Don’t Stop to Think, Walk.

I walked under a fading sun, though there was enough light to show me no one walked at my side. I spoke silently, if there had been someone next to me I surely would have spoken aloud, but I was alone and I was content to share with myself. Indeed, I gave thanks for the peace and solitude. My smiling face confirmed this inner sentiment. On this particular stroll, my feet played guide and led me about because my mind was not committed to the path, but elsewhere. There was no errand nor destination just a free moment to wander within.
I pulled the collar of my pea coat close to my neck and shoved my hands deep into my coat pockets; protective measures against the piercing night breeze. The echo of my footsteps against hard, uneven cobble stones filled the silence, but that was all. At the time my thoughts were general and painfully practical. Where will I eat dinner? Did I turn off the kitchen light? How long did it take to set each stone in its place for the cobble stone street upon which I trod? To this point my head was down with my chin buried into my scarf to collect heat. I don’t know what prompted me to lift my head and gaze upward, but I did and in that instant the trigger pulled. A gun sounded, though not audibly. A previously cluttered thought process became almost instantly blank. I say almost blank because there remained one single, yet profound thought lighting up my brain like a Vegas casino sign: I live in Italy.
Profound might be a slight reach but truly up until that point I don’t think that realization had laid root in my mind. I had taken up residence in Viterbo, but Viterbo had not yet moved into my conscience.
My nostrils burned and my lungs swelled as I took in generous servings of the brisk evening air. Air lets one know he is alive and that reality is speaking for itself. I understood the importance of absolute reality only because I had watched “Inception” the night before. Great flick. I was fascinated with my new found revelation and basked in its truth. I walked ancient streets which were much older than anything my former American life had offered me. This was the country of my peasant immigrant fore fathers and I felt at home.
Origin, for some unknown reason, means the world to me. I have to know where something or someone comes from. This might be why I love maps. An hour bent over a map, following rivers and roads, streets and streams is an hour vanished in seconds. I loose myself in origin and in thoughts of origin. I felt original as I walked the Italian streets. A pleasant mist floated down at a leisurely pace and dusted my coat but did not chill my skin. Not noticing the rain, my skin remained indifferent, whereas my nose jolted alive at the fresh, pure smell of the sifting dew. I drew another deep breath, this time focusing on the acute scent filling my sinus cavity. If Italy was to remain home, I was happy it smelled good.
I was now nearing my door and my steps grew shorter until they stopped altogether, short of the doorway. With head tilted back and feet together, I determined to bind all of it up in my heart; the smells, the cobble stones, the silence. I knew that I loved Italy like an estranged aunt if for no other reason than it is in my blood. The desire to tattoo the memory across my memory for a very long time rose within me, though only briefly. Then I remembered hearing tattoos hurt so I decided to just write it down instead. Rain began to collect on my face; I shook off the wet beads and stepped through the threshold, shutting the door behind me.

Miss Florence, the Pleasure is All Mine

Florence stole my delight. This is no small feet especially considering ,as a rule, I do not dole out such praise without unique prompting. Yet, prompt this city did and more. My weekend centered around our two day trip through its busy streets, though not so bustling as Rome, and exploring its many Renaissance sites. A fairly large group, around 20, made the surprising long five our train ride from Viterbo. We left early Saturday morning so we could get there with enough daylight to explore that day. The hostel we stayed in astounded me. It was as large as any hotel boasting no less than five floors of large, albeit dorm stile rooms, that were well cleaned and neatly decorated. The basement had its own restaurant/ bar that doubled as a dance club at night. A full indoor pool and sauna just sent the place over the edge! Outside the hostel walls were the handsome streets of Florence herself. In my opinion she offers her visitors such a diverse experience like no other city can. It’s a large metropolitan area, wonderfully preserved historical museum, and quant Tuscan hill town all wrapped into one. Everywhere I looked I found myself floored by numerous massive 14th century cathedrals, but simultaneously charmed by the simple town home style buildings stacked up and down narrow cobble stoned streets. Add the fact that the city rests in a valley surrounded by solemn rolling hills of villas and vineyards; is it really any wonder I fell under Florence’s spell, hopelessly enchanted. Ill post a few pictures of the views from the tops of these hills and then I hope you will catch a glimpse of what this city does to naive tourists. Il Duomo is one of the largest cathedrals in the world. Its namesake is derived from its enormous dome which, from a distance utterly dominates the city skyline. Of course the statue of David by Michael Angelo resides in one of the dozens of historic museums. I did not pay to go in and see it this time, but I can surely see myself doing so in the future as I will definitely make it a point to find my way back to this city. Now, I don’t want to unfairly paint this as heaven on earth because without doubt Florence has her flaws. Loud tourists swarmed the streets like witless ants upon a dirt mound and one certainly pays for the experience as those swarms of tourists allow for unreasonable price hikes. Yet, to steal a line from the brilliant Oscar Wilde (I have been reading quite a bit of is stuff lately), “If a woman can not make her mistakes charming, she is only a female.” And if a city cannot make its flaws attractive then it is but a destination. Bravo miss Florence, you stole my delight and you did so with mysterious imperfection. What other city makes me smile on its deficiencies as silly charming quarks? Remarkable. Well done Miss Florence, well done.

