The Day We ALMOST Outsmarted Google Maps

Ciao!

It’s Friday morning here in Roma, and I just finished packing for my trip to the Island of Ventotene this weekend!!! But that’s another blog post entirely so I’ll fill you in on what’s been going on here this week. Everyone has been grinding away at their work now that the semester has progressed so far. I’m pretty sure most of us had an Italian test yesterday. Can you believe we’ve been here a month!?!?! It doesn’t feel like it at all. I’m starting to feel myself merging into Italian culture more and more everyday. This Tuesday, I had my first craving for their weird fizzy water that I talked about in my first post. It’s essentially soda water but it’s just really light and effervescent and really unique. If you ever get the chance give it a try because it’s slowly becoming a staple in my diet.

It’s always a little strange when Italian and American culture collide. I can’t tell you how many T-shirts I’ve seen that are written in English and are just slightly incorrect, but the Italian wearing it has no clue. On the subway I saw this woman wearing a shirt with shopping bags on it and it said “I am a fashion.” … Whatever floats your boat I guess.

We went to the Church of St. Peter in Chains on Tuesday which is right around the coliseum. There just so happens to be a famous Michelangelo sculpture of Moses in there so the place was crawling with tourists. In order to escape the mob I walked to the local Cafe and got a cappuccino. While basking in my new-found Italian glory of not needing any English to order my coffee I looked up on the TV screen above the bar, and what else was playing but… “Call Me Maybe” by Carly Rae Jepson. WHAT! IT FOLLOWED ME HERE! I can’t say I totally mind, that song is catchy as all get out, but it’s always funny to get little glimmers of home thousands of miles away.

As far as adventures for this week go, James and I decided to venture out to see an exhibit of the work of Matvey Levenstein (http://www.lorcanoneill.com/site/index.php) at a gallery in Trastevere called Lorcan O’neill. Our painting professor, Dan has been telling me to go see it for weeks.  The artist is the husband of a former graduate of Temple’s Tyler School of Art, and his work is very similar to mine… or at least what I’m trying to do.  Dan gave me very specific directions which, of course, went right over my head. So James and I went to the most reliable source we knew, Google maps, to get us there. When looking at the written directions they involved a million and a half right turns, left turns, blah blah blah. I knew I would screw that up. But looking at the map it seemed easy enough. “Oh just follow the Tiber,” I thought, “It will take us right there!” In some ways I was completely correct (I’m sure James would say otherwise). I literally got us within a hundred yards of the gallery. But, of course, I second guessed myself and took a wrong turn at the last minute which then lead us the ENTIRE way around Trastevere. In total this journey was supposed to take us 34 minutes. Well, 94 minutes in, after asking 3 police men and giving in to call my painting professor, WE FOUND IT!!!

Talk about a site for sore eyes.

The paintings were completely amazing!!! And totally worth all the trouble.

Mission accomplished, James and I set off for home. He made it very clear to me:

James: “If we walk all the way there and then have to walk all the way back I’m going to get mad crank.”

(Translation: cranky little baby.)

So we figured out the bus route and waited. Got on the bus, totally normal rode that for a little while. And then… The bus stopped and the driver gout out to go smoke a cigarette… WHAT. This was the most sketchy part of Rome I have seen so far and it was just me, James, and some lady left on this bus. This is pretty much what my and James silent argument consisted of:

James: “Well, we’re staying on this bus. No way in hell am I walking. Besides that lady is still on too.”

Me: “… yea but what if she LIVES on this bus?”

James: “She does not live on this bus!”

Me: “How do you know?”

Anyway, we got off the bus and luckily managed to find a subway stop. By the time we got home we were beat-down-tired but my room mates were waiting to go to dinner.

I totally burned all the carbs in this with all the walking I did. WIN.

And here’s a lovely view from the window of my studio just to brighten your day!

Buon Weekend everyone!

Arrivederci!

Jen

Who digs giant robots?

Recently in class I learned about something called ‘Orientalism.’ It’s one of those terms academics give to issues that most people don’t notice or particularly care about. The gist of it is that western writers, particularly travel writers, tend to over simplify the eastern countries and make them appear more exotic than they really are. I’m not going to get into why this is or isn’t an issue, since this isn’t really the place and most of you likely fall into the ‘don’t particularly care’ category. But it is true; travel writers like myself don’t spend much time talking about how similar our cultures are. It’s always about how weird the other country is. With this in mind I’ve spent the past week wracking my brain trying to find something to talk about that didn’t fall into these cliched pitfalls. Then I ran into a giant robot selling beam chopsticks.

