Seize The Carp!

New Site

Wed, 20 Dec 2006 19:11:41 GMT

Anybody out there still reading this, the story will now continue at my new sites,

http://www.overduekarma.com/ -- a free social commentary ezine

and

http://www.2000miler.net -- my trail journal from the appalachian trail.

Photos

Fri, 20 Oct 2006 13:27:15 GMT

Of course, what would my journal be without photos? Here you are: Jackson Photography

Spring Break - Travelling

Wed, 26 Apr 2006 21:03:55 GMT

08.04.2006 -- Spring Break
Written April 8th, 2006
Planning our spring Vacation was quite an ordeal. First, Margaret and I had to decided that we were in fact going to travel together, and then we had to work out where. She was thinking Sicily, and I was thinking North, for snow and climbing. We ended up compromising on Sardegna, known for its climbing and beaches. Then we had to find people to go with. Eventually we gave up on finding a female companion for Margaret, and so we teamed up with Rachid, Max, and Marcus.

I used http://www.holiday-rentals.com/ to find us an Apartment in Alghero. We paid the €415 reservation fee, and bought our tickets for the trains, planes, and automobilies to get ourselves there. Margaret and I then planned our own “Romantic Getaway” to the Cinque Terre (five picturesque towns hanging on cliffs overlooking the sea in Liguria, near Genoa).

All of our careful planning was ruined a few weeks later, when Rachid, Max, and Marcus were unable to come, for disciplanary reasons. Margaret and I found an apartment for two in Algehero and -- at least for us -- the problem was solved, assuming we don’t kill eachother after ten days alone together. So far we are doing ok.

I am writing this from my seat on the ferry “Arthas” from Genova to Porto Torres. Margaret and I got first class seats since €5 extra was well worth it for a sleeper chair. Anyways, we are coming from the Cinque terre, where we spent the past few days. Just getting there was an adventure. We had planned to both get on the 07:00 train to Rome (I would have gotten on at Tre Croci, closer to my house, and met Margaret on the train). Instead, Margaret ended up on an express train which flew through Tre Croci without stopping. She began to panic and called me. Once I got on the regular train, I told her that we would meet at Valle Aurelia (our connection with the roman sub-way system) or Termini Stazione (the central station of Rome), depending on where her train stopped.

We met at Termini, bought our lunch, and got ready for our 6-hour “intercity-plus” to La Spezia Centrale. At La Spezia we learned that our regional connection to Monterosso had been canceled due to train strikes. In Italy government workers can go on strike whenever they want a vacation, since it is almost impossible to lose a government job. Instead of figuring out how to get us to the destination we had paid to get to, Trenitalia charged us a few extra € each for a “supplemental” train. People going to towns smaller than Monterosso didn’t even have that option, and were stuck until that evening, when the strike would end.

Spring Break Photos 2

Wed, 26 Apr 2006 20:27:16 GMT

Spring Break Photos 2 -- Le Cinque Terre E Sardegna || Photo Index

Spring Break Photos 1

Sun, 16 Apr 2006 23:05:22 GMT

Photo Archive || Spring Break Photos 1 - Cinque Terre

La Sicilia

Sun, 16 Apr 2006 22:04:05 GMT

Here it is! Finally! The entire Sicily trip story. The Torino/Olympics story coming soon. I’ve included the original first half in case you want to re-read it. After a few days, I will move this whole thing back down to it’s actual date, and delete the old post. For now, I’ll leave it here where it is easily accessible. Enjoy!

06.2.2006 - Monday
You may have already read this earlier
On Friday the school trip to Sicily began. I started my journey by staying at Mr. Scanlon’s house thursday night. At 8AM on friday morning we all boarded the bus, double decker as usual, and rode to Cumae. Along the way, we stopped at a rest stop in Campania, and in the bathroom there was a cleaning lady who started to shout in Napoletano (the dialect of Naples) at Paul and then she tried to dance with him. I laughed, and so she began to mock me and my long hair -- It was rather hilarious, if a little insulting.
Cummae was our first example of an Ancient Greek Acropolis with temples and scattered about and the occasional roman add-on.
After Cumae came Napoli (Naples) where we had dinner; It wasn’t anything exciting, just hot dogs and pizza. Naples was beautiful, even for the few evening hours we were there. We then boarded a ship headed for Sicily. It felt very much like being on the Titanic. Once on board a social drama developed and several “conversations” and arguments occured between Pat, Margaret, Cecillia, and me. The gist of it was that Ceci was pissed about how much time I’d spent in her’s and Margaret’s room over the Florence trip. The social drama was not aided by the seasickness. The Italian word for the episode is “casino”
Other than that, the boat ride was miserable, due mainly to insomnia and claustrophobia.
In the morning we got off of the damn boat and back into our temporary motor home: the bus.
We spent Sunday in Taormina, which was AMAZING. It is a small hill top city overlooking the beaches of Giardini Naxos. It was bellissima -- despite being a little bit of a tourist trap. It had the most spectacular views of both the mediterranean on one side and the snowy summit of Mount Etna on the other side. The city itself was filled with great eateries and several quaint and very sicilian churches. It was interwoven with walking paths that led to panoramic vistas. I had my first taste of Sicilian cuisine in Taormina, and I would say that it is second only to that of Tuscany. We also got some great cannoli and gelato.
Today (Monday) we took a day trip from our hotel in Naxos to see Syracuse (Siracusa) on the southern corner of the island. At the theatre of Syracuse several students performed a piece of the Bacchantis (a play by Aeschylus) -- I portrayed king Penteo and the play ended with my dismemberment, to the dismay of Margaret. At the theatre it began to hail (at first I thought it was snow!) and it was a very strange feeling for me, lying still on the ground with my eyes closed and hail bouncing off of my face while a pack of gils swarmed around me chanting my death in Ancient Greek.
After the theatre we visited the island of Ortigia, and the sun finally showed its face. At Ortigia we saw the temple of Athena (which began as a Greek temple, then was rebuilt as another greek temple, then as an early christian church in the first century AD, and then as a Mosk when Sicily was conquered by the turks, and then finally as a Catholic church). It still has several of the original 2500 year old columns supporting a curved roof that was added in the 17th century.
After a long afternoon in Ortigia and a very long bus ride back, we returned to Hotel Nike (Nike was the greek goddess of victory) in Naxos. The next day we went to Agrigento.

