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Newsletter Sign-Up Monday, May 25, 2009: Rome
Jaime and Brad Kuntz are Athena's first sibling bloggers! Jaime attends Chapman University, while Brad is enrolled at the University of Southern California. They are blogging about their study abroad experiences in Rome, Italy.JAIME
Barcelona
The weekend before finals, and after our 4 papers were due, I flew to Barcelona to meet up with some of my girlfriends and to see my friends and host family from when I previously studied abroad there. I met up with my two really good friends from Chapman, Elyse and Chelsea. Elyse's older sister, Amanda, and Chelsea's friend, Tracy, who also studied in Florence with Chelsea came too.
We all took the low-cost airline, RyanAir, into Girona and then took a bus into the city of Barcelona. We all arrived within about 20 minutes of each other so it worked out perfectly. The bus was really easy and a gorgeous, green drive. It went by quickly since we were all so excited to be there and had a lot to catch up on. When we arrived, my friend Guti came and picked us up. We stayed in his apartment with him and his sister, Ana. Once we arrived there wasn't much time to kill. Us girls were told to get ready as fast as we could so that we could make it to our 10 pm dinner at a sushi restaurant.
In Spain it's very uncommon if a family eats before 10 or 11 pm. After some sushi and sangria, us girls, Guti and some of his friends all went out to a club called Opium del Mar which was right on the water and very fun. We stayed out until about 5 am, but the club was still packed as we were leaving. Needless to say, we were exhausted and had a lot ahead of us for the rest of the weekend, so we were okay to go back to the apartment.
We decided not to sleep in too late, despite the night owl lifestyle, since there was so much to show all my friends in Barcelona. On Friday we walked through an outdoor market and then went to Parc Güell. It was a beautiful day, so Gaudi's incredible park was so much fun. We decided to do a reenactment of one of the finales from America's Next Top Model which took place in the one of the absurd, open hallways. There were random people taking pictures of us, they must have thought that we were actually models!
After the park we walked around a little bit and then went back home for a power nap. The girls came with me later to my host families house (just a 20 minute walk uphill) and my host mother, Maria Alba, made us dinner. She made us a tortilla de patatas, which is my ABSOLUTE favorite meal from Spain. It is like a really thick omelet with onions and potatoes inside. It is SO difficult to make, so I try to take advantage of ordering it and eating it while I'm in Spain.
My host family was doing really well, and I was so excited to see them again. It had been 2 years since we last saw each other. I wish I could have spent more time with them, but I didn't have much time in Barcelona to begin with this time around. We went out to a music bar later that night where we were greeted with champagne at entrance so we weren't too disappointed.
Saturday we had another fairly slow morning, starting with a café con leche, and headed toward La Sagrada Familia, which is Gaudi's famous, intricate cathedral that has been in construction for almost 100 years. It's just so detailed and abstract from most architecture. My friends Carla and Ari (who came to visit earlier in the semester) met up with us at La Sagrada Familia and then we all migrated to café nearby to have some lunch and drinks. I ordered the tortilla de patatas ... of course.
We then went downtown where all the shopping is, and where I spent a lot of my time when I lived there. We stopped and got my favorite snack, a gofre, which is a really sweet Belgian waffle with chocolate sauce and whipped cream. We then continued on to La Rambla which is a very famous street in Barcelona full of vendors and people that dress up like statues. The street leads to the ocean, but we didn't make it that far. Instead, we stopped and got some typical tapas which are just a bunch of delicious appetizers.
That night a couple of us went out to a club called Ribelinos; not everyone could quite take the heat of such late nights and sightseeing everyday. It was a lot of fun, and my friend Carla came too. Unfortunately I had to be at the bus stop by 11 am the next day, so I didn't stay out too late. The bus ride was sad knowing that I had to leave such a wonderful city and go back to studying for finals and packing my apartment up. It was a really fun trip, but I was exhausted for the rest of the week.
Goodbye Dinner: Jaime
On Thursday evening I made it to the Farewell Dinner that LdM threw for us. I met up with some other girls to find it, and good thing, because it was very difficult to find. After we finally found it, we ended up at a typical Roman style restaurant where they serve food that was eaten in those times. The servers even dressed up in the old time tunics and robes.
