minute flight from New York to Detroit.  There's not much to see.  I could tell the flight attendant was frustrated (understandably), so I took the aisle seat and he took my window seat.  As we used to say at Milaeger's--People.  They're the worst.
But, I made it back physically unscathed.  We got to our house in Flat Rock where I opened my big suitcase and moved some stuff to a smaller suitcase, slept for about 5 hours, and took off for Racine to celebrate my grandma's 80th birthday.   

Isn't she the cutest?  I hope I look that good at 80.

The following Monday I went to Chicago to spend the week with Adam, whom I hadn't seen since the beginning of January.

Look, we aren't 7 hours apart anymore!

 Memorial Day I returned to the Flattest of Rocks and tomorrow I will head back to my beloved Hope and Holland to do summer research with the history department.  

I haven't had reverse culture shock thus far--maybe it just hasn't hit yet, maybe it's due to so much moving around, maybe it won't ever come, I don't know.  I am happy to be back to a place where I know where I can buy things and buy many different things in one place (i.e. Kohl's, Walgreens, etc...).  I am happy to be rid of pigeons and those seagulls that made such a ridiculous noise outside of my window (They kind of sounded like monkeys.  I kid you not).  I am happy to not smell city smells all of the time; to smell grass and the smell that comes with being near water.  I am happy to be back to a kitchen that has windows.  I am happy to be back in a place where I am not breathing in tons and tons of second hand smoke.

I miss Italy more than I am happy to be back though, I think.  I miss walking everywhere, as weird as that is.  I don't know how well all of that walking would translate here as I have a lot more specific time commitments, but it was lovely.  I really miss my favorite take away pizza place i suppli.  They had such delicious pizza and suppli, their namesake (suppli are balls of rice mixed with tomato sauce and a bit of ground meat with a chunk of melty mozzarella in the middle, breaded and fried.  Sounds weird, tastes delicious).  There were always Romans inside and the same two to six men working.  My favorite was a bald man who became more friendly as I kept coming and he realized I wasn't just a tourist.  

I miss the Tiber.  The Tiber is a bit like the Root River in Racine.  You love it because it's part of the oldest history of your city, but in reality, it's just a dirty river.  But you ignore that and hold it close to your heart.  I love the Tiber.  As long as I could get to the river, I could find my way home.  I loved walking along the river, especially once I got back from Barcelona and all of the trees had blossomed.  

The river is on the right.  Miles of tree tunnels.

I loved walking under the branches of the trees.  It was always the perfect temperature because the sun wasn't beating down on my head, but it also wasn't full shade.  The trunks have this wonderful painted look.  I felt snuggled between the city and the river, intimately part of Rome.  As many cathedrals and ancient works of art that I saw, I was always smitten with my beloved trees.  Occasionally, I would find myself pressing my hand flat against one of them, hoping to soak in some of their steadfastness.  I miss my trees.

 I also miss my park.  I passed the park almost every day on my way to school during the first half of the semester when I took the tram.  It's right on one of the busier streets and there are usually dogs playing.  I'm surprised, honestly, that I loved it so much.  I typically prefer parks with tons of nature, if you will, and quiet.  This park was neither of those things, but there were always Italians there, chatting, resting, smoking.  Old men would come and sit down on a bench next to me and just sit.  Not reading, not writing, not talking to anyone, just sitting.  I love the fountain in the park and there was always, again, the perfect amount of sun and shade.

I don't mind the pigeons if they stay up there and look quaint.

That man sleeping on the cardboard was not my favorite part.  And he was only there once.

I did a lot of reading and writing here.

I miss seeing the man with two big dogs, a touch screen cellphone, and a sign asking for money.

I miss seeing this Space Invader almost every day: 

Love love love.

 I miss seeing this door on my way up to our apartment every day:

I hate that bassline between scenes, though....

 I miss seeing this outside my window every morning:

I am also going to really miss blogging.  It has been a lovely way to do some creative writing amidst a life of research papers.  I would love to keep on keeping on, but do you really want to read about my latest trip to the farmer's market or why I was disappointed with the book Water for Elephants?  Probably not.  

Thanks for reading and sharing in my adventures.  Now that I'm back, let's get together and talk in real time?

