Sunday Sensibilities

This past Sunday was the second Sunday in a row that I set aside to spend with myself.  Although I’ve been here for almost two months already I am still settling in.  Adjusting is a time consuming and challenging process.  Expanding your comfort zone, allowing new people, norms, flavors and customs into it, is not the easiest thing in the world for people to do.  So I have started to make Sundays Emilia days.  I take a whole day to aimlessly wander the city, to get in touch with myself, gather my thoughts, and emotionally prepare myself for the week ahead. 

It was a beautiful day, unseasonably warm, and so I thought about returning to the Boboli Gardens.  I took my time walking from my house to the other side of the river, making sure to find things or faces I hadn’t seen before.  I think this is an important activity- taking the time to look for new things on the street I walk down every single day.  It keeps me alert and it keeps me curious.  Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it’s also the reason that the human race has figured out gravity, outer space, a lot of stuff about past civilizations, various medical advances, the list goes on.  I’m not saying that I’m going to find the cure for cancer or some never before seen Etruscan ruins on Borgo la Croce, but honing and fine tuning my curiosity is important for my intellectual survival.  I will never be capable of such a discovery, and certainly never be capable of achieving my personal intellectual goals, without a keen sense of curiosity.   Curiosity keeps us intellectually necessary.

Anyway, when I made it to the other side of the river I stopped in a little bar and got un panino per portare via, and made the short walk to Palazzo Pitti.  It was at this point that I remembered the walk I’d have to take to the scenic and relaxing part of the Boboli gardens is completely uphill, and I was wearing loafers.  So instead of entering the gardens, I sat outside Palazzo Pitti.  The Palazzo is at the top of a small hill, really more of an incline, and there are always people there sitting and chatting.  I’m often worried about doing touristy things, but most of the people I was surrounded by were Italian.  So I sat down, ate my panino, and observed my surroundings.  This week I brought my journal with me, and after eating I began writing.  Nothing, really.  I literally wrote OBSERVATIONS/THOUGHTS and made a list below that.  Some deep, some, well, shallow.  (Like comments on peoples’ outfits).  But mostly somewhere in the middle.  I’ve learned that trying to be profound doesn’t really work.  Whatever you write sounds like you’re trying too hard.  You sound desperate. Fake, maybe.  Sad.  Or sometimes you just sound like an asshole.   Profundity should come effortlessly. 

I’d like to some of these thoughts with you.   I’m calling it Sunday Sensibilities.  Sensibilities meaning emotions, intuitions, judgments, observations, perceptions.  I should preface my thoughts by letting you know that I’m not trying to be anything or anyone I’m not, and I’m not trying to sound a certain way.  Just trying to be as honest as possible.  (And let my parents know what I’m up to).  The words in italics are the places I was sitting when I wrote the thoughts beneath them.       

Palazzo Pitti

1. Italians don’t seem to get restless.  They’ve mastered the art of relaxing, taking it easy.  I need to learn this from them.  Even sitting here, calmly, my mind is still racing.  I couldn’t possibly fit it all on paper.  I’m not sure I’d want to even if I could.  But here people don’t worry and hold on to negative things, especially not about things that are out of their control.  I’m pretty sure life expectancy here is longer.  I’m sure the two are related.  (Note: I looked it up when I got home.  According to the CIA world factbook, Italy has the 10^th highest life expectancy in the world.  The US has the 51^st highest.  Science will probably blame diet.  I blame anxiety).

2. Italy is known for high fashion, but it doesn’t seem to trickle down to the masses…

3. What should I do with my life?  Oh, here I go again…

4. The laughter of children is the most uniquely beautiful sound.   

Steps of La Chiesa dei Santi Michele e Gaetano

1. Sitting on the steps of churches is usually a thing here.  Not this church, though.  Perhaps it’s the neighborhood? Or the time of day?

2. Sundays are my favorite day of the week here.  Quieter.  I think the tourists know a lot of places tend to be closed and the Florentines, well, are closed.