Thanks to a missed deadline for a school-trip sign up, I found myself with more money than budgeted. So I decided to take my windfall and do the fiscally responsible thing and immediately spend it. This week’s fund-drainer came in the form of a day trip to Odaiba, an artificial island in Tokyo Bay. Now if what video games had taught me about artificial islands was true then this island would be elevated several stories in the air and would inevitably collapse into the sea at some point during my visit. Turns out video games are a terrible source of information, as Odaiba looks like a normal island and at no point decided to pull a big-budgeted remake of Atlantes. It also turns out getting there is a pain. Google maps says there’s a JR line from Osaki (a stop conveniently on my commuter pass) that leads to Odaiba. Google maps lies. There’s only two ways onto the island: by car or by private rail. Since I don’t own a car in Japan and taxis require a level of Japanese beyond “watashi wa baka gaijin desu” the train was my only option. Now, I can’t really describe the train without risking my job here due to profanity, but I will say whoever designed the cars had a burning, seething hatred for people who stand on trains, since the seats are nice and big but take up far too much space.

Luckily the route is padded with stops less than a block away from each other and a loop, so there’s plenty of time to enjoy the elbow in your gut.

Odaiba is mostly shopping malls, western style shopping malls, or at least trying to be western style shopping malls. One of them was actually two malls fused together like Frankenstein’s monster, connected by bridges that criss-crossed like architectural stitches. One of the Franken-malls definitely stood out from the rest of the pack. The upper levels were all restaurants with a running theme of a cruse ship while the lower levels seemed to exist in the same dimension that TGI Fridays get their decorations. In other words it looked like the aftermath of a flea-market that got hit by a truck carrying movie props. Strange nicknack shops interspersed with nonsensical displays and props. Honestly it reminded me of a farmer’s market in PA, complete with the candy store selling candies no commercial chain would bother with, gimicky stores that sell cheap novelties, and a place dedicated to geodes.

Oh, and they had a Statue of Liberty.

Oh you know, everyone’s got one of these just lying around somewhere.

Overall Odaiba wasn’t terribly interesting. Mostly shops. Fairly nice shops with a wide selection of products, but shops none the less. At least that’s what I was thinking about the place until I rounded the corner at the end of the island.

‘Sup, I’m a giant robot

And suddenly I was reminded what country I was in. For those who aren’t familiar with Japanese pop culture; that’s a Gundam, a giant fighting machine from a cartoon series that’s been running in one iteration or another since the 80s. I’d heard that someone built a life-sized model of the original Gundam, but I’d also heard it was damaged and had to be taken down after the earthquake last year. Apparently they put it back up in front of a shopping center. That or built another one. I’m not sure which is crazier. Turns out the crazier option was option C, build another Gundam made of flowers.

Gentlemen, it is as we feared; the hippies have giant robots.

From what I could gather the incomplete Flower Gundam was part of city wide flower festival. Now at the time of writing the festival hasn’t started yet, but if the signs are right they plan on having a fully armed and operational Flower Gundam by the start of the festival. And the Gundam madness doesn’t stop there. Directly behind the robot is a Gundam Cafe, selling Gundam chopsticks, Gundam mugs, Gundam bean paste buns, Gundam brand coffee, and other merchandise. Though the strange robot cake goes to the 7-11 which carries, you guessed it, 7-11 Gundam models.

I’m not kidding, this is a thing.

At the time I couldn’t stop giggling at how goofy the whole thing was. There it was, a giant model that someone put a considerable amount of time, effort, and money into the bring to life. Sure it’s the icon of a company that’s built on merchandising, and the statue was probably the result of some marketing scheme. But somewhere in that company there had of have been some madman with a dream, a dream to bring a giant robot to life in Japan. Though in retrospect it kinda makes me sad. Not because it’s unabashed consumerism built around a corporate logo, I’m okay with that (especially since we do it too).  No the part that gets me down in a small was is how stereotypical it is. It’s like the Japanese know we think they’re weird and are now just daring us to write about them.

Shopping Saturday

On Saturday morning I went to St. George’s Market. It is a food and craft market located in Belfast city center. It is only open on the weekends with free admission and it’s a very busy and popular place. I think St. George’s Market is very similar to Reading Terminal Market in Philly. When I first entered, the strong odor of fish hit me. I quickly found that the source was a vendor selling freshly caught fish. There were stalls selling traditional fish and chips; baked goods; crepes; Indian food; exotic spices; freshly baked bread; and lots more. I bought a savory crepe filled with ham, cheese and tomato for lunch and tasted some vegetarian Indian samples. There were some really cool vendors selling clocks made out of melted beer and alcohol bottles; homemade knit blankets and pillows; baby clothes and hand-made wooden signs. One vendor was selling handmade jewelry themed on Harry Potter and Alice in Wonderland with intricate designs. I wanted to buy the Harry Potter bracelet with the cute charms featuring Polyjuice potion, a wand, Harry’s glasses, a feather quill pen and more clever objects from the books. I enjoyed walking around and checking out all the vendors, and my aunt bought a box of cakes and buns from a lady who was packing up to go home and offered to sell us a selection of everything she had left for just five pounds!

