The arancini before me were too much to handle. Perhaps it was the long train ride that brought me to them or the plane ride about to take me away from them. But these oversize deep-fried rice balls - which always satisfy the taste buds - were overwhelmingly large and my appetite said 'no thanks'.
The week in Sicily wasn't a bad way to leave Italy after my yearlong life there.
Palermo was absolutely beautiful that day. Hot, yet perfect. Salvo and I were only there for the day before our flight back to Rome, where I would pack my bags, then find myself in Ohio the next day.
The reality of packing up became, well, reality very quickly. But that was all 7 weeks ago. And even though seven weeks seems like seven years, I'll always have this:
Riding on the scooter with the Colosseum to my right and Circo Massimo ahead. Enjoying the view of Rome from a rooftop on the Via Veneto, from St. Peter's Dome, from the Pincio Hill, from the Gianicolense, and more. Swimming in the Meditteranean off the many coasts of Italy. The multiple trips to Galleria Borghese to have Caravaggio paintings and Bernini sculptures looming over me. Riding my bike to and from work and late at night in the quiet streets. The noisy tram outside my window that woke me up in the morning and put me to bed at night. The cappuccini in the morning. The delicious pizzeria (well, there are many) near Piazza Navona. Train rides through the countryside to small medieval towns. Tutoring English to the adorable Italian family. The few months I volunteered in Torre Argentina. Showing my Brother and Trish around the city. Showing high schoolers around the city. Seeing great concerts and musicians in the street. Learning the language. (I cannot stop!)
OK, just stop.
So leaving Sicily, leaving Rome, is never easy for me. But after seven weeks, I have the memories and live off of this: Alla Prossima Italia! Until next time!
(I would really love to enjoy those arancini right now.)
Friday, October 3, 2008
Sunday, July 6, 2008
I'm Back!
It's true! I am back. Back in Rome. Back to work. Back to writing obnoxiously long stories about rusty bikes! Speaking of which, Giulietta is holding up just fine. :)
I am almost back to sanity as well. I say almost because I am learning what it is like to live and work in Rome, minus the school aspect. I am doing an internship in public relations with a firm that works all throughout Europe that requires me to constantly monitor my email and scheduling, do research and small tasks while running around the city. And I was blessed with the opportunity to work as an advisor for a University program which accepts highschool students for the month of July. So while I am learning to work, live, have a social life, and run around this complicated city, I am helping pre-college students as well!
Allora, l'avventurra. The adventure. A true adventure. Three years ago, I had no idea what I was doing in University. Two years ago I was living off a promise to myself to find a way to come back and live in Rome. One year ago, I was saving money and packing bags for the year I had ahead. Six months ago I landed two jobs that would bring me back to Rome. One day ago, I said to myself, I've done it!
Looking back, I realized the I had seriously misplaced passion until I was introduced to a life I didn't dream of. Rome represents more to me than I could ever write in my memory or on paper. How corny, how cheezy to say... I realize how silly this sounds, but atleast I can acknowledge that I have reached that point so many people talk/write about. When someone finds their personal legend (in the words of Paolo Coelho), everything/everyone in the Universe assists that person in reaching it. The signs are all around you whether you see them or not. In a nutshell, I have been truly blessed, and I am here because I knew I needed to come back for unknown reasons, but because everything around me knew it, too. In multiple ways, I have found the definition of passion.
From now on, I know that if there is something I want bad enough, it is so possible to make it happen. Not many things can be out of reach now. I am OK with change, because making changes is what woke me up.
On that note, I have been doing so much in the past few months, that if I stop and try to list them, I am surprised with all I've done. From travelling, to a wedding :), to visiting so many people, to planning more trips, to small trips around Italy, to making new friends, to joining networks, to attending concerts, to gaining peoples trust, and then working for them, to improving in the Italian language, finishing classes on a great note, and yadi yadi........ life doesn't sound so bad, does it?!
I will be back with more details, some stories. For now, just wanted to say, 'CIAO!'
I am almost back to sanity as well. I say almost because I am learning what it is like to live and work in Rome, minus the school aspect. I am doing an internship in public relations with a firm that works all throughout Europe that requires me to constantly monitor my email and scheduling, do research and small tasks while running around the city. And I was blessed with the opportunity to work as an advisor for a University program which accepts highschool students for the month of July. So while I am learning to work, live, have a social life, and run around this complicated city, I am helping pre-college students as well!
Allora, l'avventurra. The adventure. A true adventure. Three years ago, I had no idea what I was doing in University. Two years ago I was living off a promise to myself to find a way to come back and live in Rome. One year ago, I was saving money and packing bags for the year I had ahead. Six months ago I landed two jobs that would bring me back to Rome. One day ago, I said to myself, I've done it!