Part 2 -- 8.02.2006:This is new!
Our first night in Agrigento(1) there was an international festival at the greek acropolis(2) of the ancient city. The temple to Hera(3) was lit, and in front of the temple the spectators gathered. Italian and Spanish music filled the night air as representatives from the various regions of the wold paraded down the street and then up the path to the acropolis, bearing large paper baton torches. Upon reaching the top of the hill they threw their torches into piles, and formed up in groups. There were spanish guitarists, mexican mariachi, african drumers, oriental pipers, and various other types of cultural music.

After several hours of dancing and singing around the growing bonfire, people started to walk back to their cars. In the parking lot a group of Rwandans was continuing the party with their drums, jumping and chanting. Alll sixty of the students from my school joined in and we danced and chanted rather intensely for another hour. The general sentiment was one of awe.

The next day we toured the acropolis with an Italian tour guide. She switched between Italian and English, and most of the time I didn’t notice which language she was using.

After we had a buffet lunch at a restaurant called “feelings”, overlooking the ancient ruins, we went intot he town of Agrigento where the international festival continued (in Italy one day of partying is NEVER enough). The town seemed rather dead at first, and so I consented to going shopping with Margaret and her friends, having nothing better to do. After a while, however, I had to excuse myself and go in search of some fellow testosterone. First, I thought I would just drop into the store down the street and buy a necklace that Margaret had spent a little too long looking at, in anticipation of San Valentino(4). This turned out to be much trickier than I thought, as a parade had just started and the streets and sidewalks were packed with gente(5). Long story short, I wound up in the middle of the street dancing with four russians on stilts. They made their way, and I went my own way, with a little bow, and I escaped to the sidewalk. Eventually, I did get the necklace, and then quickly rejoined the festivities.

The next day brought us to Selinunte, along the coast towards Palermo. The archeological site was right on the beach. There was an ancient quarry filled with unfinished doric columns, and so we students, who had been cooped up in a bus for the better part of a week, took advantage of the rocks’ jungle-gym-like properties. We were scolded by our teachers, but eventually they gave up. We were given an hour to have lunch on the beach, and told that swimming was strictly forbidden.

I wolfed down a snack (crackers and pesto) and then worked on convincing Margaret to go swimming with me. Once she was convinced, she tried to talk Abby into coming as well. Some ingenious reverse psychology on Jack’s part resulted in the four of us running into the 10 degree (6) water in our underwear (or less -- my boxers came down with my pants for a brief second by accident). We got out, and then realized that we didn’t have much in the way of dry clothing, or a way to change. A bunch of girls held up their jackets in a circle around Margaret and Abby while they changed, and Jack and I sat their clutching our wet selves, trying to warm up. We ended up changing quickly under the dip in a river bed.

That evening we went to Palermo to get our ferry. Getting cena(7) in Palermo was very exciting -- even more than naples had been. We went down a sketchy market lined with fruit and fish vendors and got a feast for dinnner (sandwhiches) for some spicci(8), and of course, some Sicilian canoli.

On the ferry I shared a room with Pat, Rachid, and Max. They found it hilarious to lock me out of the room and then turn the lights off while I was in the shower. Eventually, they left, but they came back and started banging on the walls and flicking the lights. I yelled at the top of my voice “F**king STOP!” and they complied. Then, when I turned off the shower water, I heard a very meek feminine voice say “Are you ever going to come out?” I quickly got dressed and came out to find a very scared looking Margaret. We had dinner with Pat and Rachid and Max.

The rest of teh ferry ride was not very fun. Margaret got very seasick, and so I toiled to make her comfortable untial she finally fell asleep, at which point I returned to my room where my roomates kept me up tutta la santa notte(9)! We had to wake up and disembark at naples in 6 AM, and my journey then changed completely as I headed for Torino and the 2006 Winter Olympics, but that’s another story.

Footnotes:
(1). Agrigento is a city on the western most tip of Sicily. In ancient times it was one of the wealthiest cities in the world, and thus had the largest number of temples, as well as the largest temples, of any hellenistic greek city (6th - 3rd century B.C.E.)
(2). An acropolis is the top of a greek city (always built on a hill). It was the politcal, religious, and economic center of the city.
(3). Hera (Juno in Roman) was the head female diety, wife of Zeus.
(4). Valentines day;
(5). Gente = people;
(6). 10 degrees centigrade = about 50 degrees farhenheit;
(7). Cena = dinner;
(8). Spicci = small change;
(9). Tutta la santa notte = the whole damned night;

Thu, 13 Apr 2006 08:28:03 GMT

Excerpt from an e-mail I wrote to Zach, since most of you have no clue where I am. More to come, from my journal:

I'm in Sardegna (Sardinia to you). Margaret is sleeping. We've been here since Sunday and we leave Saturday night. We're in a place called "Alghero" on the north west side of the island. We were going to come with Rachid, Max, and Marcus, and one of Rachid's friends (other kids from the school) but they got caught drinking and were suspended, so Margaret and I cancelled the reservation for our other, larger place (which was just down the block, we found it yesterday) and sent an e-mail to this guy Fabio. He's renting us the place for €350 this week, but he invited us to come stay for free in May if we can get our Visas extended. I would, except for that I have to get home to Graduate. You're coming to my graduation right? It's at 9ish AM on the 26th of May. Get out of school (or is that a sunday?). Anyhow, Fabio is awesome. On tuesday he took us to this beach, "La Speranza" (The Hope) and he was going to surf while we chilled at the beach. The waves were too small and the wind was too cold, and so instead he took us out to lunch. We're cooking. To save money, we're not eating out (the food here is all fish anyways, which neither of us eats). The first night I made a simple red sauce-- it had a bit of a kick (way too much pepper). The next night I successfully made risotto milanese (cheesy), out of a packet however. The next day was frozen pizza and we tried carabonara twice. The first time we used to much egg, not enough milk, and not enough heat, resulting in a bowl of raw eggs with some pasta in it, like an uncooked omlette. Last night we tried again but the power went out half way through. The stove still worked, so we lit a candle and kept cooking, forgetting about the garlic bread in the electric oven. Eventually the power came back on, and so the garlic bread cooked, but the power outage had disturbed the gas supply, and so the stove went out. The end product tasted a lot like macaroni and cheese (but the garlic bread was really good).

UVM

Mon, 20 Mar 2006 13:09:01 GMT

Hey guys, just thought I'd let you all know that I've officially been accepted into UVM (University of Vermont). In 11 days I will find out from the other schools that I've applied to.

Also,

I swear, I really am trying to update this more often, but I am stuck in a sort of a catch 22 -- when things are happening that are interesting enough for me to write about, I don't have time to write, and when I'm bored and have time to write, nothing is happening for me to write about.