3. I will never understand pleather leggings.

Inside La Chiesa dei Santi Michele e Gaetano 

1. I’m sorry, God, if I shouldn’t be writing right now!  You know I don’t know all the rules.

2. Dilemma: numerous bible stories about giving up possessions, riches.  May religious orders take vows of poverty.  Teach charity, alms giving.  And yet these churches are SO decorated, ornate, RICH looking.  This particular church is across the street from Hermes and down the block from Prada.

3. Other traditions/cultures kept their churches simple so that parishioners could really focus on uplifting their minds and spirits to God without distraction.  The Italians, on the other hand, felt that the senses need to be stimulated and engaged before you could get your mind and spirit to the right place.  That, and the Protestants never had a Michelangelo.

All of these thoughts are copied just as I wrote them in my journal.  I didn’t share them all with you-there were some I decided for a variety of reasons to keep to and for myself.  Walking around the city and writing my thoughts, feelings, observations made me feel good.  Really good.  My head is a strange but active, and recently a quite tumultuous, place.  Organizing my thoughts into a shareable manner (ie this blog) make it a little bit easier for me to decipher myself.  It might be a little cheesy, but what’s life without cheese! (And wine, of course).  

Ravenna

This past Saturday JYA Florence took a trip to Ravenna, an ancient city a few hours drive from Florence in the region of Emilia-Romagna.  The city, although small, has a large history.  It is where Caesar gathered his forces before crossing the Rubicon, and later in the year 402 Ravenna became the capital of the Western Roman Empire.  Later still, 554, the city was the center of Byzantine rule in Italy.  

(Thank you, Wikipedia).

The most famous churches in Ravenna, being built just before or during Byzantine rule, are famous for their mosaics.  We had seen some pictures of the mosaics in class last semester with Alfonso, but I was not prepared for the awe of seeing them in person.  Apart from being beautiful- which they are- I was struck by the talent the images I was looking at must have necessitated.  Every single tessera, or piece of the mosaic, was cut by hand.  Actually, every single part of the process was done by hand.  Any tools at the time were primitive.  I'm not even sure that I'm worthy of attempting to describe them, so here are some images (not that they will do much more justice than I will):

 Chiesa di San Vitale

 Mausoleo di Galla Placidia

Sant'Apollinare in Classe

After a morning of sightseeing, we were, of course, quite hungry.  We had a beautiful lunch at a restaurant called Ca` de Ven, which is located in an ancient building.  We had a typical Romagnola lunch called piadina, which is basically a cross between a pancake and pita bread (tastes much better than it sounds) served with a platter of cured meats (easily my favorite thing this country has to offer) and a soft cheese called squacquerone.  It looks a little bit like cottage cheese, but unlike cottage cheese it's actually worth eating.  

You know that scene in Austin Powers where Fat Bastard is like "GET IN MY BELLY!"? That's what I said to this plate of meat.

Throughout the day we were accompanied by our guide, Elena.  In addition to being a highly knowledgeable tour guide, she also makes and restores mosaics.  At every church we went to, Elena was able to focus in on different scenes or people depicted in the mosaics and explain to us the reason they were chosen.  Often the patron saint of the city or the saint for whom the church is named appears, and it also isn't odd to find images of the political leaders at the time of construction.  Different stories from both the Old and New Testaments were depicted, and Elena explained the careful reasons for which they were chosen.  

Ravenna is also famous for another reason.  Dante- THE Dante, author of La Divina Commedia and father of the Italian language- is buried there.  Although he was born and raised in Florence, he was exiled for political reasons to Ravenna, and remained there until his death.  I was expecting the tomb to be a big to-do.  This is Dante we're talking about.  But it wasn't.  His tomb is an awkwardly located tourist attraction.  It's clear that the area in which the tomb is located must have been very different at the time of his death or they never would have put it there.  It is located on a more or less regular city street, cornered between the wall of a monastery and a fence.  I'm not so sure how he'd feel about it.  