To be honest ... I didn't really care for it all that much, some was good, but all in all I can't say it was my favorite Italian food. It was still a fun time regardless and there was a pretty good turnout. We were in a very young area of Rome, which was a change, so it was fun to walk around and see the outside area of bars with people our age. We hung around there for a while, where Brad magically found us.
I was SO overwhelmed with joy when he showed up, mostly because I had left my keys in the apartment and had no way to contact him since his phone was broken, but also because I didn't want him to miss out on our last night with all our peers. Unfortunately, I had to call it an early night, I was just too exhausted and had way much to get done on our last day in Rome.
Final Thoughts: Jaime
It was hard to believe that Brad and I had already completed a semester in Rome. It went by so fast that I hardly remember the beginning. We got to see so many places, cool things, and learn a lot about where we were living. I loved having classes that dealt mostly with the Italian culture; it was easier to understand everything that we experienced. I am so glad that I chose Rome as my Italian city to study in.
I never ran out of things to do, and saw something new or noticed something I hadn't noticed before every single day. The popular study location in Italy, Florence, would have been way too small for me to live in for a whole semester. It is a beautiful city, but I feel like when I'm there that there are more American University students than native Fiorentini. So I don't think I would have had the same experience, but who knows, it's different for everyone.
It depends how much you are willing to step out of your comfort zone. Our school was great, and the staff was so awesome. They worked so hard and did so much for us to enhance our experience. Our apartment was in a key location, and I will never forget every single time that I just ran over to the Coliseum just to look at it. We were so blessed to have our situation. I am especially glad that I was there with my brother. I loved to watch his excitement of being there, since he hadn't experienced study abroad before. He definitely took care of me -- I always felt safe.
I'll miss Rome, but I tossed at least 10 coins in the Trevi so I have no doubt that I will be back. Since I've been home, I had a day and a half to recover and then get thrown back into action. I started summer school that Monday, and will not have a break the whole summer; on top of that I have started working a little, but won't go full-time until the middle of June. I think I'll miss the laid back attitude of Italy. Thanks to all our readers this semester! Ciao!
BRAD
Home Alone, Lost In Rome
The weekend that Jaime left me in Rome alone to visit her friends in Barcelona was by far the craziest weekend I have ever had studying abroad, and quite possibly the wildest weekend of my life.
Now, I would not necessarily accuse Rome's Pub Crawls of being tourist traps because they exist in plenty of large cities, but because it is an easy way to drink excessively at multiple pubs, meet new people, and get a free t-shirt and pizza, a substantial number of young American tourists tend to flock to these Pub Crawls on their short Roman holidays. So despite our agendas of participating in strictly Roman activities, a large group of other LdM students and I agreed that in our final days of living in the city, we would join the tourists at the Spanish Steps and crawl from pub to pub just to say that we did it. At worst, it would be 20 euro in the hole.
I was solitary in my apartment writing an email (more like a novel) to one of my best friends, Stu, back in Los Angeles. Consequently, I was running a bit behind schedule, but I quickly threw on my best narrow-toed leather shoes, slacks, and a black collared shirt, and literally ran through the streets to meet my LdM friends at their apartment. I knew the road they lived on, but had never actually been to their front door, so I pulled my phone out of my pocket to give them a jingle and it died. I raised a curious eyebrow since I had just fully charged it, and I turned it on again only for it to die just before I could dial my buddy. Peachy.
I briefly considered yelling at each window before I took off running and booked it towards the nearby Barberini Metro station, just one stop away from my destination at the Spanish Steps. Underground, I slyly slid my month-long Metro pass into the turnstile machine, feeling like a true local, and was denied twice before I realized that it had expired for the month of April...it was the first week in May, and I felt like a true tourist. If I had a month left in Rome, I would have ran to a tabacchi (tobacco store) and bought a new pass for May, but this was my last week, so I turned around and walked ten feet to a vending machine for a one way ticket. I fumbled with my wallet and glared at my lone 50 euro bill -- the machines take only 5's or coins. To make matters worse, the adjacent snack vending machines only took 20's -- no chance for change.
So, sticky and humbled, I ran out of the station in search of a store and entered the nearest one, but the line was long enough that I ran out before anybody looked up. The only other businesses on the street were restaurants, and I did not know from whom to ask for change, but I spotted an ATM across the street and nearly knocked the man over in front of me as I inserted my card. After a quick rejection revealing that one may not withdrawal 5's, but 20's at minimum, I jogged back down to the station, purchased a cheap processed pastry in the snack vending machine and bought a one euro ticket with my change. I grudgingly ate the chocolate coffee flavored cake on the escalator down to the track and got off the train one stop later.