Perspective Meets Apartmental Living

The following is taken from a writing exercise for my journalism class:

Honestly, what similarities can exist between a stereotypical college frat house and a 12th century hospital turned apartment building? In every sense of the expression, the two stand worlds apart. Yet, if I have learned one thing from behind the walls of higher education it is that every reality is governed by one nagging, cliché law, perspective. Somehow and in every way there is always an exception to be voiced by another cultured intellectual with a more diverse background that somehow affords him an infinitely more enlightened vantage point. Reality and only sometimes beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And in the case of said frat house vs. the aforementioned ancient apartment my eye revealed just one single commonality, me. A college frat house and an ancient Italian building could not be more different, but they both happen to be a part of my world and thus I am their link. I bridge the gap.
I have never walked up to my fraternity house and at once been halted mid step by what stood before me. But something very similar to this happened the first time I walked up to my apartment building in Viterbo, Italy. Truly, the title apartment building cannot do the structure justice. I suppose in this case words fail. Perhaps something like an ancient castle the likes of which my mind can only attach to images I have seen in Braveheart might be a more accurate description. I just stood there gaping in awe at my new home. Everything was different. As I climbed the worn stone stairs towards my third floor apartment, I felt a peculiar cold wrap itself around me; one unlike any I had ever experienced. It seemed an old cold. As is if it had lived there for a very long time and my body heat disturbed its age old environment. This deep cold had a friend, the dark. I think these too often run hand in hand. This dark was also formed in ages past and now stood guard over the rugged stones and heavy oak doors. I walked with reverence as a stranger and guest in another’s home. Everything seemed odd to me. I stepped through the threshold of my apartment door and looked into a much larger room than my imagination had previously created. Modern art hung on the walls. My fraternity house has not one piece of modern art. Here the art fits though because the ambiance of the place is utilitarian and industrial. Chairs and tables are practical not comfortable. Lamps are cold stainless steal and the floor is hard ceramic. I think the landlord tried to make the room a little more homely by leaving a couple old books on the shelves. I read the titles, “Death of President” and “Spontaneous Healing.” I appreciate the gesture. Thanks but no thanks.
Our bedrooms are very similar to the common room. Tall ceilings, small beds and sensible furniture fill the space. The dark did not follow me into these rooms. Large windows full of light made sure of that. However, the cold was there and still is. We are no longer strangers and I would say much more than acquaintances. Indifferent neighbors that are used to each other’s existence would probably be the most accurate description.
I wish we had a clothes dryer. I am still trying to get used to laundry hanging to dry all across the house. It looks terribly unkempt. I would hang it out the window, but I would have to make my own clothes line and then I have this fear that I would not do it properly and one day I will return to find some but not all of my clothes scattered on the street. People would take the good things like jeans and shorts and leave the rejects like socks and underwear. I think I will learn to accept the hanging laundry in the house.
There is one final difference that never seems to escape me. In fact in follows me everywhere I go, not just my apartment. The voices are not the same. If there is one sure reminder that I am not home it is the voices. No one speaks my language here. Shocking I know. But you may not know how odd it is to listen to the street voices outside your window and night and not know a single word. It is definitely hard to feel at home in those moments. Alas, this place is not at all like my fraternity house, but if I am to be their only tie than I relish the chance to combine my two worlds. Perspective, it's so much more attractive when it’s positive.