We just got back from a weeklong trip in Compania (the region of Naples) where we saw Pompeii and various other small ancient cities under the shadow of Mt. Vesuvius. On a whole, the five day trip was not that exciting. Margaret was sick for the first few days, and then I was sick for the second half. There was a strike so we weren't able to see all of the sites we wanted to. Anyways, the last night, we had the most amazing experience. Some local napoletani taught us how to dance in the traditional fashion, to a percussion ensemble (tambourines). The music and the dancing was amazing, despite my sickness.

Ciao for now,

--Josh--

Sicily Part 1

Tue, 28 Feb 2006 21:10:20 GMT

06 Feb 2006 - Monday/Lunedì

Copied directly from my journal... no editing:

On Friday the school trip to Sicily began. I started my journey by staying at Mr. Scanlon’s house thursday night. At 8AM on friday morning we all boarded the bus, double decker as usual, and rode to Cumae. Along the way, we stopped at a rest stop in Campania, and in the bathroom there was a cleaning lady who started to shout in Napoletano (the dialect of Naples) at Paul and then she tried to dance with him. I laughed, and so she began to mock me and my long hair -- It was rather hilarious, if a little insulting.
Cummae was our first example of an Ancient Greek Acropolis with temples and scattered about and the occasional roman add-on.
After Cumae came Napoli (Naples) where we had dinner; It wasn’t anything exciting, just hot dogs and pizza. Naples was beautiful, even for the few evening hours we were there. We then boarded a ship headed for Sicily. It felt very much like being on the Titanic. Once on board a social drama developed and several “conversations” and arguments occured between Pat, Margaret, Cecillia, and me. The gist of it was that Ceci was pissed about how much time I’d spent in her’s and Margaret’s room over the Florence trip. The social drama was not aided by the seasickness. The Italian word for the episode is “casino”
Other than that, the boat ride was miserable, due mainly to insomnia and claustrophobia.
In the morning we got off of the damn boat and back into our temporary motor home: the bus.
We spent Sunday in Taormina, which was AMAZING. It is a small hill top city overlooking the beaches of Giardini Naxos. It was bellissima -- despite being a little bit of a tourist trap. It had the most spectacular views of both the mediterranean on one side and the snowy summit of Mount Etna on the other side. The city itself was filled with great eateries and several quaint and very sicilian churches. It was interwoven with walking paths that led to panoramic vistas. I had my first taste of Sicilian cuisine in Taormina, and I would say that it is second only to that of Tuscany. We also got some great cannoli and gelato.
Today (Monday) we took a day trip from our hotel in Naxos to see Syracuse (Siracusa) on the southern corner of the island. At the theatre of Syracuse several students performed a piece of the Bacchantis (a play by Aeschylus) -- I portrayed king Penteo and the play ended with my dismemberment, to the dismay of Margaret. At the theatre it began to hail (at first I thought it was snow!) and it was a very strange feeling for me, lying still on the ground with my eyes closed and hail bouncing off of my face while a pack of gils swarmed around me chanting my death in Ancient Greek.
After the theatre we visited the island of Ortigia, and the sun finally showed its face. At Ortigia we saw the temple of Athena (which began as a Greek temple, then was rebuilt as another greek temple, then as an early christian church in the first century AD, and then as a Mosk when Sicily was conquered by the turks, and then finally as a Catholic church). It still has several of the original 2500 year old columns supporting a curved roof that was added in the 17th century.
After a long afternoon in Ortigia and a very long bus ride back, we returned to Hotel Nike (Nike was the greek goddess of victory) in Naxos.

Sicily Photos

Mon, 20 Feb 2006 20:46:22 GMT

While I finish writing up about the trip, here are some pictures (and captions) to hold you all over:
Sicily | Photo Index

Enjoy!

Wow.

Mon, 13 Feb 2006 12:47:25 GMT

I've just gotten back from the most amazing week in my life. We had the school trip to Sicily, then I went straight to the opposite end of the country to Torino for the Olympics.

I actually filled my memory card on my camera (300 something photos). I'll upload the best later, and as soon as I get a chance I'll type up my journal entries from the trip.

All i'll say for now is: WOW

American Family Part 1 - Waiting

Sun, 29 Jan 2006 20:07:36 GMT

This is going to be a VERY long story, but here's the very first part, basically an introduction. After I've finished the jounral-style story I'm going to write a few smaller pieces in a more stylistic fashion:

Ok, so, my american family came to visit and I’ve yet to write anything about it.

The first day after school finished, Dec. 22nd, I went into town around 11PM. I didn’t know what time they were coming, though I knew they were supposed to get to Rome in the morning, and so I got into town at earliest that they would be able to make it.
Margaret joined me for lunch, and we went to Gigi & Mena’s deli to get Panini, and something to drink. While we ate our lunch in the park at the center of town, I kept my hand in my pocket and on my phone. Eventually, Mom called me, and told me that they would be coming in late because they had to go through Milan. I got more calls with updates, and finally around two they called to say they were at Rome and they were coming. Ok, so I figured in two hours they’d be in town. Margaret and I joined some other SYA’ers and went into a cafè to warm up. Around four, I went to the Porta Romana to wait for my family. I had agreed to meet them there, but fully expected them to call me from a pain phone and I would have to come to find them. I could only hope that they would at least make it to the walls of the city, since outside of the walls i’m utterly hopeless. After about an hour and a half, Margaret and I were both sitting on a railing on the side of the road at Porta Romana, freezing our asses off and shivering. I told Margaret to go home and warm up (since she’s a little less habituated to the weather) but she insisted on staying. I suggested that after a few more minutes if they still hadn’t arrived, we could go to check into the hotel which was just down the street. We ended up doing that and almost immediately after we stepped into the hotel room my phone started to vibrate in my pocket. I nearly threw it across the room trying to get it out. I picked it up and asked Mom frantically where they were. She started telling me the names of the shops that she could see from the caffè they were in. I explained that I didn’t know all of the clothing stores, and asked for something else, like street names. I now remember that Italian streets aren’t labeled, and that I only know the names because people have told me. Anyways, after Mom couldn’t find the street they were on, I suggested that she hand the phone to an Italian nearby and I would ask him where they were. The man she handed the phone to was very very confused. It wasn’t a matter of my italian - it was just what I was saying. Translated into english, the conversation went something like this:
Him: “Hello”
Me: “Hi. Where are my parents?”
Him: “I don’t understand.”
Me: “My parents, my family, my mom is the woman with whom you just spoke.”
Him: “What are you saying?”
And then I heard mom in the background: “ce è questa” (which was her attempt to say “che è questo” but the bartender understood her anyways, and said “Caffè Cavour” - where I get my coffee every morning, right across the street from the school. I asked the man to put my mom back on and I explained to her very quickly that the bartenders name was “Augusto” and that I knew exactly where she was and I would be right there. I hung up and then Margaret looked at me and said “You’re going to run aren’t you”. I nodded and as I started to run out of the hotel faster than I’ve run in a long time, Margaret just shouted, “I’ll catch up later”. Luckily for me it was all downhill from the hotel to the caffè, and the pedestrian lights were all green for me. I got to the caffè and came in. and just hugged everyone, and picked shannon up and twirled her around. I said hi to Augusto, and thanked the patron with whom I’d spoken on the phone, and explained what had happened. I ordered everyone some coffees, and we waited for Margaret. I walked everyone back to the hotel, and Margaret headed for home. It was really great of her to wait all day with me.