       

I adored Ravenna.  It is a much smaller and less bustling city than Florence, but not so much so that one would get bored there.  There were lots of shops- many of which were quite high end- and a lot of bars and restaurants.  The buildings were built, most likely a very long time ago, with brighter colored materials than what you see in Florence, and that brightness translated into a feeling I don't get very often here.  There are significantly less tourists, and the tourists who do make it out to Ravenna aren't the annoying kind.  (It takes a certain kind of person to want to make the trip, after all).  Everything was so much more authentic.  I was actually able to walk down a street without hearing any English!  A part of me really wishes I could spend a year abroad in Ravenna, or in a city like it.  Smaller, with more opportunities to speak Italian with native speakers, in a place where the people aren't jaded by tourism to the point where they are assuming and unfriendly.  On the flip side, I understand the benefits of being in a larger, more international city.  Once again, I'm torn.  

All in all it was a beautiful day, and I hope to return to Ravenna again soon.    

    

  

An abnormally mentally active Tuesday

This afternoon I had the most intellectually and spiritually stimulating experience I've had in a long time. 

It was our first literature class.  I was expecting to dislike it, actually.  This class is starting a week after all of our other ones, and so the professor sent us reading to do before today.  This reading was very dry, despite being about topics that in other contexts are quite interesting, and the professor's syllabus, which we also received in advance, made her seem very uptight.

This was not the case.  Professoressa Francesca Serra has such an interesting presence in front of a classroom.  She's matter of fact, but not rude or presumptuous.  She asks the right questions- the kind that force you to think even if she asked them in a moment when you were zoning out.  Today was an introduction, and a refresher.  She explained the goals of the course, what she wanted us to gain from it, and then we reviewed what we learned last semester with Alfonso- Italian literature from the 1200s up until and including the Renaissance.  

This seems simple.  In theory, it is.  It's a conversation.  A discussion.  Nothing more.  Right?

WRONG.

Before I go forward, allow me to go backwards.  There were moments last semester in Alfonso's classes where I felt way more connected to the material related to my Italian major than I ever did to government major.  The discussions in both Italian and government classes are, of course, intellectual in nature.  But the ideas, thoughts and works we discussed with Alfonso made me feel like I was using my brain for its intended purpose- to explore, and to question, and to relate everything to everything else!  Discussions in government classes made me feel...practical.  More relevant to a potential future income rather than satisfaction with my intellectual state of being.  Although in class I thought and felt these things, outside of class I never pondered it.  I never let myself ponder it.  Until now.

Since arriving in Italy, the feelings I got from discussions in Alfonso's classroom have been more and more present in my life outside of academics.  People here, and I mean regular people, are so much more in tune with grand topics of conversation.  They'll talk to you about philosophy- whether it be a discussion on specific philosophers and their works or a conversation about their outlook on life, love, God, etc.  Italians will talk to you about literature.  My host dad, who buys and sells copy machines for a living, can recite full cantos from La Divina Commedia, beautifully, from memory.  They will talk to you about history.  And when they do, they won't just list dates and names and places.  They will talk to you about mentalities, identities, thoughts and feelings and beliefs that made those dates, names and places appear in the history books.  Americans don't do this, at least not outside college campuses and perhaps the private lives of college professors.  Americans don't do this because it's too time consuming.  It is easier to go faster by simply memorizing dates, names, facts.  But, as with their espresso, Italians don't rush.  

A couple of days or so ago I mentioned to Ellen that I was considering making my government major just a minor, and focusing on Italian Studies and electives.  I am beginning to worry that there are important classes I haven't taken, important things I haven't explored, and that I won't get the chance to senior year with my double major.  But I told Ellen that I still had thinking to do.  Because I don't all of a sudden dislike politics.  I've always been interested in politics.  I enjoy learning about and discussing political issues.  But it's not my only interest. In high school I sang, I performed on stage and in choral groups, I wrote.  Since coming to Smith, I've abandoned these things.  I don't sing outside of my room (much to the dismay of my neighbors), I don't act, and of the few poems I have written since my freshman year, most are impeccably bad.  The extent of my creativity at Smith has been figuring out new chasers to mask the taste of horribly cheap vodka.

That's a joke, Mom and Dad.  (Though I have come up with some successful combinations).