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Belfast city center is a busy place on a Saturday afternoon. There was music blaring in Victoria Square shopping Center and Castle Court shopping center and loads of people were walking around, shopping and eating. There was actually a fashion show going on and girls were allowed to try on the clothes and walk down a sort of mini runway for their friends and family to get a taste of what it would be like to model in the fashion industry! One thing I noticed about the Irish is that they like to dress up. Even just to go shopping, girls were completely done up with their makeup and hair and all dressed up. I love walking through the big department store called “House of Fraser”, it’s basically the equivalent of Bloomingdales but it’s just so impressive and fancy. On the first floor there is a champagne bar, where all they serve is light meals and champagne. The women eating their lunch there just looked so sophisticated… and like they had nothing better to do with their money and time. A student like me is looking for discounts, the cheapest option and Belfast is definitely student friendly. Almost every shop and restaurant I’ve been in so far has offered a student discount. Most of the popular clothing stores and designer name shops offer a 20% discount to students when we flash our student ID cards. (When Christmas time comes, that’ll come in handy!)

The weather is definitely starting to get chillier in Belfast. I’ve already started wearing my coat, because the chilly weather is too much for just a cardigan. And as for the infamous rain in Ireland, it has been nonstop all week so I don’t dare to venture outside without my umbrella.

Yesterday was my first day of classes at Queen’s University Belfast. I was not happy to see rain in the morning when I woke up, and made sure to wear my boots and bring my umbrella. I caught the bus to Queen’s and managed to find the geography building pretty quickly and find my classroom so I arrived to class on time. My class is filled with third year students so I felt like I fit right in and the only significant difference between Temple and Queen’s that I noticed first off, was that my professor had an English accent. Class only lasted an hour and it was mainly a discussion about what the class would be like and describing an assignment due for the next day. I have classes Monday’s, Tuesday’s and Thursday’s and the rest of the time I’ll probably be in the library doing work preparing for class. In Ireland they call classes, modules. Each module requires a lot of work and therefore, each semester a student at Queen’s only registers for three modules. When I first heard this I was shocked and compared it to my schedule at Temple where I took five or six classes per semester. According to my Queen’s advisor, the three modules is equivalent to taking 5-6 American classes, because the workload for each course is more intense. Judging from my geography module, since I have already been given homework and been assigned a presentation due next week, I’m guessing that my advisor was right and this is going to be a busy semester!

Under the Umbrian Sun

I have just returned from the most incredible weekend of my life.  And it was with my two friends from Duke, Katie and Marie, and five fifty-year-old women.  We spent three days in a villa in Paciano (a small town in Umbria) immersing ourselves in the Italian values of food, wine, relaxation, and family.

Now, how did three twenty-year old girls come about spending their weekend with five fifty-year-old women? Well, coincidentally, Marie’s mother was renting a villa in Umbira the same time that Professor Aldo Patania had planned Temple’s trip to Umbria.  So after Katie, Marie, and I participated in the olive oil and wine tours, we met up with Marie’s mother who then drove us to the villa.

View of the Umbrian valley from the villa.

The first night, we all enjoyed an apertivo of wine, cheese, crackers, prosciutto, and figs while watching the sunset from our fresco dining area.  Then, we walked to a local restaurant in which we ordered about ten different dishes and enjoyed them tapas style—all while sipping on Umbrian red wine, of course.  My stomach was so full I doubted if I could walk back up the hill to the villa!

The next morning, I slept until 11:30 AM.  Had my morning cappuccino at 1 PM—the Paciano bartender gave me a weird look, but hey, I had just woken up!  Coming back to the villa, the “older girls” prepared a picnic lunch while Marie, Katie, and I tried to help.  I ate to my heart’s content under the warm Umbrian sun.

Picnic at the villa on a lazy Saturday afternoon.

Finishing the lunch around 4 PM, the three of us Duke girls lounged around the pool chatting as we waited for our driver to pick us up at 7:15 PM for dinner.  Yes, we were eating again.  And yes, I had a snack with wine in those three hours by the pool.

Escorted to Chiusi by our friendly taxi driver Leonardo, who gave us a bottle of wine because a couple of the women with us had tipped him too much on the drive from the train station to the villa, he gave us a quick tour of the ancient Etruscan walled town.  Leonardo leading eight American women around a small Italian town was certainly an entertaining sight.

The best part of the informal tour was when he took us to Ristorante Zaira.  We did not eat at this establishment, but Leonardo instead revealed to us Zaira’s underground wine cellar.  The restaurant rests on an Etruscan cave filled with over 20,000 bottles of wine aged 50+ years.  It was incredible.  The rest of the stay was just as relaxing and delicious as the first half, but the Etruscan cave turned underground wine cellar was an unforgettable experience.  It definitely pays to make local friends!