More photos, new entries

Sun, 15 Jan 2006 13:16:16 GMT

PHOTOS
Photo Index || Latest Album

Also, there is a new entry, but I set the date on it to the proper date (december 10th) so it is down there a ways. Just scroll down, you'll find it.

La Pace

Sun, 15 Jan 2006 12:42:03 GMT

This is in the rest of the Volterra story. It was the highlight of the trip, and I'm very far behind in my writing so I don't feel the need to bore you all with the other details of the trip.

La Pace

After a very long and tiring trip through the tuscan country side, involving two trains and then two more busses, I arrived in Volterra with my three companions. Jack and I found the hotel. Margaret had been instrumental in planning the trip, but the actual walking, direction finding, and bag-carrying was left up to the men.

Once we checked in, the young receptionist asked us if we had any questions. We tend to receive special treatment for being Americans fluent in Italian. As we all told her we were set, and began to head towards our rooms, a thought occurred to me. Jack and I had decided that we were going to treat the girls to one night out with no-expenses-spared, out of the three nights of our vacation in Tuscany. I turned to the innkeeper and asked where the best restaurant in town was. She pulled out one of those tourist maps - littered with advertisements for museums and fast-food joints - and began to talk and circle streets. First, she told us where not to go. She explained that other patrons of hers had gone out and stopped at the first restaurant they found, compelled inside by the gale force winds of the hill-top town, and come back complaining about exorbitant prices and sub-par food. Stick it out, she told us, and go a little farther, to this piazza here. Then she stopped, and she took the pen and drew a star all the way on the far-side of town, and she told us that a place called “La Pace” (the peace) was by far the best.

The next evening we set out, map in hand. The maps was not needed though. Volterra is a very small walled city with a handful of alleys branching off from the two main streets. La Pace was at the end of one of the main streets. We began to worry that we’d gone the wrong way when we found ourselves in an area that seemed entirely residential, but at last we spotted a building with a golden light that shone out from behind the curtains and illuminated an old weather-worn sign, embellished with grapes and the inscription “la pace”.

We entered and were greeted by a strange and not entirely pleasing odor. I began to wonder about what seemed to be a sketchy restaurant. At least the waiter who seated us was a little chubby -- always a good sign. We were given menus completely void of english translations -- another good sign. After giving us ample time to look at the pretty menus, our waitress approached us. She had an overbite the size of the grand canyon and spoke in a very thick accent at a speed that would leave a Ferrari eating dust. Jack and I looked at her, then at each-other, and then back to her. We asked her to repeat what she’d said a little more slowly. She repeated, continuing at warp nine, but this time we were ready. After the waitress, Jack, and I had talked for about ten minutes -- or rather, after the waitress had spent ten minutes telling us what we were having while Jack and I sat and nodded our heads, we felt fairly confident that we were going to be fed well, and the waitress left us to rest our ears. She took the menus with her, and apparently they had just been for show anyways, since we weren’t getting a single item off of them.

Then came our first course: two large plates piled high with cheeses, prosciutto, salami, and bruschette with pate. The four of us made quick work of the food.
The next course was the climax of the evening -- the pasta. Abby had asked Jack to get her something without mushrooms when the waitress had suggested a truffle dish for the girls. That, it turned out, was a huge mistake. The waitress placed in front of Margaret an enormous plate, overflowing with tagliatelle (a type of pasta) in a creamy truffle sauce. It was so tantalizing that Margaret had to plead with the rest of us to stop eating it. I went back to my own dish of gnocchi in a pumpkin sauce, which was rather delicious in its own right.

The Secondi (meats) arrived. I enjoyed a Bisteca Fiorentina, which is the tuscan equivalent to a very tender T-bone. Instead of butter as one might find state-side, it was bathed in olive oil. Why waste milk making butter when it can be used for cheese or cappuccino instead, especially when you’ve got copious amounts of olive oil as a substitute? I ignored the fact that my meat was still mooing, and dug in.

After finishing my steak I felt like I couldn’t eat another bite, unless of course it was even better than the last, which I thought impossible until the desserts were presented. The desserts came in the same manner as the appetizers - two plates of assorted deliciousness. We made a few toasts -- to Volterra, la pace, world peace, and finally to our “bella vacanza”, and then we started on our final dish of the evening.

Our chocolate cake, tiramisù, and fried apple crumble was the true icing on the cake for the evening, and went down very easily considering how stuffed we all were already. Finally, our waitress brought the bill. The evening ended up costing less than most of our other meals that long weekend. After that experience, if our innkeeper had told me to jump off of a bridge, I think I would have.

La Mia Famiglia Americana è venuto

Sun, 08 Jan 2006 20:18:23 GMT

I haven't finished writing about the trip to Volterra yet. I have one bit written but it needs some *editing*. However, Just so you're all up to date on what's happening NOW, here's the scoop:

My american family (Mom, Dad, Jack, and Shannon) came to visit. They showed up on the 22nd (almost the 23rd though, it was so late). We spent a few days in Viterbo, two weeks in Montepulciano (yes, the wine place), and then a few days in Firenze and a few more days in Viterbo. The long story will come later, but for now I thought I'd leave you with some

PHOTOS
Photo Index || American Family Visit

La Bella Vacanza (Prequel)

Mon, 02 Jan 2006 17:26:49 GMT

Long weekends are a perfect opportunity for SYA students to go and explore Italy, and check off one more item on our “to-see” lists, but at the same time, school is insanely stressful, and everybody needs a vacation once in a while. While in Florence, Jack approached me with the idea of a sort of a “double date” vacation. Jack is from Boston, has long-hair like me, speaks Italian like Marlin Brando, and has a knack for finding insanely great places to eat. He and Abby had a small town called “Cinqueterra” in mind, but after seeing Volterra -- and more importantly, eating there, the four of us (Jack, Abby, Margaret, and I) realized that Volterra was definitely worth seeing again. All two square kilometeres of it.