Looking back, I realized the I had seriously misplaced passion until I was introduced to a life I didn't dream of. Rome represents more to me than I could ever write in my memory or on paper. How corny, how cheezy to say... I realize how silly this sounds, but atleast I can acknowledge that I have reached that point so many people talk/write about. When someone finds their personal legend (in the words of Paolo Coelho), everything/everyone in the Universe assists that person in reaching it. The signs are all around you whether you see them or not. In a nutshell, I have been truly blessed, and I am here because I knew I needed to come back for unknown reasons, but because everything around me knew it, too. In multiple ways, I have found the definition of passion.
From now on, I know that if there is something I want bad enough, it is so possible to make it happen. Not many things can be out of reach now. I am OK with change, because making changes is what woke me up.
On that note, I have been doing so much in the past few months, that if I stop and try to list them, I am surprised with all I've done. From travelling, to a wedding :), to visiting so many people, to planning more trips, to small trips around Italy, to making new friends, to joining networks, to attending concerts, to gaining peoples trust, and then working for them, to improving in the Italian language, finishing classes on a great note, and yadi yadi........ life doesn't sound so bad, does it?!
I will be back with more details, some stories. For now, just wanted to say, 'CIAO!'
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Amore Mio
I have quite a love story these days. And with a bit of regret, I admit it has been something unrealized until recently.
And so it began...
When my fellow students studying abroad left in December, I was thrilled upon the news of one friend leaving me his bike. Wow, I thought, I can really see Rome in a new light on a bike. Life would be so great getting around on wheels despite my central location which makes walking to most places far from painful. But there are those longer journeys - I could get a little exercise, have a nice breeze in my hair, and begin convincing myself and everyone else on the sidewalk that I am more Italian than them. :)
I cannot forget the last night I saw the original bike owner: we were dancing in a big group at a nearby club, and he leaned over someone to say to me, "the bike is locked near the small fountain on the Borgo Pio". Before I knew it my hand was in the air intercepting the keys of what would be my future bike lock for my future bike for my future in Rome. I think my body stopped dancing as I, in a moment of bliss, smiled down at a ring with two small silver keys in my hand. Keys to unlock special adventures ahead. It was as if I had never received such a present, I felt rather unworthy. It was as if this bike found me because I never knew I could become so excited about such a thing. It was as if my knowledge of the prior possibility of purchasing a bike at the market for a small price was never knowledge at all. I was now a bike owner. (sidenote: being a bike owner doesn't require any special abilities or qualities... this could be anyone.)
Anyway, I was thrilled to start my new life as a bike owner. I honestly began to doubt whether I would ever find time to be with friends again. How would I get anything done because this bike would now define my situation in Rome? And the day I was to pick it up happened to be the same day I was moving into another apartment, how would I organize my schedule when this new bike, this new baby of mine, must be the focus of my day?
The sun was shining that Saturday as I bounced all the way to the Borgo Pio. The excitement built as I approached the small fountain from the street. And there it was: blue and a bit rusty, with a black checkered seat that looked much newer than the rest of it. There were spray covers over the tires and a light in the front hanging by a few wires. But the best features: the handle bar basket and bell. Quasi-asthetically pleasing, even if not all things matched up ... but this bike stood for more than looks.
Even with all the excitement for this new investment, the nervousness I felt before that first ride came over me. Which streets do I take? Will I make a fool of myself? Will I fall in front of everyone? If I was to see me riding down the street, would I say, that girl has no clue how to ride a bike? I covered all things to be nervous about.
I took off on the bike in the little square not occupied by more than four people. After five feet I quickly noticed the seat was loose as I slipped forward to the handlebars which seemed about at knee level because they were bent forward from being loose as well. The seat was too low, the brakes didn't work, and it wobbled all over. I said, "so this is what it's like to feel like a bear on a crumbling tricycle."
Talk about a huge dissappointment. I spent my first bike ride as a new bike owner looking like all of my prior nervousnesses. A fool. Falling all over. Looking lost. I rode it for about 10 blocks until I could lock it near the apartment which I would also be abandoning that day. Just that quickly, my thoughts of having to center my day around my new bike turned to 'I can't wait to sell this bike and forget it ever entered my life.'
And for two months, that was the plan. I spent my winter out and about, traveling, enjoying myself. It rained alot, however, and every few days I would remind myself, I should atleast chain it - that useless thing once known as a bike - in a new location (if it is even still there) or walk it to a bike shop.
February came quickly and I was moving into my current apartment. The first thing I noticed when I walk in the door is a little blue bike. Uh oh, little blue bike?! It found me? Then I saw the confident, untouchable name "Romeo" painted on the side of it. This little gem of a ride was sitting in the apartment as though it belonged there more than I did. His owner, Andrea, smiled so proud of her hotwheels. "L'ho costruita," she told me. Anyone who has the patience to build a bike is awesome in my book. "I use it all the time..." she then included. At this point I was debating whether or not I mention the fact that I owned one as well. Can I even say I own it anymore when I abandoned it with all of it's shortcomings?