Wine on wine on wine.

This weekend, I felt like I became a true Italian.  I embraced small-town life, ate the freshest ingredients, bought groceries in Italian from boutique stores, ordered food in Italian, and asked for directions in Italian.  Seems my three weeks of Italian 1 class has gotten me very far!  The greatest compliment I have received is being answered in Italian when I ask a question.  However, Italians speak so fast so I have a hard time understanding what they are saying.  In the end, we try to find a common ground with broken Italian and English, but it is still fun to pretend for a little while that I am fluent.  Language acquisition is coming rather quickly for me since I practice it so much; thus, I definitely plan on hunting down the Italians at Duke so that I can keep up this beautiful language when I return to the States!

I love experiencing Italy the slow, relaxed way.  Katie, Marie, and I are already planning our return.  In fact, being with these five women, who are so vivacious and strong, has forced me to think a lot about the future.  I can only hope that, thirty years later, I will be as fabulous as they are!

Olives and Grapes

On Friday, Temple Rome’s Professor Aldo Patania led a mix of Temple and American University students around Umbria for a glance at the workmanship behind olive oil, wine, and ceramics.  Even though we had to meet at 7:20 AM, the early wake-up was definitely worth the visit.

At the first stop, we visited the Monini olive oil factory.  In Umbria 1920, Zefferino Monini used his instinct and business abilities to start a company specializing in foodstuffs.  Eventually, Monini began producing only extra virgin olive oil.  So successful, his oil expanded to the nearby regions of Lazio, Marche and Romagna.  Ninety years later and Monini, still 100% family-owned, is considered Italy’s number one large-scale distributer of olive oil.  One aspect of the visit I found fascinating is that none of the olive oil that Monini distributes is made in Umbria.  In fact, the Umbrian factory is solely a bottling facility.  The company imports olive oil from mills in southern Italy, Greece, Spain, and other countries by the Mediterranean Sea.  Now, don’t get me wrong, seeing how the bottles are cleaned, filled, and packaged was cool, but I was disheartened to learn that Monini, labeled and known as an Italian olive oil, is not actually from Italy.  When the company receives the oils, they blend the different types together according to their secret Monini recipes.  Thus, instead of growing olives, crushing them, and manufacturing the oil, Monini is simply a vehicle for quality control.  They even distribute olive oil for the Italian supermarket, Carrefour!  In the end, while the visit was eye opening, I left a little dissatisfied in the olive oil industry.  Recently though, I learned that many people are interested in enforcing rules on the olive oil industry so that olive oil from a certain area can only be labeled as from that area—similar to the way a wine can only be labeled by the region of origin.  For example, similar to the fact that Burgundy wine is from the region of Burgundy (Bourgogne) in France and Chianti is from the region of Chianti in Tuscany, Italy, Italian olive oil might soon be made from olives grown in Italy.  Personally, I think this is a great idea and will clear any misconceptions and also add value to small, family-run olive groves that actually do grow, crush, and mix their own oil.

Wine tasting at Cantina Novelli in the heart of Umbria

The next stop on the trip was the Cantina Novelli winery.  Immediately after exiting the bus, I walked to the entrance of the Novelli building, which faces a breath-taking view of the vineyard in the foreground and the Umbrian valley in the background.  The wine specialist on the grounds led the group through the crushing, mixing, and fermentation facilities.  Did you know that the color of the wine (red, white, or blush) is determined not by the type of grape, but actually by the amount of time the skin and flesh stay in contact during the winemaking process?  Thus, if a grape is quickly pressed and the juices not permitted to contact the skin for very long, a white wine is produced.  I had no idea!

At the actual wine tasting, we had the opportunity to sample Novelli’s Rosè de Noir (a sparkling rosè), Trebbiano Spoletino (a white), and Montefalco Sagrantino (a red).  My favorite was the white.  I am not going to try to describe the wine since every person’s experience is different, but just know I have never tasted a white wine so perfect…and I have had a lot of wine.  Here are a few tips I cultivated from the wine tasting:

1. When first poured the wine, inspect the color of the wine by tilting the glass at a 45-degree angle and examining the liquid against a white background.
2. Smell the wine.  Swirl.  Then smell again.  I was amazed at how differently the wine smells after the swirl.
3. Take a sip, making sure the liquid coats every centimeter of one’s tongue to receive the full experience of the wine.  Voila!  You are now a wine-tasting expert!