On the seventh - Wednesday, I came to school with a bag for the weekend. I would spend the night at Jack’s house and then wake up early to catch our train (we thought we’d found one at 5:00AM).

We had to give our travel plans to Roberta, the school’s secretary, and she had a laughing fit when she realized what was going on. Ms. Tuzzi, the Italian teacher, came up to us and said “Wow! Che bella vacanza!” and did a little shimmy -- thus christening our weekend“La bella vacanza”. Roberta and Ms. Rhepsold (the math teacher) cracked some jokes about our trip, and told us things such as “remember kids, safety first”, and other “bufi”(jokes). Margaret’s face went as red as a pomodoro.

That evening, Margaret demanded to see the websites Jack had found regarding our transportation to Volterra. We found them, and realized that they were a little out of date. A few phone calls later and we discovered that they were completely inaccurate, and that most of the bus lines we’d planned on using didn’t exist anymore. While using google and the phone to try and find how we still could get to Volterra, Margaret decided to try trenitalia (which is an awesome website, by the way). She entered “Depart from Viterbo” and “Arrive in Volterra” and an instant train/bus combo came up. And we didn’t have to leave until 10 AM. To “make assurance double sure” (10 points to whoever tells me where that quote is from), we walked to the train station at Porta Fiorentina, across town. Sure enough, we were all set, and so we bought 8 tickets (four for each way) and then headed back to Jack’s house. Margaret went home for dinner, while Jack, Abby, K.C., and I cooked ourselves some dinner at Jack’s house (his host dad was out). In the morning, our adventure would begin.

Toscana Trip Part III (finalmente)

Mon, 02 Jan 2006 17:25:13 GMT

Here's the end to the toscana trip story:

After settling in to the hotel, I started to get ready for my Middlebury interview. By 4:00 I was ready - having changed between my two shirts about a hundred times. Margaret went off to do silly girl things (like “shopping”), while I went to the café where I had arranged to meet my interviewer, Kate. I got there early, and Kate called and said she would be late, and so I went in and ordered a cafe machiato (sort of a miniature-cappucino). After about ten minutes, a young woman came in who seemed to be looking for someone, and like she might match the voice I had talked to on the phone. We made eye contact, but then dropped it. I kept looking at her trying to figure out if it was Kate, and I had a feeling she was watching me, since I was the only 18-ish American-ish boy in the fairly packed café. After a bit I decided to look outside, and as I got to the door, my cell phone rang. I picked it up and heard Kate say, not only through my phone, but also from right behind me, “pronto!” (ready - its the italian answer to a phone call). I turned around and there’s Kate. We’d been eying eachother for at least five minutes. Cell phones are pretty damn useful. Anyways, the interview went well enough (i hope), and even if I was a little nervous and not my usual eloquent self, I think I managed to get accross who I am and what I am passionate about. The one regret I have is that I didn’t show off my proficiency in Italian. I didn’t say a word of Italian throught the whole interview. Oh well.

At the end I asked Kate if she knew anywhere nice but not touristy to get dinner in Florence. She gave me a few suggestions across the river. I met back up with Margaret, and we decided we wanted to see the new Harry Potter that had just come out. We went to an internet cafe to find a movie theatre, and though we found a few that we’re showing the movie, we were unable to figure out how to get there. We eventually gave up, and decided to just have dinner and then “quello che succede, succede” (whatever happens, happens). We decided to forget about Kate’s suggestion of crossing the river, and instead returned to Trattorria Marino, where we had eaten lunch. The waiter recognized us immediately and asked us where our friends were. We explained that they’d gone home to Viterbo (I’ve now gotten used to calling Viterbo “home”. It feels odd whenever someone says “home” and means “my home in America”).
Before I had left the states, Aunt Joanie and Julie had sent me $50 with the instructions to spend it on a nice meal. Where better than Toscana (Tuscany), the land of the best food, to have my most expensive meal? Margaret and I each ordered a “Bisteca Fiorentina” (Florentine Steak), which turned out to be a delicious piece of beef that could be equated to a T-bone. Instead of butter on top, it was flavored with olive oil. Oh how I had missed a good steak for the past few months! It was a succulent treat that had me eating well past when I was “full”. After that, dessert was most certainly called for, and so two tiramisú were requested. When the waiter brought out the tiramisú, it looked a little too yellow and it didn’t look very appetising. Looks can be very, very misleading.
The bill came to about 40 euro - or $50. Perfect. Thanks Aunt Joanie and Julie, for the most delicious fiorentine meal.

The next day - Sunday - Margaret and I we’re awoken at 10:00 by the charming old lady who ran “Casa Lea”. She told us that we had to check out by 10:30 because it was Sunday and she went home early on Sundays. Thanks for the pre-warning. We each hastily showered and packed and left at 10:32. We took a bus from in front of the hotel to the Stazione (train station), and found a place where we could temporarily check our bags. Then we went to search for food, and we wound up at the closest thing available - McDonalds.

For my entire time in Italy, I have faithfully avoided “american” food like McDonalds and Coca-Cola. This time, however, I was hungry and exhausted, and so I gave in. Breakfast was unavailable, and so I ordered a fries and a vanilla ice-cream (it’s *kind-of* like a cappuccino, right?). After finishing that, I felt physically sick, and I remembered why I never eat McDonalds -- moral principles aside. I had to find some real food, and so I wound up with a chocolate bar, an orange juice, and a panino (panini in singular form). Not exactly the bowl of fruit I should have been eating. We wrote postcards and waited for the train. At 3:30, thirty minutes after the train was supposed to arrive (that is to say, right on time by Italian measure), we got on the train, and went “home” at last.

College

Fri, 16 Dec 2005 22:26:18 GMT

So, in September I wrote a lot because I missed home and I wanted to make sure I was bringing all of you with me on my journey as much as I could.

In October I didn't write a lot because I was at a plateau in my Italian that I had to work very hard to get over. I was getting the hang of life her.

By November I was so jaded to my european life that events which would have warranted a journal entry in september were now normal to me. I wrote about (most of) our trip.

In December I wrote.... nothing.

So I'm finishing my college applications this weekend, but next weekend is Christmas, and so for Christmas I'm going to give all of you (even those of you whom I don't know) a nice big gift. I'm going to finish writing about my Toscana trip (not much more happened). I'm going to write a piece on my trip to Volterra with Jack, Abby, and Margaret; and I'm going to write a piece on my day at home sick, and what that means in an italian household.