Before long, the conversation turned to this: "Haley, you are a terrible bike owner. You would be lucky to find it all together because I'm sure it's parts were stolen." People steal bike parts? Just like that? Because it was parked on the street by it's unworthy owner, it will be robbed of its nice little basket, lights, bell. How could I do such a thing?!
I assured Andrea that I would no longer avoid via Pietro Cossa - the home of my bike for 2 months. Within a day, I visited my old apartment and peeked around the corner to find a bittersweet surprise: a lonely little bike with it's handlebar basket full of trash left by passerbys who understood it was abandoned. And bell? check. Lights? check. Two tires? check. phew.
I walked the bike three blocks, to cross the river Tiber, walked the crowded streets near piazza Navona and eventually made it home. Although I was receiving numerous 'why is she walking that, uh, that (is it a) bike?' looks, I was feeling relieved I had a second chance with the sad bicicletta in dire need of a fix up. "Ma che successo?" A man asked me. "ha rotto la sedia," I said with a smile back because what excuse do I give for this mangled bike. Saying that there was a broken seat seemed to only reflect back on its owner who clearly didn't know how to ride it.
I was riding to and from school that day so proud. Despite the loud squeaks of the breaks so everyone within 30 feet knew I was stopping (because such a horrific noise could only come from a velociraptor of prehistoric times), and an unattached basket that bounced all around and the natural wobble that came from uncentered handlebars, I am aware that riding in the streets of Rome causes everyone to think I am a bad driver (but I promise the tires need a little air, and... and yeah). The bell would ding from just hitting a cobblestone wrong (something I used to be embarrassed about but now, I hardly notice it, and if someone else notices, I just smile as though they wish they had a bike that enjoyed dinging as much as mine.) Needless to say, if Andrea and suave Romeo are riding next to me, they laugh at the ridiculousness of the scene I happen to make.
Had I not met Andrea - or Romeo for the matter - I may not have seen the potential in such a hopeless bike. And I think Andrea has taught me, that maybe not everyone can be a bikeowner. Bikes have to cared for, taken to the bicycle doctors, given air regularly, etc. I guess most things can be fixable in one way or another. I found it is much more rewarding to make an old thing new than have all new things. While my seat will continue to bend backward occasionally, and show its rust to the rest of the neighborhood bikes, I am happy to know I had that bike I originally envisioned months ago when it's owner so willingly gave it to me. I knew I wasn't crazyin the begining... it was right before me this whole time, it was love! This bike is my newest love.
So Rome is a little different as I am getting to know its crazy streets on wheels. I should probably have a helmet for some of the dangers I am potentially putting myself in, but then it would take a whole lot more convincing to the others in the street that I can be Italian, too. I may be riding down many streets i have walked over and over... and riding past monuments I see on a regular bases and from several other angles.... but nothing beats rolling by the Vittorio Emmanuele monument towering over the city at night, to look up at it and say 'Hi monument' or 'Hi colosseum' and follow it with a little ding of my bell. All why rolling right on by at my own pace.
I like having something else to worry about here rather than speaking the language correctly or eating too many cannoli. I keep my fingers crossed that no one steals any pieces, especially the basket. Everytime i lock her to the post i find my self walking not even 10 feet away before I turn around to make sure all pieces are still there. And then after another 10 feet, another turn of the head.
Maybe that is how things come about, I may have had an infatuation with Rome as a whole when I arrived but certain day to day adventures, now made on my bike, have proven life in this city to have an everlasting lovable feeling.
Love should set you free, yeah? This bike definitely liberates me. (Did I mentionthe fact that it looks like my first childhood bike, only a little taller!) Oh, and by the way, her name is Giulietta.
And so it began...
When my fellow students studying abroad left in December, I was thrilled upon the news of one friend leaving me his bike. Wow, I thought, I can really see Rome in a new light on a bike. Life would be so great getting around on wheels despite my central location which makes walking to most places far from painful. But there are those longer journeys - I could get a little exercise, have a nice breeze in my hair, and begin convincing myself and everyone else on the sidewalk that I am more Italian than them. :)
I cannot forget the last night I saw the original bike owner: we were dancing in a big group at a nearby club, and he leaned over someone to say to me, "the bike is locked near the small fountain on the Borgo Pio". Before I knew it my hand was in the air intercepting the keys of what would be my future bike lock for my future bike for my future in Rome. I think my body stopped dancing as I, in a moment of bliss, smiled down at a ring with two small silver keys in my hand. Keys to unlock special adventures ahead. It was as if I had never received such a present, I felt rather unworthy. It was as if this bike found me because I never knew I could become so excited about such a thing. It was as if my knowledge of the prior possibility of purchasing a bike at the market for a small price was never knowledge at all. I was now a bike owner. (sidenote: being a bike owner doesn't require any special abilities or qualities... this could be anyone.)