Corks of the Cantina Novelli Winery

Officially, the tour had one last stop at a ceramics factory in Deruta, but my friend from Duke, Marie, had joined Katie and I on the trip and invited us to stay at her mom’s villa in Umbria.  I was not about to say no to a relaxing weekend in the beautiful Italian countryside, so the three of us skipped the ceramics tour to leave for the villa.  On the way, we stopped at Casa del Cioccolato Perugina (the chocolate factory in Perugina).  Not a bad trade-off.

My friend Katie, also a student at Temple Rome, in front of the replica of the Baci that broke the Guiness World Record for largest piece of chocolate. Baci’s are only made at the Casa del Cioccolato.

Miss Manners … Italian Style

When in Rome,

DON’T use the phrase “scusa” or expect to hear anyone else use utter the Italian equivalent of “excuse me.”  Before leaving for Rome at the end of August, I taught myself how to say my most frequently used phrases in Italian (hello, goodbye, please, thank you, I’m sorry, I don’t understand, excuse me…).  I’ve said “scusa” a couple of times since arriving last week until I realized not only that nobody cared, but that I hadn’t heard a single person use it themselves.

DO greet strangers (but only in stores, restaurants, elevators, and cafés).  Smiling and saying “ciao” to a nice person walking down the street on a beautiful morning is an invitation to be looked at like a crazy person.  In Rome, you keep your good mood to yourself until you come in contact with someone in an enclosed space.  People in service positions appreciate a big smile and a friendly “buongiorno” and won’t spend the next five minutes wondering where they know that smiling stranger from.  It’s wise to save greetings for these people.

DON’T drink out of plastic bottles.  I bought a bottle of water the first time I visited a café in Rome and was surprised when the man behind the counter gave me a glass.  The Italian attitude towards food and eating is entirely different from that of Americans.  These people do the majority of their socializing over food and when they eat, that’s all they do.  They don’t walk or text or check their e-mail while sipping water or munching on a sandwich.  Italians take time to enjoy their food and life in general.  This is very different from the American “eat to survive” sentiment that is so familiar to me.

DON’T tip.  Waiters, cab drivers, and maids are all paid larger salaries than their American counterparts.  This is one of the Italian quirks that I have the hardest time wrapping my head around.  After twenty years of calculating twenty percent tips every time I eat out, it is always tempting for me to leave something for someone who provides a service.  In Italy, just a couple of cents is an appreciated tip for a service well-rendered, but by no means is expected.

DO try to speak in Italian.  The effort is sincerely appreciated by locals and people are more than willing to help you out or switch to English if you’re really struggling.  In some cases, I have started a conversation using the very little Italian that I currently know just to have an Italian start speaking in English, presumably to practice their own foreign language skills.  Those people with unenthusiastic views of tourists and foreigners tend to warm up a bit when a pathetic American at least attempts to speak in the native tongue.

DON’T get upset when you’re waiting to order gelato and someone cuts in front of you and orders before you.  Waiting in line is a foreign concept in Italy.  If there are even a few inches of floor in front of you,
don’t be insulted if someone utilizes that space to order their food first.  Many Americans might view this behavior as rude and while that was my initial reaction, I’ve come to appreciate the national aggression and even enjoy partaking in it.  You know what they say… When in Rome, do as the Romans do.

  

4 Weddings and the Coliseum

Buonagiornata!

This weekend the gang was all together in Roma, rather than this coming weekend during which we’re all separating and going all over the country! So we took the opportunity to take in some of the Roman staples. Our first stop of the weekend, however, was not something I had expected to see in Rome; a giant performance piece on the Tiber river! The event was titled “Waterfire” and was directed by Barnaby Evans. Essentially, this piece is a continuation of an event by the same name that occurs in Providence, Rhode Island annually. During the two day event, 30 floating fires buoy in the Tiber river between Ponte Sisto and Ponte Mazzini in the neighborhood of Trestevere. The Artist/Designer was Robert Hammond. Also, accompanying the flames there were a couple of dance pieces choreographed by Linda Foster. So, as an art major and a dancer, I WAS ALL OVER THIS!

Photos Courtesy of our lovely resident photo major (and my future roomie) Tessa Smucker!

Check out her site she is very talented

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Tessa-Marie-Photography/103198486437938?ref=ts

It was an AMAZING way to kick off the weekend. It seemed like almost every Temple Rome student was out that night. Afterwards we stopped for a drink, and I had the BEST mojito of my life! Gma would have loved it! But we couldn’t stay out too late because we all had a big day of sight seeing ahead. Saturday morning a few of us made a trip to the Trionfale open air market right down the street from the residence on the Via Milizie, I’ve been meaning to get there for weeks!

YUM.