Tanto, tanto amore,
Hannah

Traditions That Are Not My Own

Hello everyone!  The craziest thing just happened in my life, although it probably happened in yours as well--May came!  In 18 days (that's just over two weeks?!) I will be cursing Delta's delays and crossing the pond once more.  I heard it was in the high 50s this week in Michigan.  Great.

Anyways, the past two weekends have been interesting.  April 24, as you all know was Pasqua (Easter).  This year was the first of my life that I didn't wake up to a pink Easter basket filled with either green or purple grass.  I didn't go to my beloved Pentecost for breakfast.  I didn't place my hand over my five-year-old handprint on the apron I made for my dad--the one he wears every year as he butters toast in the church kitchen.  You can always tell who the newbies are because they wear the aprons with "Pentecost" printed on the front; they haven't brought their own.  I didn't get to say "He is risen indeed! Alleluia!" with the men and women who taught me in Sunday school and helped forge a strong faith in me.  I briefly considered going to a Catholic mass, but it wouldn't really have been a celebration of the resurrection, just another culture study.  

Instead, I headed over the the church that I try to attend when I'm in Rome on Sunday mornings: Rome Baptist.  I'm not Baptist nor am I entirely crazy about the pastor there, but it's in English and I feel that those who come worship in earnest.  It's sort of a passing through place--because it's English speaking, many people who are here for only a few years come, many students studying abroad like myself come, and there are always a decent number of people just visiting Rome for a week or two attend  There are no small town politics involved, no family legacies, no craning necks to see if the high school floozy showed up this week.  People, for the most part, are there simply to go to church.  While I didn't get to celebrate in the sanctuary I grew up in, I did get to worship with people from Guatemala, the Philippines, Scotland, Kenya, England, Australia, and the States. It was a group of people unlike one I have ever been in church with and it was wonderful.  

It turned out to be a beautiful day so I sat in the park and did some writing, then wandered over to my favorite gelato place.  I passed through Piazza Navona (where St. Agnes was beheaded-I freaked out.  So much church history underneath my $20 Target sandals!) and this is what I saw:

Sorry that the quality is so poor.  It was hilarious and quite impressive.  The older gentleman, as you can see, was playing the accordion on a bike that was on rollers.  Even more astounding was the fact that I walked up while he was playing, stood there for a good 5 minutes, and then walked away, and he never stopped playing.  Only in Italy. 

This past Sunday, as many of you know, was the beatification of Pope John Paul II (I'm not entirely sure what all of it means; I heard from some it makes him a saint and from others that it's a step in becoming a saint.  Dictionary.com says that is is a declaration that a person is among the blessed and it's the first step to canonization. It also offered all in attendance forgiveness of sin).  At one point, it was estimated that 3 million people were going to be coming to Rome for the event.  It turned out that only about 1.5 million (only-ha) went to the Holy See for the ceremony.  2 star hotels were charging 250 Euro a night (with the exchange rate, that's about 370 USD).  I toyed with the idea of not attending; I knew it was going to be crowded, but I felt like I couldn't be in Rome as this happened and not go.  So, Gemma and I left our neighborhood around 8:00am and headed over to the Vatican.  Getting there was pretty epic and included hopping a fence and Gemma nearly fistfighting with a member of the Vatican police.

If you've not ever seen what the Vatican City looks like, please Google it now, it will make things a lot easier.  So, there is the circular piazza that is right outside the building of the Vatican, and then there is a road that leads straight out from that.  After moving with the crowd for about 20 minutes, we ended up about 1/2 way down that street, which was way beyond what I had envisioned.  We had a great view of one of the screens and if I leaned over and squinted, I could make out the area where the pope was sitting in his throne (can I call it that?).  People had camped out all night and come from all over the world.  We talked to a man who was from Vancouver, Canada and got to the Vatican at 4:00am, which was silly, because we ended up with a much better spot than him.  

The ground was covered in paper.

There were so many people.

No picture from my point and shoot camera can do the masses justice.

People people people.

Me and Gem.  Doing our thing.

These folks were keeping it classy. The one in the flannel was eating a Slim Jim on a slice of bread and the one in the green was eating baby food out of a jar.

 The current pope, Pope Benedict XVI came out on his popemobile with the casket of Pope John Paul II on the front.  A man read the achievements of John Paul II, Benedict said some stuff in Latin, and it was done in about half an hour, which surprised me.

The screen. I wonder if this made Pope Benedict feel bad about himself.