Anyway, I was thrilled to start my new life as a bike owner. I honestly began to doubt whether I would ever find time to be with friends again. How would I get anything done because this bike would now define my situation in Rome? And the day I was to pick it up happened to be the same day I was moving into another apartment, how would I organize my schedule when this new bike, this new baby of mine, must be the focus of my day?
The sun was shining that Saturday as I bounced all the way to the Borgo Pio. The excitement built as I approached the small fountain from the street. And there it was: blue and a bit rusty, with a black checkered seat that looked much newer than the rest of it. There were spray covers over the tires and a light in the front hanging by a few wires. But the best features: the handle bar basket and bell. Quasi-asthetically pleasing, even if not all things matched up ... but this bike stood for more than looks.
Even with all the excitement for this new investment, the nervousness I felt before that first ride came over me. Which streets do I take? Will I make a fool of myself? Will I fall in front of everyone? If I was to see me riding down the street, would I say, that girl has no clue how to ride a bike? I covered all things to be nervous about.
I took off on the bike in the little square not occupied by more than four people. After five feet I quickly noticed the seat was loose as I slipped forward to the handlebars which seemed about at knee level because they were bent forward from being loose as well. The seat was too low, the brakes didn't work, and it wobbled all over. I said, "so this is what it's like to feel like a bear on a crumbling tricycle."
Talk about a huge dissappointment. I spent my first bike ride as a new bike owner looking like all of my prior nervousnesses. A fool. Falling all over. Looking lost. I rode it for about 10 blocks until I could lock it near the apartment which I would also be abandoning that day. Just that quickly, my thoughts of having to center my day around my new bike turned to 'I can't wait to sell this bike and forget it ever entered my life.'
And for two months, that was the plan. I spent my winter out and about, traveling, enjoying myself. It rained alot, however, and every few days I would remind myself, I should atleast chain it - that useless thing once known as a bike - in a new location (if it is even still there) or walk it to a bike shop.
February came quickly and I was moving into my current apartment. The first thing I noticed when I walk in the door is a little blue bike. Uh oh, little blue bike?! It found me? Then I saw the confident, untouchable name "Romeo" painted on the side of it. This little gem of a ride was sitting in the apartment as though it belonged there more than I did. His owner, Andrea, smiled so proud of her hotwheels. "L'ho costruita," she told me. Anyone who has the patience to build a bike is awesome in my book. "I use it all the time..." she then included. At this point I was debating whether or not I mention the fact that I owned one as well. Can I even say I own it anymore when I abandoned it with all of it's shortcomings?
Before long, the conversation turned to this: "Haley, you are a terrible bike owner. You would be lucky to find it all together because I'm sure it's parts were stolen." People steal bike parts? Just like that? Because it was parked on the street by it's unworthy owner, it will be robbed of its nice little basket, lights, bell. How could I do such a thing?!
I assured Andrea that I would no longer avoid via Pietro Cossa - the home of my bike for 2 months. Within a day, I visited my old apartment and peeked around the corner to find a bittersweet surprise: a lonely little bike with it's handlebar basket full of trash left by passerbys who understood it was abandoned. And bell? check. Lights? check. Two tires? check. phew.
I walked the bike three blocks, to cross the river Tiber, walked the crowded streets near piazza Navona and eventually made it home. Although I was receiving numerous 'why is she walking that, uh, that (is it a) bike?' looks, I was feeling relieved I had a second chance with the sad bicicletta in dire need of a fix up. "Ma che successo?" A man asked me. "ha rotto la sedia," I said with a smile back because what excuse do I give for this mangled bike. Saying that there was a broken seat seemed to only reflect back on its owner who clearly didn't know how to ride it.
Within a week, I found myself alongside Andrea walking our bikes out to a social center far away from our apartment. The over an hour walk brought us to the room for building bikes in which i had the seat tightened, handlebars tightened, and new brake pads added. Perhaps my bike wanted to get me back for prior harsh treatment because on the long ride home, the seat bent backwards and the brakes did nothing but squeak really loud.
In frustration, I left the bike parked in my bedroom for a couple weeks before I decided (by I, I mean Andrea) to find an actual bike repairman. After a 10 minute walk from my house I found Alessandro, a young guy working in a bikeshop who seemed happy to work on my rusty, dusty wheels. For 10 euro, I found almost a new bike! Stirdy seat, new brake wires so the bike would actually stop along with the obnoxiously squeeks. I was set, finally I had the bike I originally envisioned .