When we first came to Temple Rome, our student affairs coordinator told us that Italians thrive on chaos… That was no joke. Trionfale bustles for a few hours a day with colors, smells, and tons of Italians. A few of us went on a Saturday morning, which was probably a mistake. Before you go to Trionfale, make sure you’ve had your coffee and hugged a few kittens because this place will really test your patience for mankind. Italians really aren’t big on the idea of personal space so they will cram themselves in anywhere they fit, so elbowing your way through the crowd can be relatively stifling. But once you make it through the mob the massive expanse of fresh Italian produce, meat, fish, and spices is unreal.

Maybe someday I’ll actually go in there with enough confidence in my Italian to buy something!

After taking an hour to go home and regain our composure from our head on collision with the Italian mob, James, Kenny, Cecily, Andriana, Shannon, and myself headed to see the one place (other than the Vatican) that I NEEDED to see in Rome.

IL COLOSEO!!!

Here is my advice to you for WHEN you come see the Coliseum, Get the ticket and go through the Roman Forum then walk over to the Coliseum. My lovely room-mate Alex’s sister (who studied in Rome in 2007) informed us that going through the Roman Forum in not only totally worth it, but you also skip the line of ignorant tourists who ran straight to the ticket booth at the Coliseum, not knowing there was another ticket booth a block away. But don’t tell anyone I told you because then everyone will know about it and this trick won’t work anymore!

I wasn’t totally paying attention so don’t take my word for this, But Kencyclopedia said that the Roman Forum is essentially where the rich citizens and the politicians lived.

Then we made it to the main event of the day, the Coliseum! But there was something really strange going on other than an inordinate amount of fannypacks; everywhere we turned there were brides. No joke, we must have seen seven weddings. All over the place there were brides and grooms riding in convertibles and getting pictures taken.

As James so eloquently put it:

“How Romantic, you’re getting married where they used to slaughter people for sport.”

… He had a point. It was a little odd. But I wish my BFF from home, Tori,  could have been there to see this because she’s studying to be a wedding planner (plus we just love weddings like every other girl on Earth) and she would have died!

Anyway, inside the Coliseum (after skipping the enormous line because we’re smart)

I’ve seen this in so many art history books so it was UNREAL to see it in real life!

Just a couple of gladiators hanging out in the Coliseum.

It’s strange that all that’s left of this massive structure are the bare bones because all the marble was stolen the make churches. But seeing the Coliseum is now something I can check off of my bucket list!

On to another week full of painting and cappuccinos!

Ciao!

Jen

Nezu- A Slice of Old Tokyo

This past week, we had a couple of days off from school.  My housemate and I decided we wanted to get away from the hustle and bustle of big city Tokyo for a little while, so we searched through our guidebook for a quiet place we could go.  We happened upon the perfect location, a little section of Tokyo called Nezu, also known as a slice of old Tokyo.  Nezu is a quiet section of the city that is popular for the Nezu Jinja, or shrine, and for having one of the oldest and largest cemeteries in Tokyo.  We took the train there, which let us off near a section of Tokyo University.  It was much quieter than other parts of Tokyo that we have visited, with mostly small artisan shops and a lot of greenery.

After wandering a bit, we discovered the Nezu Jinja, which was our first destination.  The entrance was marked by a huge gate with lanterns hanging from the top beam.  We passed through the gate and down a small stretch of road lined with trees, at the end of which we reached a large opening with a bridge, a few ponds, and the shrine.  There were several other visitors there, mostly Japanese, and many of them were couples or elderly people.  It was a little cloudy that day, so it wasn’t too hot.  Actually it was the perfect temperature to go strolling about.  Everyone was having a leisurely time and it was very peaceful.

We spent the first part of our visit observing the pond, which had many large and impressive koi swimming around, as well as a handful of red-earred slider turtles, and a few box turtles, all with shells covered in moss.  They were basking casually, some stacked on top of each other.  Then we found a somewhat hidden pathway, which led to a long stretch of brightly colored orange shrine gates about the size of doorways.  They sheltered the path one after another, creating a sort of orange gate tunnel.  It looked like there were hundreds of them.  We walked through the tunnel, which led us to some smaller shrines before reaching the end, which was gaurded by stone statues of dogs that had been well-worn by time.  After that we observed an elderly Japanese man ride up to the pond on his bicycle and feed slices of bread to the turtles.  It seemed like it was his daily ritual.

Feeling hungry, we wandered side streets for a cafe or bakery.  We found a very cute one and ate pastries with coffee and tea.  I was happy to find the bakers were very kind to us, even with our poor Japanese.  Sometimes I worry that Japanese people will be offended by my poor language skills, but that hasn’t happened yet.  They always respond patiently and politely.

