Resurrection, Birthdays and Tunnels

It’s been a very full week up Riva way. I should have updated sooner, but there’s been so much going on!

I begin with last Tuesday: I took a class field trip to see the construction of the new St. Gottard Tunnel. This is the most ambitious and potentially important tunnel project in the world. You think the Chunnel from England to France and under the water was impressive, well you just wait ten years for the Swiss to finish this! The St. Gottard will be 57 kilometers (roughly 35 miles for us non-metric types), and through the Alps. One mountain in particular that I can’t recall the name off is being burrowed through as we speak. There are actually two lines running though the mountains, one North-bound and one South-bound, and this is designed to allow more freight trains to pass through Switzerland, thus reducing the need for heavy freight trucks on the highways. They’ll tell you all the statistics about saving fuel and road repair costs, and how this train line is so much better than the old overland one which is to be used for tourists if you visit. And what a visit it is.

We began with the informational power point, and then it was down to the Center of the Earth; the nice Swiss miners (who aren’t actually Swiss because as our guide said, the Swiss all work in banks. Mostly Germans down there. ) kitted us out in bright orange jumpsuits, heavy boots, hard hats (mine was blue for “Mechanical Engineer”), and an oxygen tank. I find it’s best to judge the quality of a learning experience by the number of safety precautions in place. Although, it should be mentioned that the mortality rate of this project is fantastically lower than all other projects.

We went down into the tunnel, looked around, saw some people working, and I kept looking for goblins. Surely in the bowels of the earth it would have been good to see some goblins. But they weren’t about, so lots of geologists and engineers. Roughly the same, right?

After the tunnel went out to see the town of Giornico, which was very cute, had seven churches, and a very odd museum. Basically a big block of concrete; I’ll have a photo album up soon to better explain.

On to Wednesday! Which was pretty average…So Thursday! Ah, yes, Thursday; that fateful day that I turned 21. For you see, I finally reached my birthday; as my mother’s e-mail said, the most exciting birthday venue I’ve had, although the funeral runs a close second. The day began with classes, not the finest of hours, but I took the opportunity afterwards to spoil myself with a bit of shopping at the outlet mall in the next town. For my evening entertainment, I went back to that town of Mendrisio to see the Maundy Thursday parade. Basically a procession highlighting Christ’s journey up the hill to Calvary.

We students were informed this even would be quite violent, and not the sort of thing one would take a small child to see. As Americans, this put us in mind of gratuitous and gory violence, blood filling the streets. Something from a Tarantino film, or maybe “300” seemed appropriate for that level of warning.

Culture shock sets in somewhere along the line. I expected blood, I got some pretty nifty costumes and 40 mounted figures. It would appear that Europe, the land of the Hundred Years War, the Thirty Years War, both World Wars, and the plague, can’t be bothered with a bit of fake blood. Alas and alack, I still had fun seeing the parade. It occurred to me later, actually during Easter Mass this morning, that that sort of display would almost never be seen in the States without hue and cry raised throughout the land about “Separation of Church and State” and “political correctness.” I love Europe.

After the parade I got out to the bar for my little celebration. The novelty of going out to the bar is somewhat lessened by being overseas, but it was still great good fun. The company was perfect, and it capped off a fairly decent birthday.

Friday I stopped off at the Lugano Easter Market, which I’m sorry to say was not half as cute as Prague’s, and went to Milan Saturday. Oh, dear, Milan was trouble. Beautiful day, wonderful people, but I couldn’t go into the Duomo. I had decided that morning to wear a little black jumper of mine. Admittedly it’s a bit sort, but I was wearing some thick black tights. Unfortunately the gentleman at the door after the security guard was nonplussed by my decency. The skirt was above the knee, so no observing God’s glory for me. My nylon-covered knees were just too much temptation. So, at the risk of being labeled the new Whore of Babylon, I retreated to some of the local shops. It seemed safer for all concerned, and I’ve already seen the Duomo.

That’s all the news from this week, other than mentioning that classes are kicking into high gear, so I have a busy week ahead. And I made it to Easter Mass this morning, so points for me. However, I’m flying out to Dublin Wednesday night, so that industriousness will have to be better than usual.