I was riding to and from school that day so proud. Despite the loud squeaks of the breaks so everyone within 30 feet knew I was stopping (because such a horrific noise could only come from a velociraptor of prehistoric times), and an unattached basket that bounced all around and the natural wobble that came from uncentered handlebars, I am aware that riding in the streets of Rome causes everyone to think I am a bad driver (but I promise the tires need a little air, and... and yeah). The bell would ding from just hitting a cobblestone wrong (something I used to be embarrassed about but now, I hardly notice it, and if someone else notices, I just smile as though they wish they had a bike that enjoyed dinging as much as mine.) Needless to say, if Andrea and suave Romeo are riding next to me, they laugh at the ridiculousness of the scene I happen to make.
Had I not met Andrea - or Romeo for the matter - I may not have seen the potential in such a hopeless bike. And I think Andrea has taught me, that maybe not everyone can be a bikeowner. Bikes have to cared for, taken to the bicycle doctors, given air regularly, etc. I guess most things can be fixable in one way or another. I found it is much more rewarding to make an old thing new than have all new things. While my seat will continue to bend backward occasionally, and show its rust to the rest of the neighborhood bikes, I am happy to know I had that bike I originally envisioned months ago when it's owner so willingly gave it to me. I knew I wasn't crazyin the begining... it was right before me this whole time, it was love! This bike is my newest love.
So Rome is a little different as I am getting to know its crazy streets on wheels. I should probably have a helmet for some of the dangers I am potentially putting myself in, but then it would take a whole lot more convincing to the others in the street that I can be Italian, too. I may be riding down many streets i have walked over and over... and riding past monuments I see on a regular bases and from several other angles.... but nothing beats rolling by the Vittorio Emmanuele monument towering over the city at night, to look up at it and say 'Hi monument' or 'Hi colosseum' and follow it with a little ding of my bell. All why rolling right on by at my own pace.
I like having something else to worry about here rather than speaking the language correctly or eating too many cannoli. I keep my fingers crossed that no one steals any pieces, especially the basket. Everytime i lock her to the post i find my self walking not even 10 feet away before I turn around to make sure all pieces are still there. And then after another 10 feet, another turn of the head.
Maybe that is how things come about, I may have had an infatuation with Rome as a whole when I arrived but certain day to day adventures, now made on my bike, have proven life in this city to have an everlasting lovable feeling.
Love should set you free, yeah? This bike definitely liberates me. (Did I mentionthe fact that it looks like my first childhood bike, only a little taller!) Oh, and by the way, her name is Giulietta.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
A chat with Alan Epstein
I realized very quickly upon my arrival to Rome that my feelings toward this place are shared with many others. In my first few weeks in Rome I happened to come across a book in the school library, As the Romans do: An American Family's Italian odyssey. From that moment on, I knew whatever I wanted to say about Rome had already been said, not in just this author's words, but in numerous writers' words, dating back to literary geniuses. I promised myself to strive for some originality, but I felt like my creativity had been failing me.
To address my concern, I wanted to go back to my journalism roots. What's better than to interview the/a person who clearly experienced the same relationship with Rome (about 20-some years ago), and while doing so, get back on the writing train by writing an article. And so, I got in contact with Alan Epstein, the author of the above mentioned book.
Since I read his book, however, I began to think of what it is like for someone in their native land always having foreigners write about their country - a topic which I regretfully didn't cover with Alan. He is an American expatriate who transplanted himself to Rome and wrote a great collection of short stories that anyone who passes through Rome - or staying for an extended amount of time - would appreciate. And as the title of the book suggests, it is about his family's adventure from the U.S. and learning the way of the Romans, through American eyes. Because this is a book based on experience of several years living here, and has some researched information, it may give some answers to travelers who didn't know they necessarily had the questions. Hence, a native could overall be satisfied that someone so in love with their country is guiding others in a more-informative direction.
Either way, Epstein wanted to share his love of a place with people (regretfully beating me to it... along with how many other authors!). Oh well, for now, back to my roots,here is my article!
ROME
His bestseller As the Romans Do: an American Family’s Italian Odyssey has been spreading the word on interesting, often laughable, differences of quirky Italian life through an American’s eyes for eight years.
To address my concern, I wanted to go back to my journalism roots. What's better than to interview the/a person who clearly experienced the same relationship with Rome (about 20-some years ago), and while doing so, get back on the writing train by writing an article. And so, I got in contact with Alan Epstein, the author of the above mentioned book.