I had to find humor in the comedic screenplay situation I was in and laugh a little. I was fifteen minutes late, and had no idea where the first pub lay on the crawl, but I jogged, panting and exhausted, towards the steps and spotted my group of friends just as they and the guide were departing for it. I never cease to amaze myself. Needless to say, I had quite a story to tell on the walk over. Whether the night would be fun or not, just simply making it there was satisfying in and of itself.
The first pub had a free t-shirt on entry, and for an hour had an open bar (jugged wine served in plastic cups and Carlsberg beer) and free slices of mangy pizza. I stuck with beer. After sitting and watching soccer and socializing in a large loose circle with our group we noticed that beyond the many American tourists, other folks from Britain, Scotland, France, and other countries were there too. I returned to my seat with a fresh brew and a belly full of beer to find a cute, curly brunette girl sitting in the chair next to mine. She responded with a French accent when I struck up conversation. I quickly learned that her name was Emma and she was a med-student from Caledonia, a French occupied island off the coast of Australia. She introduced me to her thin, gorgeous, blonde friend, Veronica, and their friend Toma, both of whom were also from Caledonia studying medicine. All were on a weeklong vacation in Rome.
We departed for the next pub and my new French-Caledonian acquaintances and I chatted as we crawled, and received limoncello shots at the next front door entrance. I didn't have time to introduce them to my group. I was whisked away immediately to the dance floor to be passed back and forth between the two girls for the rest of the night.
We were herded all over central Rome and ended at a happening club, Gilda, where we danced until obscene hours when I said goodbye to my newfound friends. My LdM friends had all left by this time, and I had no clue where I was, but I chained my way around the barren streets of late night Rome and eventually stumbled upon my apartment and crawled into bed.
Catacombe San Domitilla
I slept in sufficiently the next morning, and awoke in a stench with chapped lips wearing not much more than my recently acquired pub crawl t-shirt. I showered and dressed, thought about whom I might like to hang out with then remembered that my phone was broken. As I researched the history of a few catacombs around Rome and how to get there, I checked Facebook to see if anybody in town was online, but nobody was. I was soon thereafter out the door, free of a cell phone and armed with an iPod, three crayons, a notebook, and a vague idea of where I was going.
It is liberating to be free of any form of communication. Nobody knew where I was, nobody could call and ask me where I was, and I was not able to get onto the addicting and increasingly indispensable internet to contact anybody. I became an old explorer, a vagabond wanderer, just an unknown stranger in this world. And I loved it. Pink Floyd was the score to my brisk walk along the highway, and as I approached the location of vague idea of where I was going, my bearings sort of blurred into oblivion until I consulted a roadside map.
Suburban Rome lies on top of miles and miles of a network of underground burial tunnels and chambers called catacombs. My only experience navigating catacombs is from playing the animated game, Diablo, on the computer. The map directed me towards Via Appia Antica, which I knew to be the residence of many of these catacomb entrances, so I moseyed in that direction. The catacombs lay outside of the city limits because ancient law forbade burial within central Rome when pagan cremation was the norm.
The earliest burials were clandestine, Christian martyrs buried in secret, as followers of Christianity were relentlessly prosecuted, but after Emperor Constantine passed legislation making Christianity the official religion of Rome, the Christians underground burials proliferated and the catacombs expanded like a spider web around the city. At the end of the road I saw a large bold sign that said CATACOMBE SAN DOMITILLA, and I was sold.
Outside of the church, I entered the gardens and was taken aback by their tranquility and mysticism. A larger than life bearded statue head peered through a flower bed at me. Early Christian symbolism was etched on stones scattered throughout the gardens, and flowers were laid at the feet of Jesus Christ in his shrine. Beyond the garden blew a field of my favorite deep red Roman poppies. I put my crayons to use while I waited at a garden picnic table for the English tour of the catacombs, but a simultaneous combination of listening to music and focusing guaranteed that I missed it.