All nice, very well written pieces. I promise. By next weekend. Send me hate mail, call me incessantly, make me get my ass in gear.

As for college, well... the entire process is insane. None of my Italian teachers understand how important the process is in America, because in Italy to "apply" one needs merely send a check and take a single test. My Greek teacher laughs at the students sitting next to the "college" phone all day waiting to hear if they got in Early Decision. We really are stark raving mad in America I think.

Toscana Trip Part Two of Three

Thu, 01 Dec 2005 21:15:05 GMT

Also, there are some new Photos: Photo Index; Toscana Pictures

Friday brought more touristy ventures with the school group; We saw all of the usual sites: the Duomo, the gates of paradise on the baptistry, and a few medieval towers. All told it was a pretty miserable, wet, and exhausting morning, and I didn’t actually learn much because while my hood kept the rain out, it also kept out most of what Prof. Sammartino was trying to say. We were given a huge chunk of time off for lunch, and so after some overpriced pizza that reminded me a bit of “American” pizza, we all decided to escape the cold by watching Italian TV in the hotel, after which our final tour of the trip was cut short because of the torrential downpours. We all ran into the Duomo to stay dry -- which I’m sure was a very pleasant site to the custodians (and to God for that matter). I really feel like I’m part of some invading force when I’m with the school.

We dined at the same restaurant, though the food was not as good, since it was no longer a holiday, and I actually got to sit with some students -- and who else but Margaret, Pat, and Cecilia.
For me the trip became much more interesting on Saturday, when we were released from the schools bonds, and set into the wild. We were free to return to Viterbo when we chose, as long as we got back for class on Monday. Saturday morning I was dragged to the Uffizzi with Margaret and Cecilia. I suppose it was neat to see the originals of the paintings i’ve been seeing in History text books since 6th grade, but unlike Margaret, I wasn’t about to burst from excitement. Then again -- Margaret has been known to become excited about seeing a “buffetti” (an office supply store).

After the Uffizzi we joined with Jack, Abby, Cecilia, and Kate and we went to Lunch at a Trattoria (Small restauraunt/Pizzeria) that Jack had found earlier. Trattoria Marino is proof that if there is a God, he doesn’t completely hate me, at least not yet. It is a miracle of Firenze. If you are at the front of the Duomo (which is the hub of the city as far as tourists are concerned) and you look around, you will see dozens upon dozens of stores targeted at Americans, British, Germans, and Koreans -- all of whom speak english. The stores themselves might be run by Americans. The menu’s are written ONLY in English. It almost makes me sick. But then, if you walk along the right hand side of the duomo (where the sickening shops continue) and go to the third street on the right, you will see a little alley way that ends in a Piazza. The only thing in the Piazza is Trattoria Marino. After we first walked in, the first reaction we had was “what is that funky smell?”. Then we were greeted by the waiter, in perfectly accented Italian, and as we were walked to our table, we spotted what we guessed was the family that owned the restaurant, sitting down to lunch. He took our orders, with perfect gallantry, first going around the table to each of the Ladies, saving Jack and I for last. Five minutes later he returned, carrying a bowl of soup on each finger - or so it seemed. He handed them to Jack, who was sitting closest, and said “prima le donne” (ladies first), implying that Jack should pass the soup around. The soup, it seemed, was on the house, since none of us had ordered any. “Its for while you wait”, we were informed. Then the food arrived, and my-oh-my was it delicious. Sharing was abundant, since every dish was amazing, and we couldn’t get enough. The fun was cut short, however, because everyone else had to catch a train, and Margaret and I had to find our Hostel.

We went back to the Hotel we had stayed at with the school to pick up our bags and ask for directions. I tried to play the part of the gentleman by offering to carry Margaret’s luggage to the hostel. I was given a bag that would’ve exceeded the most generous of size and weight limits on any airline. After carrying the bag a total of twenty feet, and then finding out how far the Hostel was, I suggested that we get a cab. This turned out much easier, and we arrived at our Hostel five minutes later. We walked up stairs, where the man asked me my name. “Josh Lee” - i tell him, three times before he gets it. “Ah! Giociua!” he says. “I’m sorry, but we have a small problem. We over booked. Here, take this card to Casa Lea, the hotel over there, and they will let you stay there for the same price you would have paid here.” he said (translated, of course). At Casa Lea it seems as if we had been expected, and we are greeted by an old lady who seemed to be quite charming. We got out our passports, and paid, and did all that, and then she walked down the hall to show us our rooms. The hotel was nice, but Margaret's room was much bigger than mine.