Happy Easter Everyone!

Flying Rats

It’s never mentioned in any of the guidebooks, but I’ve come to consider pigeons when I travel. This may seem an odd selection, compared to entertainment, gastronomical, financial, and safety considerations, but I think the pigeon populations are pretty critical. It’s pretty awful to be trying to enjoy the Duomo in Milan, and then have to duck to avoid the dive-bombing pigeon population.

The other main risk when visiting the Duomo is getting scammed by one of the many gentlemen trying to get you to feed the pigeons or to take a bracelet, but there are enough warning about that I should think. No one ever told me that I’d be dodging pigeons throughout Rome.

This came up as a discussion topic while in Prague, observing some remarkably well-behaved pigeons in Old Town Square. Every so often in the news back home in Northern Virginia there’s something about the deer or foxes or other wildlife becoming accustomed to humans, and so they wander closer and closer to human habitation and into roads, and are promptly and horribly killed. In the cities most wildlife is hard to find, but not the noble, filthy, disease-carrying flying rat. I’m not overly fond of pigeons. I’m especially not fond of pigeons that have no fear and have no problem with summoning all their friends and flying over a group of tourists, at an altitude of roughly seven feet, give or take, so everyone has to duck to avoid plague. And feathers.

In Prague, however, the pigeon population was a fraction of what I find in the more southern cities. Even better, they were polite; as polite as pigeons can be which means they kept their distance from me as I sat, quietly hoping I would drop a loaf of bread or other treat, and scurrying off when some other tourist fulfilled their needs. There were still moments of mass flight that would have made me nervous, if they hadn’t been so unobtrusive. Really, there’s nothing quite like it. I think I liked Prague all the more for its pigeons. It reflected the feeling of the city; politely waiting for the tourist to drop some cash, but not pushy about it. In Rome, everything gets shoved in your face, which is partly because of the layout of the city and its many, many sites, and the pigeons have no fear.

I go to London in a few months, remarkably enough in the spring. I recall the pigeons being pretty bad in the winter from previous visits, so I’m interested in what I’ll find this time, when I’m more aware. I imagine charmingly polite, and then shove me out of the way when I fail to do something correctly, like spell words with an excessive “u”.

Czech Mate

The first thing to mention is that I finally have internet access on my laptop. I have since learned how dangerous this is. I have spent two days enjoying all the pleasures of easy access internet; which means having Top Gear-fests with my fellow fans. And of course, paying attention to my schoolwork. Or at least I will when this episode ends.

Other than that, I’ve done it. I mentioned before that I was going off for Spring Break some time ago, and I did. I got all the way to Prague and back to the Villa in one piece. And all by myself no less. That means: I got to an unfamiliar airport (Lugano, with two terminals), onto an unfamiliar airline (SwissAir), made a connection at another unfamiliar airport (Zurich, and they speak German!), and off a plane and through customs in the Czech Republic. And then, I got onto a bus (with a lovely bruise to show off), onto the metro, and to the hostel without incident. And after a week, I did it all in reverse.

This means that I can now mark down March 1, 2008 as one of my personal milestones. I flew alone for the first time in my life. I always assumed my first solo flight would be something domestic, perhaps from DC to Chicago, or other appropriately familiar flight. Instead, I went across country lines, three unfamiliar languages, and managed it all by my lonesome. Quite an achievement, if I do say so myself.

And so, I got to Prague. I met up, somehow, with a friend from high school, and another from that awful camp from last summer. That was wonderful; to get away from all the people I see everyday. I have no problems with the group I’m studying with, but there’s something so lovely in getting away from everything, and seeing people I haven’t seen in ages.

Then, a week in Prague; let’s get on with the list:

March 1: Got to the airport in Lugano some several hours early. So I walked around for ages, then finally the stepstool was brought around for us to board the plane. Had two flights that bounced around horribly, so I landed in Prague feeling rather ill. Got to the hostel, checked in, and then I walked around town, attempting to orient myself with the city.