So, getting back to today.  I don't think it is a coincidence that for the thirty minutes or so before this lecture I was standing in front of the refrigerator at the Smith center.  This refrigerator is covered in magnets.  These magnets have words written on them.  I was writing refrigerator poems.  Well, I wrote one poem, and then a series of unrelated but profound sentences.  (Profound for a refrigerator, anyway).  One of the other girls made a comment about how into the magnets I was.  So I explained my fascination.  Words, I said, are opportunities.  But, seeing as how there are a finite number of words on this refrigerator, there is a limit to my possibilities.  I paused, then shouted "THERE ARE SO MANY METAPHORS ON THIS REFRIGERATOR!".  

I felt very misunderstood.   

You can imagine, then, as I sat in our literature class today listening to Professoressa Serra tell us how the figures we will study this semester were more often than not more than just writers, that I felt very understood.  Did you know that Dante wasn't just a poet?  He was involved in politics, and very learned in astronomy.  Michelangelo wrote poetry, Machiavelli wrote plays!  Historically, Italian intellectuals have not limited themselves to one subject area or specialty.  They were intellectual in the way that I have long struggled to master: they studied everything.  To them, everything was connected, and so one had to be well rounded.  

I have not, sadly, found a way to be creative or well rounded within the context of my government major.  In government classes at Smith, I've learned interesting things.  I'm sitting here trying to come up with a specific example for you, but the fact that nothing is coming to mind probably says something in and of itself. The point is, there hasn't really ever been anything that I left class talking about and lingering on excitedly.  But with Alfonso, and here in Italy, I do that all the time.  For example, the other day in our orientation language class, Professoressa Merli was reviewing the remote past with us.  In Italian, unlike in English, there are multiple was to say things in the past tense.  There is the passato prossimo, the simple and commonly used tense, and the passato remoto, which you'll see in history books and such to talk about things that happened, well, in remote past.  We then learned, however, that in certain regions of the country, the remote past is used much more frequently.  In certain parts of southern Italy, it wouldn't be strange to hear Andai al mercato (remote past of "I went to the market"), even if the person talking went to the market a week ago.  Similarly, you can use the passato prossimo to talk about something that happened a long time ago if you still feel a close connection to it.  Or, if it happened yesterday but you didn't think twice of it, or perhaps you feel very negatively towards it and thus want to figuratively distance yourself from it, you can use the passato remoto.  Both instances would be 100% grammatically correct.  Do you realize what this means?  This means that Italian gives the speaker or writer the opportunity to imply their feelings about whatever it is he or she is discussing via the grammatical choice they make.  There is no need to explicitly state those feelings.  DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW PHENOMENAL A LINGUISTIC OPPORTUNITY THIS IS?   

No gov class ever has made me want to shout, or type in all caps, a concept or fact I learned.      

And so, here I am now, after all of what I just explained to you, sitting at my computer typing this out more for myself, than for you.  No offense, but I'm having an intellectual crisis here, so forgive me for needing to organize my thoughts on paper.  (Cyber paper, if you will). 

I'm very torn.  That's what it boils down to.  I can either change my course of study from an Italian Studies and Government double major to an Italian Studies major with a Government minor, or I can keep things the way they are.  The former, in addition to allowing me to concentrate on the things- and professors- that make me feel mentally necessary, will allow me to do the intellectual exploration that I have, perhaps unknowingly, denied myself thus far.  It's something that I feel is important to do as a person with a brain that works the way mine does.  The latter, on the other hand, provides me with a better looking resume, more chances for future employment, and a fairly solid understanding of an individual field of study.  The wider array of job opportunities based on my gov major includes a lot of exciting, rewarding things, with more real world practicality, involving today's people, not ones that died hundreds of years ago.  I'm also really good at it.  Just ask my transcript.  Thus, I am torn between the intellectually exciting choice, one that keeps me thinking and feeling connected to something bigger than myself, and the practical choice, the one that has a greater chance of me having regular meals in my future.  It's a dilemma that is not unique to me.  How many people do you know or know of that stay in jobs they get no emotional or mental satisfaction from because of the monetary reward?  TOO MANY PEOPLE. 

This issue, my issue, will not be resolved when I go to sleep tonight.  It will not be resolved magically when I wake up tomorrow.  Luckily, I have plenty of time here in Florence to think about it.  So many things related to this place have caused this crisis, so it's rather fitting.  (Or ironic...?)  Luckily, I have a feeling that my professors this semester will have new ways to stimulate my mind and get it to a place where I can make the right decision.  