After that, it took us a while to find the big cemetery.  It was a bit of a walk away.  On the way there, we fond a small art gallery that had been converted from a 300 year old bathhouse.  It happened to be showing a Japanese aritst I really admired, named Tadanoori Yooko.  I was happy to find an art gallery because I’ve been wanting to go to some.  Eventually we found the cemetery, where we spent a lot of time just meandering through the gravesites.  There were a lot of cats there, of all different types and sizes, all looking pretty rough around the edges.  We found the burial site of the last shogun there, as well.  It was very impressive.  On the edge of the cemetery, we fond another little shrine.  This one had large meadows of healthy looking, green grass, and well-tended shrubs, as well as a giant copper statue of a buddha.  We spent some time relaxing there, watching a groundskeeper tend to some water lilies.  A tiny old woman came to sit on the bench next to us, and spoke to us in Japanese for a while.  Maybe it was half to us, half to herself.  She seemed to be completely oblivious to the fact that we were foreigners, which for us was a really nice change.  We left when it started to get dark and just took the train home.

I’d say it was a very zen type of day, a different type of Tokyo and Japan than what I’ve experienced so far.  If you visit Tokyo, it’s important to see all the different sides of it.  There’s the big city and the crazy nightlife, as well as the peaceful, old neighborhoods.  Next I think I would like to travel outside of Tokyo, to somewhere more rural, and see how the lifestyle is there.

The gate to the Nezu Jinja

The New Huckleberry Finn

Cliff Jumping

Wake up. Take a shower/brush my teeth. Get dressed. Eat breakfast. Go to school. Go to work. Come home to do homework. Maybe watch a movie. Fall asleep. Reset button.

When I think about my daily routine back in Philadelphia it seems as if I wasn’t actually human, but instead some sort of robot, designed to follow the same monotonous motions. Of course I had some basic highlights in my life, like a night out with the girls, a day at the theater, or a performance in a show, but no event ever seemed to explode with pure excitement. I was always missing that jolt of energy that makes you feel like it was all worth it and it was an exhilarating experience.

I never stepped outside of my everyday box and although there were many things to do in Philadelphia, I didn’t go too far out of my way to search for them. But while in Thailand my life has been drastically changing along with my perception of myself. I’ve done things here that never even crossed my mind at home and I can honestly say that I have been exposed to many wonders.

I have become an adventurer, swinging from tree limbs, crawling through branches woven like cat’s cradle, walking across bamboo bridges bending with every step, and climbing sprouts like spiders because after it rains in Thailand the sun always comes out. I have crossed out the name of Huckleberry Finn and wrote mine in its place. My adventures began with my hike to the Karen village.

My group and I decided to go on a hike one day and as soon as we stepped out of the van a torrential down pour began at the start of our journey. I tried to figure out if it would be best to wear my poncho or my raincoat and I decided to wear both because the rain droplets were so big. I had never been on an actual hike before so this was very new to me. We climbed up, climbed down, walked through huge muddy puddles, and crossed bridges that had a gigantic waterfall as the back drop. I was afraid every time we reached a bridge because they seemed so weak and unstable to cross. If I fell I would’ve gone into the river and down the waterfall, yet despite my fear I inched across every bridge while simultaneously filling my sneakers with water that poured in from the river. The difficulty of the trip was well worth it though, because after hiking for about an hour in the jungle we reached this opened space where I saw an abundance of rice fields. The formation of the fields made the mountains look as if they were stair steps to the sun and big enough for God to stride down. Each bead of sweat that dripped down my face during that hike and my squishy sneakers were worth every moment of that view.

Crossing the Bamboo Bridge

Afterwards I found myself stepping out of my character a lot. Every time I got a chance to do something that required bravery I took the opportunity. This past weekend I really conquered some major fears. I hate heights and the feeling of falling so when the opportunity to go cliff jumping into a lake came up I was a bit hesitant. When I arrived at the cliff all of my friends kept telling me to just do it and jump. There were different sized cliffs and I was going to jump from the smaller one, but I was still afraid. I kept trying to run and then leap, but I was scared of slipping right when I got to the end and hitting the rocks on the way down, so instead I just ended up leaping. My heart was trying to break through my chest as my feet searched for the earth and then I splashed into the clear blue lake beneath me and realized that it was so deep that if I lost energy I would drown. The only place to climb back up though was all the way across the lake and I wasn’t a very good swimmer. I began to go into a doggy paddle mode, slowly pacing myself across the lake and when I got tired I would swim underneath the water for a while. I didn’t swim free style because I thought that would make me even more tired, but looking back I may have gotten across faster. There was a point while swimming across that I thought I wasn’t going to make it. As I swam slowly the water began to enter my mouth and my muscles almost gave out. I kept thinking of how out of shape I was. But then as I got closer one of my friends asked me if I was okay. I got a bit upset because I had already swam across the whole lake and he waited until I was almost at the finish line to offer a hand. This pushed me to just go all the way and get it done. Afterwards we laughed about how much I lacked swimming skills. I was so satisfied with myself because somehow I pushed through it and researched to end. I felt like I had stepped out of my skin.