March 2: Met up with friend, and promptly went out for walking tours. Watched the Astronomical Clock with its spinning apostles, and then got tour of Josefov, the old Jewish Ghetto. It turns out Prague had one of the biggest and most significant Jewish populations in Europe…up until World War Two. Bit of rain, so a lovely lunch of goulash to warm up. Wandered about a bit more, poking heads into museums, and reeling from the cost. I should take a moment to mention that the exchange rate during my visit was 1USD to 16KZ (Czech krona); and nothing was available for 16kz. I tried to keep my purchases under the 100kz mark as much as possible, unless absolutely necessary. Ah, the life of a student. In the evening, went on a ghost tour. Friend and I had some New Yorker tourists join us for that, which was no end of fun.

Aside: The guillotine was actually invented by the Scottish. I believe it was called “The Maiden”, but the concept of getting your head sliced off by a large blade powered by gravity originated with the Scots. The main feature of the guillotine was that it allowed the victim to lie down “comfortably”, while the Scottish version required that person to kneel. This became a topic of discussion with the New Yorker history teacher who seemed to know everything. I, however, have an interest in history, and especially the history of the British Isles. And I sometimes watch the History Channel.

After the Ghost Tour, which was far from terrifying, friend and I got appetizers at a TGIFridays. Now, before I am mocked for going to Central Europe and seeking the most American cuisine possible, understand that I have spent two months in Europe, and all I want is a cheeseburger, buffalo wings, and most of all, Chipotle. Those people responsible for fetching me from Dulles in May take note. Chipotle.

March 3: Out in the morning to do a tour of the synagogues we had glanced at the day before. This meant a full three hours plus of the synagogues, and the Ceremony Hall, and the Old Jewish Cemetery. At the cemetery friend and I were wandering behind a group of elderly French tourists, and followed by some student Italian tourists, both Jewish. Understandable, but then we got to the Rabbi Low grave. Rabbi Low is a bit of a big deal, and friend and I had come to that understanding. That didn’t mean we were prepared for the French OAPs to begin praying over the grave. Being gentiles, friend and I were suitably concerned, and feeling awkward. We finally took the chance to make our escape after dropping our stones on the Rabbi’s grave for luck. After our tour we paused for a Chinese lunch, then into the National Library to see the Gigas Codex, aka the Devil’s Bible. Really wonderful actually. I enjoyed that exhibit immensely. Then the overload of information set in, and it was time for a coffee break at the Charles Bridge. Bit more wandering and poling heads in shops before heading back to the hostel. We’d made some new friends, and the group of us went out for karaoke at some club, where camp friend found me.

March 4: Happy Birthday to Older Brother. The night had caught up with us, so high school friend and I took a later morning, and then promptly walked up a very steep hill to see Prague’s version of the Eiffel Tower and the Hunger Wall. We wound our way towards Nove Mesto (Old Town) through Mala Strana (Castle District). We paused for more Chinese for lunch, and then peeked at the Kafka museum gift shop and the Lennon Wall. We attempted to see the grave of Tycho Brahe, but the church he’s at is closed to visitors, and it was raining, and we were tired….so we went to see Sweeney Todd.

March 5: I wandered Nove Mesto for a bit, and then wandered across the Charles Bridge and up the hill to see Prague Castle, the largest castle complex in the world. Friend and I made it in time to watch the changing of the guard. Fun little ceremony, but would have been better without the snow. Recognizing how cold we were, friend and I retreated to the Lobkowitz Palace for lunch and touring the museum. The Princely Collection at the Lobkowitz Palace is a fairly new collection, recently returned to the Lobkowitz family, and put on display. It’s pretty good, with free audio tours for the public, but there’s something very odd about Americans telling you “Welcome to my family’s collection!” After that it was out to see St. Vitus Cathedral, and I’m fairly sure I saw the saint’s bones. The tower was closed, so we finally decided to head back to Nove Mesto. We had some time to kill, so friend and I visited the very good, however small, Mucha Museum. I really do like Art Nouveau, ever since visiting Glasgow with all its Charles Rennie Mackintosh stuff a few years ago. After that it was time to see some Black Light Theatre, and its production of “Faust”. Let’s just say, it was an adventure.