What's coming to my mind right now is a tiny piece of Canto I from Dante's Inferno:

Ahi quanto a dir qual era e` cosa dura

esta selva selvaggia e aspra e forte

che nel pensier rinova la paura!

These are the fourth, fifth and sixth lines of the entire work.  The first three say that half way through life's journey (so mid-age), Dante finds himself in the middle of a "selva oscura", or a dark forest, and it was hard to see the way forward.  The lines that I've provided say, in a very simple translation, that it is hard to think of how dark and foreign and scary that forest was, that just thinking of it or talking about it brings back the fear he felt when it was happening.  What made me think of this passage was the word paura, which means fear.  I am fearful of the intellectual journey I have to take, because I am afraid of making the wrong choice.  I've been here before.  I've thought these things before.  And every time I think about them it freaks me out.  But this time, realizing how fast time has flown- I'm more than halfway done with college and I've already been in Italy over a month- this time I actually need to come to a conclusion.  And that's frightening.   

Okay, maybe the passage is a bit of a stretch.  It honestly is what popped into my head, though, so it has to be relevant somehow.  If I've learned anything from Alfonso Procaccini, it's that nothing is too big of a stretch.  Everything is related.   

Clearly, I have a lot of thinking to do.  This is an intellectual crisis I'm having.  Crises are not easily resolved.  So after I edit this post a bit, and send it off into cyber space, I'm going to lay down and think.  I will probably become frustrated, I might cry, and I will definitely eat chocolate.  

If you've made it this far, I appreciate the time you took to get here.  I appreciate that you started reading at all, because knowing you took the time to read what I took the time to write makes me feel a lot less alone.    

Vino con Pino

On Friday afternoon, Rachel- always the organizer!- put together a wine tasting with Pino, the man from the sandwich shop a few blog posts back.  When we walked into his enoteca, he greeted us like we were old friends.  Laughing, warm, and immensely inviting.  (This guy is from Naples, remember?)

Pino showed us downstairs to the room where the event would be held.  The cantina was originally part of a Florentine prison and dates back to the year 1312.  You know, just a little wine tasting in a 700 year old space.  Casual.  No big deal or anything.

The room was set up with two tables ready to go.  In addition to the place settings, there were big baskets of bread, bowls of pre-cut parmiggiano, and water.  I noticed trays of salumi waiting on another table at the end of the room.  I took a moment to myself and thought "This must be what heaven is like".

  

Before we got to try some wine, we were given a taste of balsamic vinegar and olive oil first.  All I knew about balsamic vinegar before Friday was that I enjoyed the taste of it on salads and sandwiches.  I knew nothing of how it's made, where it's made, or what defines quality aceto balsamico.  To be authentic, balsamic vinegar must come from Modena.  If your bottle says something like "Modena style" or "like Modena", don't waste your money.  If you want the real thing, make sure the bottle says "Aceto Balsiamico di Modena".  The process they use today is much the same as it was hundreds of years ago.  White grapes, usually Trebbiano grapes, are boiled down and then fermented in a slow aging process.  Now when you've had balsamic in the past, it's probably been on a salad, right? Or maybe drizzled over some grilled veggies?  The point is- it's a liquid.  It is drizzle-able.  I never thought twice of having it any other way.  Until now.  Little did I know, balsamic vinegar, similarly to wine, changes with age.  The older it is, the thicker the consistency.  Pino gave us a taste of 10 year old balsamico, the consistency of which was more like a syrup.  I got a little too excited at this point, because I just couldn't believe my eyes.  Here I was, thinking I was at least a little more culinarily aware than most people my own age, and I had no clue that balsamic vinegar comes in a variety of consistencies that exist due to how long it's aged.  The taste was a little sweeter than what I was used to, and not as overbearing.  He then went on to explain the different uses of different ages of balsamic vinegar.  The baby vinegars with a more liquid consistency are what you use for salads and such.  With the kind of vinegar we tried, there are a lot of options- it's not just for dipping bread and cheese into (as undeniably soul satisfying as that is).  You can make a risotto with more aged balsamic, which I'd be down for.  Pino also said that a drop of it works surprisingly well with certain flavors of gelato and certain fruits. 