A Quiet, Sunless Day

It took about a week or so of getting acquainted with my little Italian city before I could bring myself to go out and explore alone. Fear or inhibitions were not holding me back, rather the constant serge of people in my everyday life. Time away, time alone has been rare thus far. Today was my chance to seize some of this precious commodity. The morning saw me waking up slightly later than I had wanted yet I have still managed to do all that I had planned, as I lay in my bed last night waiting to fall asleep. As an aside, I really have come to like my small Italian bed. The sheets are from home and still smell as such so this familiar comfort has made the acclamation easier. The comforter insists on sliding off most nights, much to my disdain, but I have faith that my tiny bed and I can work it out and come to some kind of mutual truce. Perhaps, it just wants to be pushed up against the wall so as to feel more secure and in return the blanket will rest safely against said wall instead of sliding off onto what is currently a shamefully unswept floor. Note, I should brush up the floor today. End aside. A quiet, sunless day continued… The list grew in my mind as I waited for sleep. Things like what would I do for breakfast, when should I do my homework, should I go to the Blitz café to use the Internet or just go to school?? Evidently, I do not believe I succeeded in establishing a set plan before I fell asleep. I can know this because when I awoke this morning I really was lost unto myself and had no mission for the day. All my hard hammered out night contemplation had been spent for not and now I was facing my day without a plan and with very little motivation. Note, lesson learned; stay motivated even when tomorrow does not have its own plan already in place. Truly, I am being a bit dramatic much to my own delight and entertainment. In reality I woke up and almost immediately decided to run to the corner market and purchase a small loaf of fresh Italian bread. Then I committed the next half hour to making and subsequently eating an egg and prosciutto breakfast sandwich. It was a screaming success. Once nourished I felt encouraged from within to wander about the streets of Viterbo, alone. Again time apart from others has not been bountiful so I relished the opportunity.

Stepping out into the street, I immediately sensed a quiet that had I taken the same step out the exact door one day before, would have I think felt very much different. For yesterday unlike today was beautifully sunny and bright. The usual Viterben clouds had gone on a day trip, probably to London cause they knew they would have friends there, and all that was left in the sky was our sole radiant sun. Yesterday was a bright and happy day. Today on the other hand is quiet and it would seem the sun has taken a leave of its own. Indeed, as I walked through the streets I knew it was going to be a somber stroll, but definitely not sad. I am by no means melancholy, simply introverted for an afternoon. Reflection requires an introvert’s company, or so I have observed. I walked. I walked for a very long time. Probably like two hours. The bag slung over my shoulder was heavy and uncomfortable. Yet, my burden did not hinder my journey. I roamed and explored narrow streets and busy intersections. Snapped a couple pics and thoughts more than a couple thoughts. Then I was tired. My thoughts were interrupted my nature, for my body is pesky about its wants and truly is very needy, I am afraid. Body would not allow thoughts their privacy and space until body had a rest and some quality time sitting on a bench. I was in no mood for a grouchy inner battle so I succumbed without so much as tousle. I traveled to grassy green park populated by miniature black lampposts that reach only to my shoulder as well as half a dozen old stone benches. This is where I find myself now. In the little park, parked on a stone benched, and probing the panoramic view before me with scanning eyes. The park is on one side of a valley and part of the town is spread out beneath me. On the other side of the valley, up the hillside, rests the huge papal palace of Viterbo. There is a large clock tower that catches my roaming eyes each time I raise my head up from my computer. It is much taller than everything else and has faded black and white horizontal stripes painted upon all sides. It’s still sunless but not so quiet. There are a couple Italians in the park now. Their chatter has broken the silence. I don’t hate it though. Because I think I have filled my alone time desire and now I think I will go to Blitz café and see what friends I can find. I think there is only so much quiet, sunless, alone time I can stand.