My misfortunes melted and recast me into the lucky recipient of a one on one personal guided tour of the catacombs. She led me thirty feet underground, into the only originally underground basilica in Rome. A procession of pillars lined the side of the grand buried sanctuary and led us to the entrance of the largest underground catacombs in Rome. At its deepest it descends ninety feet underground, spontaneous chimney chutes are used to circulate air downward. Carved into the walls of the short narrow tunnels are horizontal nooks that served as resting places for the early Christians of Rome.
Symbolic fresco art was still preserved around the tombs but the bodies had long returned to dust after centuries of decay and disintegration. I felt rather claustrophobic, even though I thought high school wrestling had conquered my fear of small spaces. Without my guide, I would have been lost in the catacomb labyrinth forever ... and being without my cell phone, nobody would have known about it either.
Dom Perignon with Katto -- Peccato Divino
Later, back at my apartment, I kept close by the computer to facilitate contact with the outside world. I almost returned to my never ending project of listening to song samples and making epic playlists, but panicked and quickly changed my mind when I remembered that this was my last full weekend in Rome. I Facebook chatted with some girl friends of mine who lived in an apartment by the Vatican and they invited me over. In minutes I was dressed and primped with a bottle of white wine for my hosts and an iPod for the trek, and I set out for a night on the town outside Vatican City.
With a vague idea of where the apartment was, I walked past it at least four times searching for their front door. Luckily a fine young resident let me in because I had neither a phone to call nor knew the displayed name to ring a buzzer. Upstairs, Susan, Luisa, Ashley and I conversed over a few Tuscan wines and the Lazio wine I had brought over, I talked about my solo trip to the catacombs, and we watched YouTube videos until we had a real hankering for some live jazz music. Luisa and I had been to a nearby jazz bar, Fonclea, earlier in the year and decided that we ought to venture that way once again.
Time must have slipped through our fingers with wine glasses in hand because by the time we got there, the band had packed up and the bar was on its last call, so we devoured a few quick pints before being booted. Outside the entrance we started talking to a man that we met with a guitar on his back. He had been playing music and making indie films around Italy most of his life, and happened to be playing the guitar at Fonclea on this particular night. After inquiring of an open establishment to continue our festivities, he recommended that we walk a few blocks down the street to an enoteca (wine bar) called Peccato Divino (Divine Sin).
The sign above the door encompassed devil horns protruding from a wine glass and the elegant place was vacant except for a few old men. They said that they were closed, but graciously offered Luisa and I a candlelight table for two. We laughed at how romantic our night out on the town had become. We opened the menu and quickly deduced that we could barely afford less than one percent of it. Every region of Italy's finest wines along with French, Chilean, German and other prominent wine countries ... some costing over 200 euro per bottle. We opted for the cheapest bottle of Venetian Prosecco sparkling wine on the menu. A conversation transpired about the glamorization and minimalism of wine in various socioeconomic classes which evolved into discussing the cultural functions of the bide and whether God exists.
I looked up from our table, through our empty Prosecco bottle, and smiling back at me with an air of dignity was a short rather odd looking old Asian man in his sixties, difficult to discern in the flickering candlelight, but wore an all white suit, a red bow tie and round spectacles. He introduced himself as Katto, and we humored him with small talk in Italian. Then the Italian man who had let us in, a civil engineer and film executive, approached our table and reintroduced Katto as “The Prince of Japan.” He explained to us that his grandfather had been the emperor of Japan and Katto was now a world renowned traveling doctor. In English, Katto invited us to join him, the owner of the wine bar, and his two friends at their table.
“You are my guests, order whatever you would like,” said Katto. Feeling overwhelmed, I responded, “we want whatever you want.” A bottle of Dom Perignon appeared in a crystal bucket of ice at the table. Luisa and I made eye contact, indicating both “whoa, Dom with the prince” and “how ironic that we were just bashing expensive wine at our previous table.” We all spoke in Italian because it was everybody's common language, and everybody smoked cigarettes because it was Italy. It was my grand opportunity to put any conversational skills from Italian class to good use.
Katto was an entertainer, loved being the center of attention. We listened to him speak bubbly in the five languages he knew from practicing around the world, he playfully accused the Italian men present of being Mafiosi, and he apologized profusely to me for flirting with my girlfriend, claiming that he was a “civilized person,” though I assured him that Luisa was just a friend from school. We were having a great time, and I was doing my best at being genuine, establishing a connection between Katto and me that we had both lived in Japan, and making any conversation that I could in my new tongue.