We moved onto the olive oil next.  I don't have as much to say about it.  Not because it wasn't delicious, it was.  I dipped plenty of bread into it.  (There really is something so fulfilling about dipping bread into tasty substances).  But the change of flavor on my taste buds was not enough to distract me from how moved by the balsamic vinegar  I was.  Seriously.  I feel like a door has been opened for me.  A door that leads to a gastronomic and historical adventure based on a product that I had underestimated for so long.

After this, we moved on to our first glass of wine.  It was a white.  Fruitier than I usually go for, but I actually really liked it.  It was light, and not overwhelming.  After giving a brief explanation of how to go about tasting wine, Pino explained what kinds of smells we should recognize from this particular wine before tasting.  (I really wish I'd taken notes!).  This white had hints of pear and apple, and also a certain flowers.  He stressed the importance of first smelling anything and everything you taste- not just wine.  Smell enhances the experience on your tongue.  He told us that we had to work to memorize scents, and that it would become easier to notice them.  I could not tell you then or now what a pear smells like, and I'm not a common recipient of flowers, so forgive me Pino for not being able to figure it out on my own! I'll work on it, I promise :)

The second wine was a Chianti Classico- much better than the one we tried the other day.  This time I was able to recognize one of the smells, which was smoke/smokiness.  Pino explained that this comes from the smoke used in part of the process used to make the barrels the wine is stored in.  This wine also had (apparently) hints of peach.  It had a pretty full feel to it- definitely felt it all over your mouth- but not overwhelmingly strong.  He then had us see how the taste changed after eating some parmiggiano, prosciutto and finocchiona (salame with fennel).  

The third and final wine was a Super Tuscan, and it was Super Terrific.  It was smoky, a little spicy, warm and all around satisfying.  Definitely the strongest of the three.  I'm not sure if it was intentional or not, but for this last glass Pino definitely gave us way more than a tasting amount.  (For the record, this is not a complaint).  He went on to say that this was a kind of wine that didn't need to be paired with food.  It would be a great end of the day glass of wine, or casual conversation glass of wine.  I think it would be a really great my boyfriend just broke up with me glass...bottle...of wine, or an I'm trying to get drunk but I don't want want to act like I want to get drunk so I'll drink this and just say that I didn't know how strong my drink was kind of wine.  (I know a lot about that last category).

Throughout the evening, Pino, in addition to teaching us many wonderful things, also made us feel like family.  Everything was casual, comfortable, and there were lots of laughs to be shared in addition to all the edibles.  He invited us back for a longer visit (there was another group coming in).  And unlike when shopkeepers in the states say things like "come again soon", when Pino said it, I actually believed it.  

Oh, the best part of the whole evening?  I only paid 15 euros for it.       
              

  

comincia (finalmente!) il semestre

CLASSES HAVE FINALLY BEGUN!

I know my sisters will tease me for it, but I couldn't be happier to be getting back into the academic swing of things.  As beautiful as my summer was, it was very long, and I was starting to really miss the classroom environment.  It helps that I have great courses this semester.  Here's what's on my plate:

Storia Sociale (Social History):
This is the class that I am most excited to be taking.  We are going to talk about the political and social history of Italy from the time of fascism up until and including today.  We'll talk about what Italy was like under fascism, and what it left behind.  We'll talk about the political parties, social movements, etc., and how all of these things have worked over time to shape the mindset of the Italian people today.

Stilistica (Stylistics):
The professor for this class is the same as our orientation course, and I'm happy to be spending a semester with her.  I've never had an Italian professor that didn't speak English before, and it is actually better to learn this way.  If there is something that I don't understand, she has to use Italian to explain Italian, which basically forces me to understand.  She's funny, energetic, and has designed a course that involves reading, writing, listening and speaking.  