Since I read his book, however, I began to think of what it is like for someone in their native land always having foreigners write about their country - a topic which I regretfully didn't cover with Alan. He is an American expatriate who transplanted himself to Rome and wrote a great collection of short stories that anyone who passes through Rome - or staying for an extended amount of time - would appreciate. And as the title of the book suggests, it is about his family's adventure from the U.S. and learning the way of the Romans, through American eyes. Because this is a book based on experience of several years living here, and has some researched information, it may give some answers to travelers who didn't know they necessarily had the questions. Hence, a native could overall be satisfied that someone so in love with their country is guiding others in a more-informative direction.
Either way, Epstein wanted to share his love of a place with people (regretfully beating me to it... along with how many other authors!). Oh well, for now, back to my roots,here is my article!
Acclaimed author speaks of book success, politics and a second home
His bestseller As the Romans Do: an American Family’s Italian Odyssey has been spreading the word on interesting, often laughable, differences of quirky Italian life through an American’s eyes for eight years.
“I think it speaks to people. It tells them what it’s like to experience
The book can be found in one of
“It’s an honored feeling, very vital in the sense of having written something in such a profound way that people will pick up and move to Rome,” Epstein responded of some students’ actions. “It gives a sense of solidarity, a sense of support to people – a group of strangers – out to experience the pleasures and uniqueness, and charm. It fills me with great pleasure. It makes me understand why I wrote it. It’s been that influential.”
Epstein’s book was published around four years after he moved to the
“I think he wanted to experience his native culture. He feels Roman in the States and American when here.” He mentioned how his son’s return is part of the ex-pat experience and how he may be considered a 3rd culture kid.
But his experience was ultimately a gift. “We didn’t want to give our kids the clichéd American existence – outside of ramping consumerism and outside of
With his Ph.D. in European History from
“I’m a historian and have dedicated my life to understanding why people in a particular culture are the way they are.
“You can reflect on your own life and culture through experiencing the lives of others. You’re able to understand your own life elsewhere,” Epstein shared the words which parallel the feelings portrayed in his book.
He has also found this is not the case for everyone.
“Some people get bent out of shape about it. A friend of mine living and working here temporarily is always defending her American values, but I respond, ‘You’re here for a limited period of time, what would be the point of finding a life here just like in the States?’
“Living not in your native culture, leaving the confines of the nest is a civilizing force, a means by which people create networks. …”
When he is outside of
While Epstein shares his intrigue of the city upon news of its recently excavated Roman home, likely to have belonged to a wealthy Roman inhabitant of antiquity, he is also interested in discussing American politics – news frequenting across the ocean.
“Political life is a vital part of nation’s public life. Around 85% vote here and around 50% in the states. It’s taken fore granted. Politics are an important part of life and how country faces and sees the world,” Epstein said.
The recent struggles of a stable Italian parliament caused him to comment how the Italians seem to want a fragile electoral system which gives exaggerated amount of power to numerous political parties. In the
And although his location causes him to watch
“Politically I’m not happy with the direction the States has taken. It would be great if things changed now,” he said. Without hesitation, he also noted, “There’s a great document – something precious (Americans) have and always had written unlike other places – the constitution.
“It states very clearly that an individual liberty is more important than any sense of mission or political program. …The
From politics, to family life, to the Renaissance palace across the square, Epstein has plenty to talk about.
While he may no be so shy to joke about the idea of slower service in an Italian café, he is also quick to mention how you cannot get a presentation of the past anywhere else in the world as great as
After studying a great deal prior to his move, Epstein’s sense of a second home now comes from living amongst the history and pleasures of a life in
“Various people choose how they can explore themselves and world.
More about the author can be read at www.astheromansdo.com
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Christmas away from home: Part II
I hadn't heard a silence like that since I came to Italy. After a good hour in the car of weaving all around the winding mountain roads, breeze coming through the windows, sun shining, and the new Fountains of Wayne CD playing in a background, it was a beautiful start to the day up on the mountain. I thought about pinching myself. Am I really back in Sicily?
The previous days began actual Christmas vacation because school was over and I was on my own to do as I pleased around Rome. I spent the week doing shopping, baking some American-style sugar cookies, apple pie, rum cake and rolling up some buckeyes. My friend and I were preparing these for Christmas parties with her boyfriend's Italian families. Because our faces were a different element to their holiday dinners this year, we thought we might as well bring something different to the table. And it was definitely different.
Christmas eve in Italy is centered around a dinner consisting of only fish. I was assigned a seat in the center of the table among the other ten people. We were in the great top floor home of this building, in a dinning room surrounded by windows with an outdoor terrace to overlook the city lights. Inside, the sight of fish and some new acquaintances wasn't at all frightening to me. Madelaine and I placed our pitiful looking deviled eggs on the table next to silver trays of thinly sliced salmon, caviar, and bruschette con vongole (bread and clams, it just sounds better in Italian). Although I am not an avid seafood consumer, I fortunately liked most of it. From the mussels, to the grouper, to the seafood risotto, and even octopus, I tried everything - scary looking or not. My positioning at the table would have made it hard to hide my actions if I didn't like something. Instead, I sat across from the incredibly warming host herself in a dinner which lasted over three hours, expanding my tiny culinary mind.