March 6: Busy day! Visited the train station to figure out tickets for friend, then back up to the castle to see St. George’s Basilica, Golden Lane, and the National Gallery. After lunch at Lobkowitz, out and down into St. Nicholas Church, then back across the river to see the afternoon showing of “Don Giovanni” done by marionettes.

Aside: Prague is the city Mozart was living in when he completed his opera “Don Giovanni”. He was so enchanted by the city and its people; he rewarded them with the premiere of that opera. And now it’s done daily by puppets.

Ran some errands before friend popped of to Poland (how lovely that we can say things like that), and I was left to amuse myself.

March 7: Slept in a bit, as much as possible in a hostel setting, and then set off. I went back up to the Castle to try for the Old Palace, but it was closed for the day. Some great to-so was going on up there, with lots of big black cars with flags on them and extra soldiers, but it was far too cold to stick around. I finally left, paused for some coffee at Starbucks, and then climb the Astronomical Clock. Wonderful views of the city from up there, and a chance to see the tourists gather to watch the hour. After that I did some souvenir shopping, and finally went up to see the National Museum. Cute building, but the collection of dead animals was astounding. Not the best museum I’ve been too, but impressive to see that many dead things. And the room of fish only served to remind me that I really don’t see how people can eat those awful things. Got a dinner of Czech kielbasa off a roadside stand, and wound my way back home to pack.

March 8: Paused at the Easter markets on my way back to the airport, and then got home….somehow. And that was it really. I got to Prague, I had a relaxing trip. I saw wonderful people, a lovely city, and didn’t come home exhausted, like the Italy sojourn.

The Water of Life

I find it of interest that aqua vitae is never actually aqua. For those of you lacking in Latin, aqua vitae translates to “water of life.” From all of my nutritional education and bottled water commercials, I would be inclined to believe that the water of life is water, but it’s not. Rather, it’s moonshine; or at least the equivalent of it.

I mention this some days after our second “wine and dine” of the semester. Not quite as delicious as our first one; this time we had two merlots, one fermented in steel barrels, one aged in oak, and a lovely chicken salad for a starter with lamb for the main course. It was all very good, and I learned I preferred my wine aged in oak for the flavor. None of this matters quite as much as the dessert.

Grappa. My old friend; the remnants of the winemaking process distilled to create a very powerful liquor. The majority of the group has only heard of grappa, murmurings and warnings before the trip, most from our Italian professor. Grappa acquired an “urban myth” status in many ways; the mysterious liquid from Italy that would burn your throat away or make your eyeballs explode, or something equally horrible. I was slightly more prepared, having experienced grappa in appropriately controlled situations before. Which really only meant that I poured my grappa over the grape gelato, and realized it wasn’t half bad.

Of course, experience doesn’t change the fact that grappa is extremely strong, the Italian version of aqua vitae. I remember hearing this phrase a number of times throughout my life, and only recently has it all connected; aqua vitae is one of those great cross-cultural concepts that helps to define a culture. For the Italians: grappa, made from the grapes after they’ve been pressed for wine, and super concentrated. Up in the British Isles whisky appears; the word “whisky” comes from the Gaelic for “water of life”, so it’s pretty easy to see the connection there. Off to the east is Russia and vodka, which derives from the Russian for “water”. Whisky and Vodka are some of the most recognizable icons of their home countries, and I have no doubts that if the wine wasn’t so good Grappa would be more well-known.

However, I don’t have the time or the energy right now to get into a research project about this, but I keep wondering about this pretty widespread phenomenon of aqua vitae.

Just a few thoughts for me to consider as I wander along. I’m off again in the morning. It’s spring break, and I’ll be in Prague for a week, spending time with non-Tech people. Should be a good adventure, off in a city where I have absolutely no idea how to speak the language, or even the foundations, and virtually on my own. I’m terribly excited, but still not packed.