Storia di Firenze (History of Florence):
The title is self explanatory, really.  One semester is not enough to learn the entire history of this city, so the course focuses in on a few key centuries.  We start with the time of Dante, (1200s) and we'll work our way up until the end of the 1500s.  This means not only will we talk about Dante, but also the Medici family and all things Renaissance.  The professor is the same man who told us it took him years to make Florentine friends.  He's relaxed and (unintentionally) quite funny, and every class he gives us a five minute break (because what self respecting Italian can sit still for an hour and a half without getting up for an espresso?).  

Survey of Italian Literature II:
All of us took Survey I last semester at Smith with Alfonso- everyone's favorite teacher.  With him we read portions of La Divina Commedia, Il Decamerone, and worked our way up to Renaissance poets like Francesco Petrarca.  So, the class this semester will begin in the 1600s and will end with 20th century Italian literature. 

I will also be auditing a class at the University of Florence.  It counts as a two credit, pass/fail course for Smith.  More on that in a few weeks when the ball gets rolling.

I'm happy to have a more solidified schedule, and (I can't believe I'm saying this) I'm  happy to have work to do!  I think it will really help push my brain into the language, which is what I want.  Admittedly, we haven't been speaking as much Italian with each other as we should, so I'm hoping that the semester will help us to do the right thing.

Oh, I almost forgot.  There is one more really great thing about this semester.  I have four day weekends every week! 

All the time in the world

Often times when I note a difference between the way things are done here in Italy and the way things are done back home, upon further thought I realize that a lot of these differences are little reflections of the differences in mind set between the two countries.  I began thinking about this yet again on Saturday morning at the Santa Maria Novella train station where we boarded our bus for Chianti.  As our departure was scheduled for 7:30 in the morning, naturally there were a number of people on the hunt for coffee.  I don't like coffee (I'm a bad Italian sometimes, I know), but I went along with a friend as she went to get a cup.

Bars and cafes in Italy aren't exactly on board with the whole "to go" thing.  You never see people walking through the streets with a cup of coffee.  Bars sometimes have to go cups- for tourists.  But you need to ask for them.  Italians don't take their coffee to go.  They stand at the bar and take their time sipping their espresso or cappuccino or what have you, out of non-disposable cups, whether or not they are there alone. They chat with the person behind the counter, they people watch, they relax.  The point is they stop. 

Stop.  Stop rushing.  Stop moving.  Order your coffee.  Drink it at the bar, out of the cup it was intended to be drank from.  Take your time.  New Yorkers like me could learn a thing or two from this concept.  In the grand scheme of things what are you really going to miss out on?  Can you think of anything?  Because I can't.  You're more likely to miss out on something if you take the coffee to go- like a great, if short, conversation with a friendly bartender or fellow patron.  

I mentioned my observation in the train station to my friend Francesca- a fellow New Yorker.  She had noticed the same thing.  "They think they have all the time in the world to stop and smell the roses!" she said jokingly.  Whether or not they actually have that much time is up for debate, but just the fact that they think they do, act like they do, says something important in and of itself.

So to my readers in America, I want to say this.  Next time you go for a cup of coffee, don't walk away with it.  Even if you're at a place that doesn't have real cups, which is all too plausible, don't rush out.  Stand at the counter or take a seat.  Especially now as it starts to get colder.  Let your drink actually warm you.  Coffee isn't just about the caffeine, you know.  If the place isn't busy, chat with the person who served you.  He or she will be grateful for your kindness (especially if you're in New York!).  Or, if you're feeling like you need a you moment, take one.  Stand or sit by yourself, and get  your thoughts together.  It's sad to say, and almost silly even, but too often we get so caught up in all there is to do and take care of that our thoughts get jumbled and disorganized to the point where we actually need to stop and consciously reorganize them.  Next time you go for a cup of coffee, drink it as though you have all the time in the world.              

Chianti

Yesterday nearly all of the ladies from Smith and I took a trip into Tuscan wine country: Chianti.  The trip was organized by a group called Florence For Fun, which organizes day trips and long weekends for students studying in Florence.  