"Quanto tempo hai preparato per stasera?" I asked in simple Italian to the intriguing chef. She shrugged her shoulders saying that she only spent part of the day putting everything together. Madelaine and I dropped our jaws. The dishes were all so intricate and seemed to be straight out of a diner's magazine. We sheepishly hid the fact it took us almost a whole week to make all of our preparations come together, as a team of two people, not just one. Italians will always be the best cooks! (and for some reason I only know how to talk about food! I think it's this country's fault). Of course, she was handling seafood and pasta - things which require to be made that day, but also recipes beyond our imagination. After the meal everyone certainly appreciated our attempt at providing sweets for the party, but opted for the traditional panettone - an Italian bread usually made with raisins, candied fruit peels, almonds, and brandy.
Nearing midnight on Christmas eve, everyone decided it was suddenly time to open presents. By the time I walked from the dining room to the tree, everyone had pretty much exchanged a present and began opening them at the same time! They didn't take turns opening, one after another. No, it was a room full of the sound of paper riping and flying through the air. After about one minute and 42 seconds of this madness it was over and I was fascinated at the comedy of it all. How cute that they still managed to voice how pleased they were with their gifts and gave kisses on the cheek throughout the ruckus. Shortly after, everyone had on their jackets and were ready for midnight mass at a nearby church.
Christmas day brought the arrival of Madelaine's family, a visit to St. Peter's square to see the pope, and then an another awesome family dinner (sorry, this food talk has got to stop). The day was relaxing as the weather was bright. Because I wasn't with the usual people, with our usual traditions on that day, it gave Christmas a completely different feel, but I enjoyed it nonetheless.
It was two days later when I found myself in Sicily. After my first trip to Rome in 2006, I went back to spend a week in the South of Italy, only to verify my love for this new country. This time, it was just as I remembered it: sunny, small towns spotted in various valleys of the mountains, older Italians in which most have not left it's premises, and, of course, more of the best food of my life (sorry, I had to). We drove up into the mountains to see the old farming grounds of a family. Having hopped out of the car, we were immediately hit with the solitude of the place. We only heard a dogs bark after yelling aloud to find the man in control of the farm. Nothing. Silence fell from angle and the only noise was stones below our feet. This is the most peaceful life I thought.
Studying in Rome, in this bustling ancient city, is actually like a vacation of my much busier life in the States. My Christmas vacation in Rome is a vacation from school time in Rome. And my vacation in Sicily is a vacation from my vacation from my vacation! Sounds a bit ridiculous, but this ridiculousness is the beauty that defines Italy. I don't watch TV. I don't drive a car. I rarely use the phone. Pretty much most conveniences found at home had been thrown out the window when I stepped foot in this country. When I do work, I choose the hours. If I want connection with the rest of the world, I have to find an internet. Not trying to make Italy sound third world, it is just a complete change. And these changes entered into my life with little conviction. I used to have a car? More clothes?
They beauty of it all though goes beyond that. Author Alan Epstein has summed up the change of living in America to Rome the best. Having moved his family from San Francisco to Rome years ago, he wrote in his book As the Romans Do:
After three quiet days in Sicily, I found myself in London for the New year and now back in my noisy home, Rome. Returning from one vacation to another... how could I ever be stressed out?! Aside from a few commitments during the weeks, my time will be spent checking out new parts of the city, reading some books on the history I live in, studying the language, and finding the best way to cut a garlic clove. Arrivederci!
The previous days began actual Christmas vacation because school was over and I was on my own to do as I pleased around Rome. I spent the week doing shopping, baking some American-style sugar cookies, apple pie, rum cake and rolling up some buckeyes. My friend and I were preparing these for Christmas parties with her boyfriend's Italian families. Because our faces were a different element to their holiday dinners this year, we thought we might as well bring something different to the table. And it was definitely different.
Christmas eve in Italy is centered around a dinner consisting of only fish. I was assigned a seat in the center of the table among the other ten people. We were in the great top floor home of this building, in a dinning room surrounded by windows with an outdoor terrace to overlook the city lights. Inside, the sight of fish and some new acquaintances wasn't at all frightening to me. Madelaine and I placed our pitiful looking deviled eggs on the table next to silver trays of thinly sliced salmon, caviar, and bruschette con vongole (bread and clams, it just sounds better in Italian). Although I am not an avid seafood consumer, I fortunately liked most of it. From the mussels, to the grouper, to the seafood risotto, and even octopus, I tried everything - scary looking or not. My positioning at the table would have made it hard to hide my actions if I didn't like something. Instead, I sat across from the incredibly warming host herself in a dinner which lasted over three hours, expanding my tiny culinary mind.