So, Pope John Paul II was beatified and then Gemma looked at me and said, "I think they are going to do a whole mass.  We can stay if you want to, but I'm good."  So, we started heading out.  And this is where is got really interesting.  For a while, we were able to sneak our way through the people with a bit of squeezing and apologizing; then we came across a group of people that just refused to let us through.  At one point, I was able to sneak behind a man, but then he backed into the person behind him and started yelling, "Basta! Basta! (meaning enough or stop) at Gemma.  Gemma was saying that she was with me and had to get through and he just refused to move.  Obviously, we are not big people barreling through.  All we need is a bit of space and we can sneak by, but he was not having it.  It would have been easier for him to just lean forward for two seconds.  Gemma started feeling sick because of all the people, so we were trying to hurry and a woman snapped at me so I told her my friend was sick (in Italian!) and she said something nasty back.  It made no sense to me--it's like all of these people were surprised and annoyed that there was a big crowd at the event they were at.  The charitable and loving spirit of Pope John Paul II was abounding.  He would have been so proud. 

Please note that the last two sentences were sticky with sarcasm.

Finally, finally, we made it out and walked home.  The street and next two bridges were crammed with people, which is maybe a mile?  I don't really know.  I know it was far.  We came across this stereotypical fellow as well.  He made me happy.

A fat monk, sittin' on a wall, next to his pink and green backpack.  Life is good.

Being Lutheran, it was an interesting look into Catholic culture.  And it certainly makes for a good story to save for my grandkids.

I hope you are all feeling spring and enjoying some sunshine.  See you soon!

Dreaming in Green

It's going to be another long one, so if you get bored, just stop reading; I won't be offended.  As long as you don't tell me.  Deal?

One of the things that the IES Rome program offers in a three day field trip to another part of Italy.  We were given the options of Venice, Cinque Terre, or Pompeii and the Amalfi Coast.  I immediately chose Pompeii without a second thought.

When I was learning how to read, every night before I went to bed I had to read an easy reader book to either my mom or my dad.  I remember having one about a rabbit family that I had memorized so I tried to "read" that one every night.  My mom caught on to that after about the third night I turned the page before I finished reading the sentence.  You didn't really need to know that.  Anyway, I also had one when I was about six or seven about the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius and the citizens of Pompeii.  I can still picture one of the illustrations--it was painted in shades of browns and dull reds and depicted burning matter spewing from the peak, ash raining down everywhere, and people running away with their arms in the air, screaming, I imagine.  It was one of my favorites.  So I was pretty excited to see the real thing.

We got on the bus at 8:00 am (which meant that I got up at 6:00 am.  I think most real Italians don't even know that 6:00 am exists...) and had a 3 hour ride.  When we got to Pompeii, I was really excited in my nerdy way for the tour to start.  I'll be honest, I love a good tour guide.  This was not a good tour guide.  First of all, she sounded suspiciously Russian but said that she grew up in Naples.  She started the tour off by describing to us what a forum was and talked in her normal speaking voice.  She skipped over two of the most important aspects, the temple and the larger amphitheatre, and then she reprimanded me for touching a pillar with my pointer finger.  The thing has survived since before 79 AD and withstood a volcanic eruption.  I don't think resting my finger on it is going to cause it to crumble.  Either way, she was a total let down, so a few of us splintered off and took our own tour.  I was satisfied.  You'll also notice that I swapped out my red coat for a green jacket.

The column that I offended.  To the left was a training arena for gladiators.

Oh hey, ruins of Pompeii.

I also enjoy a good ironic gate.

Mt. Vesuvius in the background, looking all calm and picturesque.

The kid in the striped shirt was doing a news segment for his mom's video camera.  It was hilarious.

Happy in the temple ruins.  Does that make me morbid?

A preserved dog.

A crouching man, trying to protect himself from the doomsday ash.

Hi, I'm Hannah, and I could be a better tour guide.

After Pompeii, we headed back to the bus and made our way to Sorrento, the quaint town that we were staying in.  We were served dinner in the hotel restaurant, a three course meal (it was pre-arranged, we did no ordering, which was fine with me).  I had steak for dinner and I never ever have steak.  But I did!  And I liked it!  Lemons are very prominent in that region of Italy (it's where most of the limoncello is made), so our dessert was lemon overload.  A lemon whipped cream, a lemon custard-like cream over the top, limoncello around the outside, candied lemon peel on the side, and regular lemon slices as garnish.