Toscana Trip Part 1

Mon, 28 Nov 2005 21:53:05 GMT

I am heading to Augusto’s café for my morning cappuccino. I step out of the school, and cross the street. Having been in Viterbo for two months, I am now accustomed to not looking both ways - since every street is one-way. I walk into Café Cavour, and greet Augusto, “Ciao! Buongiorno!” He responds similarly and as he hands me a croissant with nutella I say “da un po’, eh?” (been a while eh?). Augusto starts to make a cappuccino and asks me where I went. He is familiar with many of the american students in Viterbo and knows that we take frequent trips. “We went to Florence, and Sienna - it was beautiful”.
Our trip started with the sixty students (each with an obscenely large bag or two) loading ourselves into a double decker bus. I nabbed of one the “cabin” style seats with a table between two facing benches. Margaret, Pat, and Cecilia join me. Margaret and I sit apart from each-other to spare the others the discomfort of being with a couple. The first hour of the ride was uneventful, but then we passed into the beauty that is Tuscany. In the distance we spotted snow peaked mountains, and what looked like a snow storm blowing towards us. For us three new-englanders, this was not too exciting, but Margaret began to jump up and down so excitedly that she eventually hit her head on the luggage rack - at which point she continued to jump excitedly, laughing, and clutching her forehead. We arrived in Sienna just before lunch time, and after a quick tour that ended at the Piazza del Campo, we were released to explore on our own. The four of us stuck together, and went to find a “pudino di riso” - or rice pudding - which was supposed to be a treat of Siena. At the fifth bar we checked, we found one. It was probably the last pudino riso in town, since it was typically a breakfast food. We bought it hastily, and received a small but thick cookie. It had some rice inside, but other than that, there was nothing special about it at all. Not deterred, we returned to Piazza del Campo and entered the Palazzo Antiche (Ancient Palace). We were charged six euros for a ticket to the tower, and three hundred and sixty three steps later we were rewarded with the most spectacular views of what is probably one of the most beautiful italian towns. Though it was cold and windy, we had paid a fortune - in student terms - to see this, and so we took our time. Above the permanent top of the tower, there was a small wooden platform that came up to just underneath the large brass bell. There was a ladder leading up to it, but the ladder was “raised” so that the lowest rung was just above reach. “Use your crazy ice-climbing skills” Pat suggested to me, while the girls hid themselves from the wind, behind the low stone wall. I took Pats advice, and climbed up onto the higher platform (which turned out to be fairly tricky). The girls noticed what we were doing once I was half way up, and began to reprimand me immediately. By the time I’d taken some pictures and climbed down, Margaret was hugging one of the columns and physically shaking with fear. [Note from the author: this was perfectly safe. If i had fallen off of the ladder, I would have landed on the lower platform a few metres below me. There was no way I could have gone off the edge of the tower even if i’d tried.] We descended, and after a quick lunch of Pizza and some crappy wine, we head to the Duomo of Siena. We looked around, and while it was a very impressive building that could should have put the fear of god in me, I had a hard time enjoying it with four hundred other tourists, mostly from America or Korea, and at the end I felt that the Tower was much better value - as entrance to the Duomo was also six euro.
When we exited the Duomo, it was snowing, in a very half-assed, might-happen-in-august-new-england sort of way. Margaret, far from being put off by the fact that the snow was melting before it even touched the ground, screamed excitedly and hit me every time she spotted a snowflake land on my sweater. We returned once more to our nap-on-wheels, and headed for our final destination of the day -- Volterra. That night in Volterra was insanely cold, and so after exploring the two main streets, Margaret and I ducked into a bar for hot chocolate, then returned to the hotel where we watched Italian TV (which is another story completely) with a few of the other Americani. The next morning we had a quick tour of the Archaeological museum of Volterra, but then we were surprisingly given the afternoon off once again. Margaret and I spent the day with Jack and Abby, and since they were also a couple (though don’t let Jack hear you say that), we felt much less awkward than we had the previous day. We got cappuccini together, and it was so good that I decided to call Augusto’s “second best in the world” from then on. Then we went to lunch at what looked like a fancy restaurant, but one that had never had a word of english spoken in it before. I had an “inverno” pizza with peppers, tabasco, and salami (made from wild boar meat), and I finally realized why everyone raves about Tuscan food so much. After that we had to return to the bus one last time, for the final leg of the journey.
We arrived in Firenze at our Hotel with only an hour left before dinner. It wasn’t until someone mentioned dinner that I remembered that it was Thanksgiving. After un-packing and gawping at the awesomeness of our four-guy room, it was time for our feast, and so we walked together to the restaurant, as a rather loud, large, and american group of sixty five people. I work in a restaurant over the summers, and if I saw a group anything like what we were like, I think I would pass out on the spot. Just before we got inside the restaurant, my cell phone rang, and so I pulled it out to be greeted with voices from distant America. I talked to my dad and then to my mom and little sister, and by the time I got inside the restaurant, every seat was taken, except for one. Growing up, there was always a “kids” table, and I always hated that I had to sit at it. The one seat remaining was at the teachers table, and it felt just like going back to the kids table, except this time it was for grow-ups amongst a group of teenagers.
By the end of dinner, I felt wonderful, despite the seating arrangements. The food had been wonderful, and I had actually had some great conversations with my teachers, which was good since some of them now see me much more for who I am than for just another slacker. I taught my english teacher some italian curse words, understood two of my teachers talking about me in italian, and *almost* got to drink wine with them. We all went to the Piazza Della Signoria, where there was a statue that told the tale of the sabine women (and how the romans raped them all). After several group hugs and a group photo in front of the statue, our festivities were broken up by the arrival of three Carabinieri -- also known as the Military Police. Margaret wanted to go meet a group of people from her old school that happened to be in Firenze on the same weekend as us, and so Mr. Townsend, the latin professor, and I escorted her to the place where the group was staying, and then walked back to our own hotel. The program director told us he didn’t like the idea of her coming back alone, and so we turned around and got back to their hotel in time to escort her back to our own hotel in time for curfew.

Sottitolli

Thu, 03 Nov 2005 20:13:15 GMT

(Somthing). I can't write a lot. I'm insanely busy. Anyways, today I had a great, but tiring, day. I'd managed to do all of my homework last night, which meant I could sleep in this morning, and didn't have to stress out between classes. After school I had a Yoga class. I wasn't going to do it, but Ms. Vicini (my awesome greek teacher) convinced me to join. The relaxed feeling I felt afterwards was very misleading. I felt well rested, but by the end of my two hour soccer practice, I felt much more exhausted than normal.

At home, things are getting to be a lot of fun. My conversational skills have finally moved to the point that I can have conversation for the sake of conversation, instead of only talking when I need something. Now I can make jokes, add my personal feelings, etc. Its really great. I've even picked up two tenses just by listening - tenses we haven't learned in class yet.

One thing thats bothering me, that Paolo explained to me, is subtitles. I watched some Italian films without the subtitles, and realized how completely messed up the translations are. The same is true for english to italian translations. I was able to read the subtitles and listen to the italian while watching american films with Paolo, and discern all of the errors. One of the hugest ones is in the terminator series.

In the original, Arnold says his famous, "I'll be back". This can easily be translated into Italian as "Tornero", which sounds just as funny and daunting. The literal translation is "I will return". Not quite the same, but close enough, right? Its even the same number of syllables. But instead of using "Tornero" in the italian version, the line is changed to "aspetto fuori" - which translates to "i wait outside" (present tense often used instead of future in Italian). Now I have a running joke with Paolo. When ever one of us is leaving and will return, we say "aspetto fuori". He understands it, because he's almost fluent in english, but to most of the Italians, one of the most famous lines ever doesn't exist. You have to wonder if the same thing happens when they read Shakespeare. I think of all of my favorite shakespeare lines, and how it would be so difficult to translate them accurately. For example, how do you capture the glory of this line from Midsummer: "Up and down, up and down, I will lead them up and down". The literal translation sounds funny and makes no sense whatsoever in italian.

Lots of other things happen with literal translations, such as:

Ti Voglio - really means: love ya. literal translation: I want you;
Ti Piacio? - really means: do you like me? literal translation: do I give pleasure to you?
Scopare - literal translation: to sweep (thats where "Scope" mouthwash comes from)

And the connotation of "scopare" - this ones a kicker and it isn't in any dictionaries:
to make love to. In a very vulgar sense. More accurately: to fuck. You can imagine my confusion when I asked Clotilde, "how do I sweep my room" ( didn't know the word for broom ).

Aspetto fuori.