Some extra thoughts

Being without convenient internet access for the past few weeks has put me in an interesting position regarding technology. On the one hand, there is something remarkable about being cut off from the world to a degree; I’m more inclined to read or go for walks or find any other activity. On the other, I can’t easily communicate with my Stateside friends, and I have to sequester myself in a little room in order to research and book travel plans. Beyond that, for any degree of security regarding my plastic card I have to borrow a friend’s computer, re-find all the websites and input information all over again, forcing the entire process to take twice as long. Nor can I send websites to fellow students to check out a hostel or compare options with any great sense of ease.

Which basically means: I miss my laptop and its wireless card terribly.

As for the inspiration behind this entry, I was sorting through my photos from last week’s Italy trip, and out of the 400+ photos I took, approximately 140 garnered the response of “Why did I take a picture of that?”; another fifty were deleted for being crummy duplicates as I sought one good shot, and another 50 were “how many views of the same wall/ceiling/altar/art/pile of dirt could I possibly get?” As it turns out, I have some 362 photos from Italy, after a culling of bad shots, and not including Randolph.

This is the great miracle of the digital age. Where before I would have traveled with 10 rolls of film, with maybe 30 shots per roll, I can now take multiple shots of the same thing without worrying that my memory card will run out, leaving me without that memory of yet another broken piece of pottery. Even better, my memory card can potentially hold 5000 photos (if the little green numbers on the screen are anything to go by). And! I have too many settings to choose from. I can take party shot, night shots, through glass shots, outdoor movement and standing still. No end to the fun with a digital camera.

After all those pictures are taken, I can upload them to a computer, and then share with friends and family worldwide through the magic of the internet, and especially Facebook. Of course, everyone around me is in the same situation. We have digital cameras and internet access; and must greet every Monday e-mail inbox to find that 10 people have tagged you in 1, 2, 3, or 15 photos. Because of my reduced internet access, it takes me a lot longer to get all those photos online and captioned for easy comprehension of the event.

In another lifetime, all my photos would be carefully packed up in film canisters to be brought back to the U.S. in May, and then sent out for developing. It could take weeks for me to finally look back on all the things I did, and by that point, I will have probably forgotten why that particular broken building was significant. Considering my state of mind at the end of the Italy excursion, it’s quite certain I would regret some of the 34 photos of the Forum, and forget all the details. Mind you, those are just the panoramic shots; details of the Forum will be another album, and another set of information helpfully forgotten.

But we live in the technology age, and I can take 400+ photos in a week, delete several of them, and feel the confusion of “what is that? And why do I have a picture of it?” much earlier.

The Roads Lead...and then they keep going

Well, I’m back. I think that about sums up the feeling of the end of Southern Trip 2008. For those of you without access to the itinerary, I left Switzerland at a nonexistent time (5:00 am) last Friday. I returned today just after 15:00. I have checked my e-mail, and discovered a number of pressing issues that will be handled before I take off for Prague next Saturday. In the meantime….I went to Italy.

Last Friday: I awoke at a nonexistent time (a few people may recall that the previous debate was whether 6:45 was a real time. It is. 5:00 is not.), and departed still out of the realms of reality (5:45). I watched the sun rise over Milan from a bus window. For those of you expecting some lush, romanticized story of seeing the red glow through the city smog, while I sat in my cramped seat wondering why various deities allowed traffic which was the main reason we were leaving so early- forget it. It wasn’t that fun. Fabio took us through the mountains and into Tuscany, where we paused in Siena.

Siena really is a pretty city, with a lovely stripped Duomo; reminded me of Straticcela gelato. Siena has winding streets, and an annual horse race with seventeen families competing (well, ten at a time). I was more intrigued by the free gelato we found along one street as we walked from Campo to Chiesa to Duomo. I would have liked more time in Siena, actually. We really only had an afternoon to explore, as we were back on the road by 8:00 the next morning.

On to Rome, it would seem, after a brief break in Tarquinia. First an hour of wandering painted Etruscan tombs (better if there hadn’t been glass in the way); and then another two hours of museum wandering and lunch. There’s not a lot to say about that stop.