Things took a turn when I thanked Katto for the wine, he lectured me, “do not say grazie (thank you), say piacere (pleasure). A beggar would say Grazie if you gave him change, but any man of status says Piacere because he needs no gifts.” How arrogant, I thought. This bottle of Dom is more expensive than the sum total of my wine expenses for the semester.
When he asked and I reminded him that I was raised in Montana, he patronized that, I did not know my country, did not know New York, Hollywood, or Los Angeles and did not know anything. I steamed and shot back, “I have seen nearly all of my country including New York, I live in Los Angeles, party in Hollywood, and you can go (insert explicative).” I was not being hostile, just defensive, and playful to a certain extent. Everybody laughed hysterically at my retort.
Katto ordered beers for everyone and informed me that he could send me into my next life in a split second with his karate, then went on and on to the owner that I was a nice person. I saw Luisa shudder when Katto stood up to play chiropractor on me and cracked my neck both ways. As eight in the morning rolled around my Italian grew feeble, and the poor rich owner seemed ready to be rid of Katto. I paid the owner for my 23 euro bottle of Prosecco, and he ducked into his silver Porsche. We practically had to push the logorrheic Katto inside and they sped off in the morning light.
Attivo, Passivo
I awoke in the girls' spare apartment bed in the late afternoon and set off towards my neck of the woods. I stopped short at the Vatican wall. I found it too ironic that a final goal of mine in Rome was to explore the Vatican museum with an iPod and I happened to be right outside of it equipped with an iPod from the previous night's trek. I suppose everything happens for a reason. I am always exactly where I am supposed to be for one reason or another, because whatever path I have chosen to be on has led me to where I am right now. My words would not do justice in feebly attempting to describe the experience of standing before the Sistine Chapel and listening to the Beatles and Ratatat. I wanted to cry but I could not.
I looked on sympathetically as people held their cameras up, stared intently at the Liquid Crystal Display screens that blocked their view of the frescoes, and snapped shots of the Chapel, attempting to capture a supreme moment with the flash of an electronic eye and remember it in the mind of a memory card. Pictures for the sole sake of external remembering lose their artistic quality, and become a memory only within the parameters of the picture. High definition megapixels will never exceed the infinitesimal voxels of the observable universe -- a photograph will never surpass an experience.
I napped back at my apartment. After opening my eyes, the fate of my social life was once again subject to the probability of the union of two events: me being online and a friend I like being online, although I would not confuse a mathematical model of chance with the destiny of my night. I made contact with a group of my East coast LdM friends and we agreed to meet at Trinity College, an Irish Pub between Piazza Venezia and the Trevi Fountain.
The pub's low lights and loud hip hop made it seem more like a club. My previous night's story of Dom with the Prince of Japan was barely audible, but entertaining nevertheless. A little later, we travelled down the road to Scholar's Irish Pub in vain because my friends were too inebriated to stick around. I had a wheat beer and watched soccer highlights and chatted with my loyal straggler, Jared.
It was late and should have gone home, but I continued down the street for no apparent reason and ran into a man that started talking to me. He was in his forties and called himself Luigi. He did not speak a word of English, so once again, I took advantage of an opportunity to practice my Italian skills. He had come from a town an hour away to party in Rome for a night, and was waiting out the darkness to catch his train home. We walked to an all night café back towards Scholars and I bought him and me a café corretto sambuca.
Finals Week
Sunday morning I went out in search for a flea market, but to no avail, so I just walked around Rome and saw street bands bopping in Piazza Navona and moseyed the flower market in Campo di Fiori. Jaime returned a few hours later and it was time to buckle down and study for finals. When she asked how my weekend was, I wanted to roll on the floor laughing insanely at the unfathomability of every event that had transpired since she had left.
I walked down the block during a study session to buy and deliver some pizza to our apartment. On my way, I ran into an Italian couple with a map out and they asked me for directions to their hotel. I had written on my application to study abroad that I wanted to speak Italian and know Rome well enough to give directions, and here was my chance. I successfully gave them directions, although whether they were mutually intelligible enough for them to successfully find their hotel or whether they are still wandering the streets will forever be a mystery to me.