The bus ride from Florence to Chianti was about an hour, maybe an hour and a half.  The views on the way up were phenomenal.  Everything was so beautiful.  When we arrived in the town of Greve, we first stopped at a small bar for some coffee. (Obviously).  We then started our hike towards the vineyard.  Upon arriving, we were greeted by a man named Pietro.  Pietro had very curly honey colored hair, and a large beard that looked much the same.  He was dirty from having worked outside all morning, perhaps a little tired, but honestly he was one of the happiest and most at peace people I've ever seen.  Pietro explained to us our job for the day: cutting grapes.  He showed us what grapes ready to be picked looked like, and which ones to leave.  It was a short explanation, and then we got to work.  

The event description provided by Florence for Fun did mention hiking and grape picking, but for some reason I didn't expect it to be that intense.  But it was.  Nearly all of the walking to the vineyard, and afterwards all of the walking to where we ate lunch, was uphill.  I was definitely inappropriately dressed.  But this is me we're talking about.  If you're surprised by that, then perhaps you don't know me very well.

After maybe an hour or so picking grapes, we started walking towards the villa of Lorenzo Sassolini.  Lorenzo's family owns the vineyard we were on.  His family has been prominent in this region for over 800 years, and they've been making wine for most of that time.  Every step of the process is natural- there are no chemical additives in their wine.  Their wine cellar is in the same place it's been for hundreds of years- right across the street from his villa, which provided the scenery for our lunch and wine tasting.  Lorenzo's villa is impeccable.  I imagine that with the exception of modern appliances and the swimming pool, the house is much the same way it's been for centuries.  There are portraits of past members of the Sassolini family all around the house, as well as a lot of antique hunting paraphernalia.  And of course, what centuries old house in Tuscany wouldn't be complete without a suit of armor.  Lunch consisted of typical Tuscan salumi, some bread and olive oil (which the Sassolini family also produces), two different kinds of pasta and dessert.  During our meal we tasted three different wines, a dessert wine, and some grappa, all made right across the street from where we were eating in much the same method as when the business began.  Before starting, Lorenzo explained the proper way to taste the wines.  

The first wine we tried was a Chianti Classico, made from predominately Sangiovese grapes.  It was a tiny bit sweeter than I normally like (you could detect a hint of berries upon smelling it), but it was smooth and definitely refreshing after all that walking.  We then tried a white wine called Sulpizia which was much too sweet for my tastes.  (I still drank it, though.  Let's be real here).  We then tried another red called Ferdinando III, which was my favorite.  It was a heavier, spicier red with a much fuller feel to it.  We then moved onto the dessert wine, which tasted like church.  Not terrible (I drank it), but nothing I would ever crave or go out of my way to have again.  We ended with the grappa.  I took one little whiff and then decided that I didn't need to try it.  I've heard too many stories about the friendship cup being passed around the Gambardella family dining room table.  

After eating, some friends and I decided to take a little walk.  We walked up a small hill to a beautiful church, and when we looked over to our left, we saw the most beautiful panorama.  We all just stood there and stared out at it, not really knowing what to say.  When we got control of our awe again, we began to speak about how sometimes we wish our program were located in a smaller place like this.  A place much smaller and much more authentic, with way fewer tourists and more opportunities to actually speak Italian with Italians.  Florence is great, don't get me wrong.  But it's difficult to completely immerse my mind in Italian when I hear plenty of people speaking English every single day.  It is why I don't plan on going on another trip with Florence for Fun.  Even though it was a great price and the tour guides were a lot of fun,  all of the other participants come from the stereotypical American program in Florence.  Programs that have very lax or nonexistent language requirements before arriving, programs that house their students in dorms or apartments with other English speaking students, and programs that send their students here for a few months to take easier than normal classes and to take advantage of the lower drinking age.  I do not want to spend my time here with people like that.  They're not bad people or anything like that.  But it isn't to my benefit to spend my time with them.  The girls we met were shocked to hear that we were staying with host families and that we sign a language pledge to speak in Italian 100% of the time, and that all of our classes are in Italian.    

Things will hopefully get better soon.  Orientation is over, and the semester officially begins tomorrow.  I'm looking forward to being an actual student again (finals at Smith were the first week of May).  I'm excited to take all of my classes in Italian.  I think it will be immensely beneficial, and i think it will inspire us to work a little harder with our language skills.  

I'll let you know how it goes.