So it’s off to Rome for real this time. We arrive in the afternoon, and promptly go on a brief foray past the Colosseum, and into the Circus Maximus; then up to Santa Sabina and home to the hotel. Keep in mind that all of that takes up approximately three hours. Why is that important?
Because on day two in Rome, I start a 8:00, whiz by the Colosseum (and our tickets don’t work out, so new plans), see the Arch of Constantine, most of the Forum Romanum, lunch in a Chinese restaurant, see the majority of the Capitoline museum, get disappointed by the Colosseum again, stop by the Trevi fountain, brief shopping, then resting before dinner. Day three is up again early, for 7:45 departure to see the Vatican museum (including the Sistine chapel and the Sobieski room. And everything else), street vendor lunch, into St. Peter’s Basilica, and then a walking tour past the Castel Sant’ Angelo, across the Tiber, down the most expensive street in Rome (Via Corso), up the Spanish Steps, down to the Hard Rock café for souvenirs, then into the Capuchin crypt thing.

This deserves pause: I got a reputation within 20 minutes of the Italy trip for liking the morbid/macabre/creepy things. Really, I don’t quite know how it happened, but it did, and it’s not wholly inaccurate depending on your definition of morbid/macabre. This is why our professor suggested the Caphucin crypt. I was perfectly happy to go alone, but I’m pretty glad people were with me. It’s five rooms of bones in the crypt. Not haphazard bones strewn about by the years and neglect. Oh no- these are carefully arranged bones, in artful patterns. Truly, the vertebrae have extraordinary decorative potential. I was rather fond of the shoulder blade rosettes. And of getting out of there.

From the crypt it was up to the corner of the fountains, then into one church, past the Quirinal palace, and down to the hotel. Only lemon basil gelato kept me going at this point.

Finally, day four. Up later than usual- a 9:00 departure from the hotel. Now it gets busy: down to the Trevi for coins and pictures (right arm over left shoulder to return to Rome, by the by), out past the Column of Marcus Aurelius (Richard Harris in Gladiator; you can also use this column as a prequel to Gladiator), around the corner to the Pantheon with the nifty McDonalds, around the other corner to the fountain of the Four Rivers by Bernini and across the sidewalk into the St. Agnes church designed by Borromini. Then! Off again to see the Ara Pacis Augustae, down Via Corso again, up the Spagna, again (which happen to be right next to the house where Keats died…Next trip), down and around to find the Chiesa di Maria e Vittoria….which had closed four minutes earlier. That’s okay, it’s only noon by this time. Time for lunch at the Hard Rock; never in my life have nachos and a cheeseburger tasted so good. Off again by 13:30 to see the Santa Maria degli Angeli- designed by Michelangelo, which a rather fun sundial thing. It’s in a Dan Brown novel, apparently. Then it was the Santa Maria Maggiore to marvel at the simplicity of the Bernini tomb (oh, and I saw Raphael’s tomb in the Pantheon, in case you were wondering), as well as the fourteen confessionals, each with three language options. It’s amazing how multilingual sins can be. Out from there, down the street and up the stairs to attempt the San Pietro in Vincoli….which was closed. Onwards to the Colosseum, where the theatre exhibit, “In Scaena” had closed two days earlier, when we were supposed to have gone, leaving me a sad theatre major. Or “sad panda” in the vernacular of the youth of today. There’s not a lot to see in the Colosseum, so on towards the Lateran, by way of cinnamon and caramel gelato. Pretty sure I missed the doors I was supposed to see, but it’s a lovely cathedral nonetheless. Straight shot out of there to see the Maria e Vittoria, which had reopened at 15:30; allowing all the art history majors to see St. Theresa in Ecstasy. For those who don’t recognize the sculpture, it’s kind of a big deal. Personally, I think St. Theresa’s description of her ecstasy is far racier than the actual statue. Then another straight shot to see San Carlo (Borromini) and Sant’ Andrea (Bernini). The chiesa di Sant’ Andrea was positively mobbed by Polish tourists, which confused me until I saw the tomb of Stanislav Koska. Which means virtually nothing to me, but apparently he’s a big deal to Poland. Then a block down the street to the Quirinal palace and the Nostoi exhibit. Nostoi basically means homecoming; it was an exhibit of all the things taken out of Italy by other collectors, which have been returned in the last few years. Got lectured by a member of the Caribinieri there, so I don’t think I’ll ever go back. Then down the road, and back up the steps to see San Pietro in Vincoli, so I can cross Michelangelo’s statue of Moses and St. Peter’s chains off my list. Finally, at 18:35 I was done, and off for brief souvenir shopping before dinner.
And that was Rome. Needless to say, my feet hurt, and I didn’t have much time for shopping, so no leather or scarves for me. Also, I was exhausted. This meant that Wednesday morning, when I had to get up at 7:00 for a 7:45 departure I was less than pleased. But on to Cerveteri for another set of Etruscan tombs, these far more fun than Tarquinius. Into town for a museum of pottery, and then lunch. Out of Cerveteri, and off to Orvieto.