Studying and finals did not put a damper on my last week in Rome. The interesting subject material of all our classes made studying enjoyable, and in art therapy and wine tasting we managed to drink wine during our tests. Needless to say, I was not too stressed out, and I felt as though I learned a lot. As a bonus, I think my tests and overall class grades were very well too. If I were getting credit for the classes I would check to be sure, but I am not, and my studiousness was for my love of learning, not for a grade.
After our wine final, Jaime and I went out to Al Boschetto one last time with our friends, Dave and Chris. We were disappointed that our all time waiter, Alessandro, was not working there anymore, so we did not receive our usual discount. Our last supper of food and wine was fabulous as usual though -- I had the famous Roman pasta alla carbonara one last time. We walked to the Surge for a couple rounds of darts before retiring for the night without studying for the next morning's early exam. Jaime was an animal with the darts, spinning around blindly and hucking the dart when she opened her eyes. We eventually gave the loser “vector projection rights,” where it counted if the dart board number section could be extended outward to where the dart stuck.
Champagne Party
Being done with finals is always a rewarding, relieving, carefree feeling, and history has shown that I tend to go on a mission to forget everything I just learned. How ironic that some of the guys decided that it would be a good idea to buy a backpack full of champagne and throw a party at school to celebrate the end of the year. How could I object? We found some speakers and an iPhone for music, then popped projectile corks into the road off of the sunny balcony, and conversed. Everybody was in bliss. Jaime ran around dancing with stunner shades on.
We all agreed to meet at the boys' apartment to leave for the LdM farewell dinner. I went home first, and took a nap. Later, I opened my eyes, and the dinner was nearly over. I knew the name of the restaurant they were eating at, but had no cell phone to contact any of them to inquire of the post-dinner debauchery. I drew myself a “vague idea of where the restaurant was” map on a torn piece of paper, put an iPod on, and figured I would take my chances and try to find my crew.
I walked for at least an hour. It was enjoyable with music to explore a part of Rome that I had never seen, but by the end I had passed their vacant restaurant and also Circolo degli Artisti, a hip live music club, and was tempted to just give up and go in. But right then, my path came to a crossroads with an alley that was filled with a myriad of people casually mingling, many sitting in powwow circles. And like a needle in the haystack, I saw Jaime and Luisa and Barbara and the whole gang out of the corner of my eye. Everybody was pretty shocked to see me, and could not believe that I had found them. Jaime was especially glad to see me since she forgot her keys at the apartment. It was a lot of fun to chill and have powwows of our own.
After saying a poignant farewell for the last time, a few of us decided to go to Testaccio one last time since it was the only place open at the late hour. It was pretty much eight girls and I, so I jumped on a table and started dancing to the pulsing music and some girls followed, but an angry baldheaded bouncer approached, reached through the girls, and pulled me down to the floor. Then the rest of the girls jumped up on the table to dance and eventually reeled me in again as well. The bouncer stormed back over and clasped his hand around my arm and threw me out of the club. I too would be jealous if I had to stand there and watch such an attractive guy dancing with eight girls on a table. It was unfortunate because the girls followed us out, arguing with the bouncer and defiantly hailed a taxi ... and that was our final goodbye.
The Final Surge
Friday was Jaime and my last full day in Rome. We finished packing and cleaning the apartment and we crossed the street to The Surge one last time for a few rounds of darts. I have many fond memories from this place; I had learned my Italian numbers by playing darts with the bartenders when I first moved in. Jaime performed much better this night in the darts, and vector projections were no longer necessary. When we said reluctant farewell to our bartending friends, they presented us with Surge ball caps and we promised to return someday. We were good business for them.
Perhaps we defied destiny by getting home to Montana, because it seemed as though some mysterious force or God or government was doing everything in its power to keep us from leaving enticing Italy. Jaime had called a cab and I hauled the luggage outside before locking up and saying ciao to our apartment. The cab was supposed to be only a few minutes, but Jaime called again twenty minutes later. They still did not show, so I called -- twice -- and nobody came. We enlisted the help of the Hotel Forum next door, and they offered us a 50 euro ride to the airport. I was sold. I looked out the rearview mirror and saw Rome getting smaller and smaller as it faded into the distance, and I waved goodbye to the Coliseum and the home that I had been so familiar with for the past few months.