While I’ve been in Thailand I have not felt like the same me. I haven’t been thinking the same and I’ve been trying and experiencing things that are so out of my character and I can honestly say that I have opened. There was a moment where I climbed up to one of the higher diving points and just sat there and stared out at the sky and the mountains. I had never seen beauty equivalent to red mountain peeks beneath the yellow of the sun. The beauty of the space seeped into my thoughts. While I sat there I thought about my position in the world and where I was at the time and I felt completely content, so content that I had thoughts of never going back to my old life.

How Do You Say “Pie Crust” In Italian?

This week in Rome, things are beginning to look more Autumnal. It’s cool enough to wear jeans and sometimes even a sweater, so with this changing of the season I think all of us are beginning to feel just a little homesick. I’ll admit, this is my favorite time of year in Pennsylvania; changing leaves, scarves, pumpkin carving, everything. So at my apartment we’re all banding together to keep the blues away and enjoy our new Autumn experience in Rome! On Thursday night Winnie made a big family dinner of chicken and potatoes, and Kenny and James brought over wine.

Earlier that day I made some big changes in my little studio. I’m trying to bring some life into it with pictures of home and some new members of the family, everyone meet Petunia and Vernon!

For those of you Harry Potter fans out there, you should get the reference. I originally just had the pink one and named her Petunia (I don’t know if she actually is a Petunia, but that doesn’t matter) then James came up with Vernon for the sunflower.

This is the view from my Studio (yes! That’s the Tiber!!!) Currently I’m working on a large landscape painting of this scene.

I’m not quite sure why I decided to treat my plants like pets, but I think they’re going to like it in their new home! My Gma would be so proud of my green thumb, I’ve had them for 4 whole days and they’re still alive. I bought them from this woman by the subway stop who sells her plants out of some kind of golf cart looking contraption. After paying for my flowers (totally in Italian) I began talking to myself quietly as I organized myself to head home (typical). But the woman remarked kindly “Wow, you speak very good English.”… I’m not sure whether to call this a fail or a win. But I got flowers out of it so WIN!

On the way home from the studio that night I made a spur of the moment decision to stop in the specialty food store by the Piazza del Popolo on the Via Flaminia. There were shelves piled high with loose leaf teas, Mexican spices, and Tobasco. It never occurred to me that in Italy this is considered foreign food. Suddenly it felt as if time had stopped. I spotted the one thing that I missed most about Pennsylvanian Autumn… Pumpkin. Canned pumpkin specifically. It also happened to be 4.90 Euro a can. Irrelevant, I bought two.

So Today is Friday, and all of my room mates are off on class excursions all over Italy. So Kenny and I decided to go an adventure and try to make pumpkin pie. Something I’ve never done before and would have been hard enough in the States, where everything is written in English and I’d have my Gma there to help me.

Here are some of the things we could absolutely NOT find in the grocery store that may have been helpful for making pumpkin pie:

• measuring cups
• pie crust
• brown sugar

… just to name a few. Also the things we could find were all written in Italian…. sigh. This would clearly be interesting.

Well we couldn’t find pie crust or graham crackers. So I decided to get a tin of butter cookies, crush them up and try and make a crust with those, butter, and cinnamon.

Resourceful. That’s me.

Not bad! Gma would be proud.

I’m pretty much the Irish Paula Deen living the life of Giada De Laurentis (for all you fellow food network nerds.)

So we also could not for the life of us find sweetened condensed milk (although Kenny did find baby formula) so we substituted it with what we think is probably heavy cream… or some kind of dairy product. Also there are NO measuring cups to be found… Italians aren’t that big on accuracy. So I winged it.

I AM SO PROUD OF MYSELF.

Kenny told me he thinks it is very very good, and when my roomies get home I’ll see what they think. I think I pretty much nailed it, it’s not as sweet as I’m used to but I do have another can of pumpkin I might try it again with a little more sugar. But I think I actually have the potential for a much more lucrative career as a pie making trophy wife than an artist… I’ll keep that in mind.

As far as traveling around Rome, this week my Figure Modeling class took a trip to the Italian Olympic Stadium.

My sister (track star) would be so jealous!

This is the Roma soccer stadium!

You can probably understand why we came here for figure modeling.

So these statues were all carved out of white marble to represent all of the summer Olympic sports. I’m not sure what sport this man plays but while staring at him I could only imagine a dialogue something like this:

OLYMPIAN: “Oh, you walked 13 miles around the Aurelian wall? That’s cute. I ran that everyday on the way to the gym to train for the OLYMPICS.”

… hard core.

Tonight we’re all going out on the town and hopefully we’ll actually make it to the Coliseum since I have almost been here a month and still haven’t seen it, I hear it’s pretty ciao.

Ciao!

Jen