I’d like to say that Orvieto was wonderful, but by Thursday morning, I was exhausted, and quite ready for Switzerland. I did see the Duomo and the miraculous cloth that inspired the Feast of Corpus Christi. I saw museums, an Etruscan temple, and the outside of the Well of St. Patrick. It cost too much to go in, and by that point, my brain couldn’t handle any more education. So, instead, a nice relaxing day around town; little shopping, sent out some postcards, and basically “chilled”. Friday morning was another 8:00 departure for a direct drive back to the Villa.
I think it’s safe to say I have yet to fully process the sheer scale of this trip. I’m relying on photos to remind me of half the things I saw, and Wikipedia to tell me why it was important. I should have some better analysis soon, but for now, all I can do is this list.

I forgot about Valentine's Day

Simply put, I’m nearing the exhaustion point. My weekends are filled with non-stop travel, and my classes during the week (which I was promised would be fantastically easy) are actually real classes, requiring time and effort. All this adds up to a very tired me.
That’s not to say I regret any of this trip. I am starting to question the value of some of my classes in favor of European exploration, if only so I can get another hour of sleep in the morning. There is a certain advantage to having destroyed my laptop a few weeks ago. I no longer have easy internet access, and thus a loss of most distractions. It does, however, make it much more difficult for me to make travel plans because I’m leery of the security of the Villa computers. In addition, I need the time to explore lots of options and make the best choice to save money and have a good trip.

Where does this leave me? Essentially exploring lots of alternative options to the internet, and wondering why there are only 24 hours in a day. I have caught up with my reading, which is a huge bonus. Just finished off Artaud's Theeater and its Double, still working on Tristram Shandy, and about to sart James Joyce's Finnegan's Wake. In case you were interested. I would be reading Joyce's Dublin, but the Villa's copy is in German, and I'm quite happy with the Italian, thanks.

That said, I’m off, yet again. This time I’m on my way to Italy proper; Siena, Rome, and Orvieto are on the itinerary. No Florence, Venice or Milan, mostly because those are cities that lack the glories of Rome and Etruria, which is really why we’re going. It’s not often that I’m told “We’re going to Italy for a week! And the entire trip will be on the Midterm!” Ahhh, the glories of Study Abroad.

I’m excited to go, of course. It’s been ages since I’ve been to Rome, and I should have a greater appreciation of the Vatican this time around. I’ve done some personal readings on the papacy as our class discussions will be focused on the remnants of the Roman Empire, and not so much on the current authority. I doubt we’ll have much discussion beyond mentions of Constantine and the design of early churches, especially the Pantheon, a rather conveniently converted pagan monument.

And so, I shall have to leave you for a week, with the promise and expectation of lots of stories upon my return. One more thing before I go. I mentioned that I spent the past weekend in Nice. It seems I am not the first to pass that way; my grandfather visited the same area many years ago, and had some memories to share:

Reading about Kerry's trip to Nice brought back memories. Sometimeafter VE day, while I was stationed in Reims, I got a week'sfurlough and Nice was a R& R destination. I hitched a rideinto Paris where I got a plane ride (my first time in a plane)to Marseilles and then a bus to Nice . I don't remember a lot about the week there otherthan the beautiful beach and gorgeous blue water . I did take asightseeing bus ride toward Monaco, which was off limits . Thiswas a beautiful winding road up through the hills overlookingthe Mediterranean. On the road from Marseilles to Nice were theseflower gardens up in the hills which were grown to make into perfume.