Once I sat down on British Airways and buckled in, I fell asleep, but woke up to a sharp “ding” in a stationary heat wave with a damp face and sticky clothes. The captain announced that there was a problem starting the engine and the air conditioning would not work. The sun was frying our plane on the blacktop runway. It was like an oven. And the Italian air traffic controllers did not know their regulations well enough to solve the problem until an hour later. Whether I was sleeping or fainted in my seat would be a mute point.
When we landed in London, the plane that we would be taking us to Seattle had been struck by lightning and needed to be repaired, so we were delayed yet another few hours. Once on, I took advantage of the massive time slot to read a few hundred pages of Harry Potter, watch some Simpsons, Curb Your Enthusiasm, and Revolutionary Road. I had conquered jet lag before it could hit me, and caught up on some American media that I had missed while busily exploring Europe.
Jaime and I walked to baggage claim in Seattle and unfortunately one of her suitcases had never left Rome. I hear there is a stereotype that Italians are unorganized. Furthermore, we were directed by an incompetent employee towards a shuttle to get to our flight, which did not actually lead anywhere we needed to go, so when we pressed the “open” button, the train shut down, and the bomb squad, police, and other airport employees came and harassed us about wasting their time.
I did not want to argue the poor ergonomics of the airport to the cranky cop lady with the gun, so I kept my nose in Harry Potter. Our flight from Seattle to Montana was delayed too. When we finally boarded the plane and had settled in, we had to transfer to another one because of technicalities. But once we were finally on board, we met a nice actress, Kelly, who was performing in Bigfork, Montana for the summer, and we all had a plane party with a hilarious flight attendant.
Home Again Home Again
I played a game of folf (Frisbee golf) the day after returning to Whitefish, and the day after that, I had surgery to correct my deviated septum from a broken nose in wrestling five years prior. Everybody needs an occasional week in bed to watch TV on narcotics and listen to music. A blog might have turned out sloppy anyways. Unemployment is still prevailing for me although some sort of work is imminent and necessary.
Being away from the familiar forces you to appreciate what you have. Jaime mostly missed having a dryer and dishwasher and good cell phone to call Kurt with, though, these things I got used to very quickly and by the end, did not really notice it as part of my regular routine. For me, coming home makes me appreciate the brilliant stars, fresh air, healthy food, parents, brother, and my own bed and personal space.
Being away from Los Angeles has helped me appreciate its laid back atmosphere, challenging academics, beautiful weather, beaches, parties, and friends. Although, now that I am home, I have been forced to appreciate what my familiar abode does not have. I will miss the magnificent ancient architecture, the fine wine, the food, the laid back attitude towards alcohol and laid back attitude towards life in general, the hospitability of the Italian people, and simply exploring a new culture and country.
I arrived in Rome, skinny and scared, and the city gave me a chance to mold myself until I could metamorphosize into the person I am now. I finally had a chance to read leisure books and study subjects of interest to me. I took the opportunity to take a step back from science and fully experiment with the avant garde side of life. I appreciate evermore the scientific method and its accomplishments in reproducing society as an ongoing entity, but understand that it is just one way of looking at things that is limited to the parameters of science itself. Weekly wine tasting, painting, drawing, blog writing, travelling, speaking foreign language, film screening, and cultural events all did wonders for my life.
I know my personal happiness can be augmented by incorporating as many of these things into my daily life as I can. And what more could I ask for than to share these experiences with my own sister. We had such a great time together, and though we can be polar opposites in personality, we survived together in style, and we got to experience some amazing things together and become ever closer. Athena Study Abroad has done a wonderful job in figuring out logistics, settling us into the city, and giving us a multitude of enjoyable opportunities for adventure and exploration. We certainly took advantage of every opportunity that we could and seized the day every day.
One can never fully experience Rome. A main incitement for studying here stems from my first trip, freshman year of high school, when I discovered that four days was not nearly enough to see all of Rome. I recently discovered that four months was not nearly enough to see all of Rome, and I really believe there are lifetimes worth of experiences in the Eternal City, so it is best just to enjoy every moment while it is happening because your experiences are fully known only to yourself.
We are all sort of strangers in such an infinitely elaborate world, where cultural structure and tradition becomes our only familiarity and sense of belonging among chaos. It is impossible to experience an Eternal City; all one can do is enjoy a slice. And I suppose that is just what my experience was: Un Pezzo di Pizza Pazza Romana -- A Piece of Crazy Roman Pizza.
Ciao, see you in another life brother.