"Quanto tempo hai preparato per stasera?" I asked in simple Italian to the intriguing chef. She shrugged her shoulders saying that she only spent part of the day putting everything together. Madelaine and I dropped our jaws. The dishes were all so intricate and seemed to be straight out of a diner's magazine. We sheepishly hid the fact it took us almost a whole week to make all of our preparations come together, as a team of two people, not just one. Italians will always be the best cooks! (and for some reason I only know how to talk about food! I think it's this country's fault). Of course, she was handling seafood and pasta - things which require to be made that day, but also recipes beyond our imagination. After the meal everyone certainly appreciated our attempt at providing sweets for the party, but opted for the traditional panettone - an Italian bread usually made with raisins, candied fruit peels, almonds, and brandy.
Nearing midnight on Christmas eve, everyone decided it was suddenly time to open presents. By the time I walked from the dining room to the tree, everyone had pretty much exchanged a present and began opening them at the same time! They didn't take turns opening, one after another. No, it was a room full of the sound of paper riping and flying through the air. After about one minute and 42 seconds of this madness it was over and I was fascinated at the comedy of it all. How cute that they still managed to voice how pleased they were with their gifts and gave kisses on the cheek throughout the ruckus. Shortly after, everyone had on their jackets and were ready for midnight mass at a nearby church.
Christmas day brought the arrival of Madelaine's family, a visit to St. Peter's square to see the pope, and then an another awesome family dinner (sorry, this food talk has got to stop). The day was relaxing as the weather was bright. Because I wasn't with the usual people, with our usual traditions on that day, it gave Christmas a completely different feel, but I enjoyed it nonetheless.
It was two days later when I found myself in Sicily. After my first trip to Rome in 2006, I went back to spend a week in the South of Italy, only to verify my love for this new country. This time, it was just as I remembered it: sunny, small towns spotted in various valleys of the mountains, older Italians in which most have not left it's premises, and, of course, more of the best food of my life (sorry, I had to). We drove up into the mountains to see the old farming grounds of a family. Having hopped out of the car, we were immediately hit with the solitude of the place. We only heard a dogs bark after yelling aloud to find the man in control of the farm. Nothing. Silence fell from angle and the only noise was stones below our feet. This is the most peaceful life I thought.
Studying in Rome, in this bustling ancient city, is actually like a vacation of my much busier life in the States. My Christmas vacation in Rome is a vacation from school time in Rome. And my vacation in Sicily is a vacation from my vacation from my vacation! Sounds a bit ridiculous, but this ridiculousness is the beauty that defines Italy. I don't watch TV. I don't drive a car. I rarely use the phone. Pretty much most conveniences found at home had been thrown out the window when I stepped foot in this country. When I do work, I choose the hours. If I want connection with the rest of the world, I have to find an internet. Not trying to make Italy sound third world, it is just a complete change. And these changes entered into my life with little conviction. I used to have a car? More clothes?
They beauty of it all though goes beyond that. Author Alan Epstein has summed up the change of living in America to Rome the best. Having moved his family from San Francisco to Rome years ago, he wrote in his book As the Romans Do:
"In the end, the differences between Rome and San Francisco are precisely what make the expatriate adventure so exciting, what keeps us young and alive and fresh and never bored. I don't know whether it's better to run five miles a day, eat yogurt shakes, have no family within a thousand miles, and work eighty hours per week in a stressful environment year in and year out, with two weeks off (or less) for vacation, or eat shredded beef and bitter greens sauteed in olive oil, drink five or six little cups of caffe a day, smoke a few cigarettes, have your entire family and a community of friends within two miles of where you live, take at least four to six weeks of vacation and come back with a deep suntan, and recognize that what you do for a living is not ultimately going to make much difference in the world. Perhaps the fact that nervous breakdowns, heart disease, divorce, and suicide are so much lower here makes Romans think that we Americans are not really focusing on the things that matter. ..."My American roots sometimes leave me feeling guilty about this much more relaxed lifestyle. Undoubtedly, this country has it's problems - starting with its government, certain attitudes, all the way down to the difficulties in finding things that simply work. But there is an air about this place that keeps me a student to life, something I cannot get enough of. From witnessing family traditions, to mountains, ancient ruins and thousand year old cities, to Mussolini buildings and scooter rides, my surroundings influence my many thoughts and are stepping in as some of my greatest teachers.
After three quiet days in Sicily, I found myself in London for the New year and now back in my noisy home, Rome. Returning from one vacation to another... how could I ever be stressed out?! Aside from a few commitments during the weeks, my time will be spent checking out new parts of the city, reading some books on the history I live in, studying the language, and finding the best way to cut a garlic clove. Arrivederci!
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