So Tech in a Non Tech World

I have previously mentioned how Italians do not really use the internet that much, at least not nearly as much as we do. So I think it must be peculiar to them that we sit at their cafes for hours just to use the internet. But there is just so much I want to do! So I don't really feel bad. I am currently toying with the google pic application Picasa which should allow me to post whole slideshows of pictures up on this website. I am having trouble now and I would love more time to work it out but of course time is not on my side here, just to much to see! Yesterday was my first class in Travel writing and Intercultural Communication. I am really excited about both actually. The Comm prof is Irish and just very cool. My travel writing class is the one that i am most excited about though. My teacher made quite the first impression. She is American but has lived in Italy for 22 years! My initial impression of her is she is tough but still nice and VERY knowledgeable. So it seems the class will be tough but I think i can learn a ton from her! Who knows maybe she will be a major keystone in my quest to improve my writing. I hope so. Life continued... we spent the weekend in Rome which was of course completely amazing! Still my favorite city in the whole world. I might be going to Florence this weekend so that is great. I have not mentioned my roommates yet. I live with Jack, John, and Karl. They are all ultra cool guys. We have a great apartment and all cook together and hang out and just get along great which is a huge blessing! Jack and i share a room and John and Karl have the other. I wish I did not always feel so rushed on these posts but I just want to get some thoughts down while I can. I think for my next entry I will just budget the time so that i can construct it exactly how i want.

Life is Simple

Slowly moving along, everyone here just kinda drift through their lives. Italians stroll through the streets, they don't rush around like we do. So many people have dogs and they walk them around every night with their friends. I think they go out and walk around until they see someone they know and then they are perfectly happy to stop and have a conversation right there in the street. They are so social that way. I love it. It's funny because everyone knows each other and thus they don't know me and can automatically identify me as a foreigner. They stare but do not acknowledge. They look but do not speak. As of now it seems they are content to observe. If i try and smile or say hello i am usually returned with a dismissive look or half muffled, forced 'ciao.' I dont take it personally. I almost prefer it. Rather than just pretending like you are interested in someone's life and putting on a fake smile, which is the default American way, these people wait till they actually know you so then they can offer something genuine. I look forward to the day when i have earned that amount of respect that an Italian knows that I care enough about their culture to care for me. Yet, I am not there yet so until then I am content to float as they do and observe as they do. Life is simple here and i love it. We are going to Rome this weekend. I am now curious to compare the pace between my quite medieval city and the busy business atmosphere of Roma. Rome is one of my favorite places in the world so needless to say I am very excited! And I promise to finally put up some pictures ha!

Internet = Luxury

I am seeing already how I am having to change and adapt to my new environment. Life is so different here. I don't know if i would diagnose it as culture shock just yet. Frustration creeps in at certain points when i just feel like the way we do things back home is just better but then i realize that its usually not better just different. Italians probably come to America and think we do things weird. But truly those moments of culture shock are few and far between. I love most things and when i say most things i actually mean everything! Viterbo is absolutely beautiful! I will only try to paint with brevity the picture of this city i live in. I don't want to give it all away at once! But for now let me describe our living arrangements. When i first stepped into my apartment i thought we definitely had the wrong address or something. I was expecting some small tiny euro flat and instead i was welcomed by a huge common room with large bedrooms and a kitchen. Not only that but it is freshly renovated and my roommates are really cool. The building itself is a national historical place. It looks like a castel!! It is breathtaking just like the rest of the city! I love it. Ok, my battery is about to die so this will have to be the end of my second post. Internet is really hard for me to come by since i do not have it in my apparent so i'll try to update as much as i can! Pictures to come soon!

Here Goes Everything!

This is my first of hopefully many entries on my newly minted blog! Everything should have purpose or its just wasted breath and time so here is my reasoning behind blogging for all to see: I want to remember everything and I want anyone of you that has an interest in my time abroad to recount my steps as well, if you should so desire. Yes, I am moving to Italy for a semester but I'm truly not trying to make this some lengthy college sabbatical. I honestly believe this is going to be one of the most revealing, enriching, and fun times of my life. Some of you have even shared thoughts with me on how you think this could be a defining moment for my young life. I think it will be, but only if I make is so. If it is possible I want to sap every ounce of experience, every picture, and every lesson out of my time in Europe. I pray that God shows me things I would otherwise overlook. I can see each of these blogs looking like a waterfall of thoughts just pouring out, must like this one. But I hope that as I continue to force myself to write down these journals I will become a better composer. We have all heard it said, the Wise start with the end in mind. I don't want to look to far forward for fear of overlooking the present, but to be able to look back at the end of this journey and read these entries and see in linear fashion how I have grown, well I think that would be a pretty cool thing. That would be good enough for me so that is my purpose and this is my end. I love and miss you all already so Here Goes Everything!