A lemon mountain.

The next morning, we boarded our bus to head to Amalfi.  We knew it was going to be a good trip because we were going to be transported by a Syrenbus, whose motto is "Pleasure wheels."  How could it not be a good day?

I wonder who thought this was a good idea?

My good friend here, Gemma, is in a homestay.  I was chatting with her host mom, Anna, and told her that I had chosen to go on the field trip that included the Amalfi Coast. She told me to make sure that I sat on the right side of the bus in order to get the good view.  I am so glad we had that conversation, because the right side of the bus was definitely the place to be.  We were basically driving on cliffs--the road was as narrow as many in Rome, but we were in a huge bus on the side of a mountain.  A lot of people were freaking out, but frankly, it was a lot less scary than the time that my dad drove us up the side of Pike's Peak (sorry, Daddy!).  These drivers have serious talent (please see my post on the Etruscan tombs for proof).  We stopped at a kind of lookout point to take some pictures along the coast. 

Amalfi Coast.  Not bad for a bus picture.

Can I move into one of those houses?  Please?

So vibrant.

Such beautiful shades of blue.

And, of course, a Santa Maria.

 Each place that I have gone to in Italy has been beautiful (save for Naples and Palermo) in a unique way and makes me want to leave even less.  After we passed through Amalfi, we stopped in a teeny town named Positano (after Poseidon, the water god); both Amalfi and Positano are stunning.  The water is an honest shade of blue and the water feels soft.  The beach was made up of stones and when the waves rolled back, they made the most wonderful clackclackclackclack sound.  There were colorful rowboats pulled up onto shore and houses perched one on top of the other, smiling at the sea.

There were also some handsome Italian men in a few of these boats, in case you were wondering.

I'm thinking a farm in Tuscany and a beach house here.  Anyone want to donate to my Italian fund?

Then, we hopped into a boat (which was a bit of a feat--in the Italian style, we "docked" without an actual pier in sight) and sailed around to the Emerald Grotto.  This little grotto is know for the beautiful colors inside.  Stalactites hang from the ceiling and stalagmites poke upwards, growing at 1 cm every 40 years.  Sunlight enters the grotto through an opening near the ocean floor reflecting the most beautiful and unusual blues and greens.  We boarded little rowboats and went around the grotto (it's really not that big inside) and our guide thought that he spoke English, but no one had any idea what he was saying.  He kept saying "nativity" and apparently at some point, some people put a porcelain nativity scene in the water.  It's not the best picture, but it was wavy.

Before we got splashed.  Multiple times.

Sophia Loren has a house just a bit further down.  She has good taste in vacation spots.

Headed to the Grotto!

This has been edited in no way whatsoever. It's this brilliant blue spot in a dark cave. So incredible.

This seems like a good time to be reminded of Christ's birth....

 After we all saw the Emerald Grotto, we took the boat back to shore, got back on the Syrenbus, and headed to another small town, Ravello.  The only thing that we saw in Ravello was this ridiculous villa that has been sold for sinful amounts of money.  At one point, Richard Wagner spent time at this villa and wrote some of his music (Adam, I walked on the same ground as Richard Wagner!  Jealous?).

This is the view from the terrace.  Yes, please.

One of the gardens full of pansies.

A happy little gecko.

Postcard.

Postcard number two.

Finally on the third day, we boarded another Syrenbus and headed to Naples.  Oh, Naples, what a treat.  I always pictured Naples as another picturesque Italian city.  Nope.  It's a trash heap.  They've had a lot of Mafia problems and at one point the trash got so bad that the powers that be (the EU) threatened to step in, so they cleaned up their act (sorry, I couldn't resist), but only just enough.  It was also Palm Sunday, so everyone was carrying around olive branches.  Yes, olive branches, not palm branches.  There are palms all over here.  I love Italy.

This doesn't really do it justice.  It mounds over the sidewalks and into the streets.

A random castle.

Yes, this trash heap was, in fact, past eye level (about 5'3").

This facade was interesting.  It reminded me of studded belts "punks" wore in middle school.

...and the communist headquarters. It was next to a sweet little flower shop.

 As of today, April 20, I will be flying home in exactly one month, and I know that it is going to crash by.  You all still have 30 days to come visit me!
Happy Easter!