I Miei (My Parents)

Sun, 23 Oct 2005 12:29:05 GMT

Here's a picture Uncle Rich took last Thursday and e-mailed to me:

Click to Enlarge

Weekend in Rome

Sun, 23 Oct 2005 12:18:59 GMT

After Rich and Tia and Joe left Vetralla for Roma in the last entry, we had promised to meet up with each other in Roma, and this weekend we did just that. On Saturday morning I was woken by my cell phone at 8:00. I picked it up, very confused when the person I was talking to was speaking italian to me. Non of my friends from school spoke italian like this, and why would my family be calling me? Then I realized that it was uncle Joe. "Ciao Zio". Lesson learned here: Josh + Morning + Foreign Language = Dumbfounded. Anyways, I showered, grabbed a cornetto (crossaint), said good bye to Clotidle, and walked to the Vetralla bus stop. After the usual bus ride/train ride into Roma, I got off and began walking towards the Forum, where Uncle Joe had said they would meet me. I got to one side of the forum and didn't see them, so I followed the road along it to the colloseo. When I was almost to the Colloseo, Joe called and said that thats where they were, and I practically sprinted the last block. We all met up and went out to do the tourist thing. We went INSIDE the colloseum, which was just plain awesome. Rich and I were talking about how much cooler it would be if we had swords. It seems like to me, in Italy everything is better with a sword. I have pictures of all of this, but they're on Joe's camera. When he gets me the pictures i'll put them up.

After that we saw the forum. It was pretty much the same old stuff that I've seen all over the place. I'm starting to get used to the fact that its perfectly normal to use a two-thousand-year old roman column capitol as a bench. We got lunch . . . it was good . . . as usual for an Italian lunch. I don't know how many words there are in english that mean "good", but I could use all of them to describe some of the Pizze (plural of Pizza) i've had here. After that we went corso-ing. Joe, Rich and Tia didn't know that thats what we were doing, and I forgot to explain it to them, but in Italy every day from about 4:30 to 6:30 everyone goes out and walks up and down main street. They don't necessarily shop, or do anything. They just walk. Anyways, while corso-ing we went clothes shopping. In Rome, even I can get excited about that. Tia and Rich bought me some Italian clothes -- more on that later. Anyways, we went back to the hotel to freshen up, and I put on said italian clothes. We then called Tia's fifth cousin whom she had met up north earlier in their trip. She was in Rome too. We all met up at eight o'clock at the colosseum (since its the easiest thing to find). We got on a tram, and after experiencing the fact that Romans and Venetians don't get along too well (the bus driver told Tia's cousin the wrong tram), we made it to some street corner in the Trastevere district. This area is completely devoid of the tourists that populate the rest of the city, which was nice. We met a Roman couple who was friends with Alena (Tia's cousin) and the nine of us (Tia, Rich, Joe, Me, Alena, Two of her friends, and the two romans) went into this extremely crowded restaurant and asked for a table for nine, without a reservation. "Follow me" the waiter said. There wasn't an empty seat in the entire place... "what is he going to do" i thought, "pull a table out of his rear?". The solution was much simpler. There was a completely empty downstairs room. Dinner was quite enjoyable, at least for me. Rich and Tia and Joe were a little unsatisfied with the food, but what I got was great, because I asked Alena's friend what I should get. It was awesome having Italian conversations, and translating for Rich and Tia, and drinking a litre of wine between Rich and I. We left, and Rich, Tia, Joe, and I started trying to walk back to our Hotel. While walking, someone stopped me and asked me where the Corso was. I had been doing so well at dinner, speaking better than ever, and I understood what the man was asking me. More than that, I knew where it was. However I completely goofed, and just pointed in the general direction and said "qui" (which means "here). Oops!. The cool part was that he asked me. With my new vestidi I looked Italian. We got back to the Hotel at about two, and I lay down in bed and then marveled at the fact that Saturday Night Live was playing, IN ENGLISH, on the TV. I sat up and watched it for about five minutes before falling asleep.

The Rest of the Day

Sun, 23 Oct 2005 11:08:40 GMT

Backdated: 19/10/2005:
The previous post is a little bit misleading. Now that I go back and read it, it sounds like I am miserable. This is not the case. I wrote it during first period, with the prospect of one of my most difficult academic days yet ahead. The day got a lot better though. The torrential downpour stopped, and after my last class at 2:30 I went to the Porta Romana train station, across the street from the bus stop. There I met with uncle Joe, to give him the grand tour of Viterbo. We went to the school first, and he looked around. I got some questions later about "who was that italian guy with you" from my fellow students -- Yeah Joe! At least the americans think you're italian. Then we decided we were both hungry, and so we went into a cafe to grab a tremezzino (triangle american-style bread, sans crust, with stuff toasted inside). Then we decided that tremiezzini suck, and we were still hungry, and so we went to the Taverna Etrusca, where i've eaten before. It was, sadly, closed. We forgot about lunch and walked over to the Palazzo Dei Papi. We looked inside the church, and Joe explained to me all of the 16th century paintings inside. Then we went into the "museum" and we were given a tour, where it was my turn to tell joe about the Roman and Etruscan artifacts, and help translate what our tour guide was trying to say when he didn't know the english word. Then we got to see the Conclave, which was really cool because its always locked and so none of the SYA kids have been in. It was a huge open room, and the stone floor is so old that it bends down in the middle. The building was finished in the 12th century AD, and the first conclave was held there. The Captain of the Viterbese militia was the one who had the idea to lock the Cardinals inside, since he didn't want them to be influenced by the enormous french army that happened to be in town. The cardinals picked an Italian Pope, of course, and furthermore, one who was on the crusades and not in town, and so the french couldn't kill him. On another note, France is the only country Italy has ever defeated in war (without allies).

Anyways, back to my day with Joe. After the very impressive tour, we set out once again for food. It was four thirty, but most of the taverns opened at six, when I had to go home and Joe had to return to Roma, so we found a nicer cafe and got Pannini and Fantas. We began to walk up towards the Porta Romana, and realized we had an hour left, and so we dropped into a pastry shop that tempts me every day on my walk from the school to "La Mensa" (where we eat lunch). We got a half dozen pastries each for later, and a canolla to eat there. It was delicious, and as we left the store and took our first bite, we both looked at eachother, turned around, and went right back into the store. I was sent home with two dozen pastries for the family and half a dozen cream puffs for me (they were nowhere near as good as yours, Sitto). Andrea and Massimo devoured the pastries, and then Clotilde jokingly called them horses (our equivalent to calling someone a pig).

But I left off with Joe and I leaving the pastry shop for the second time. We then decided to get Gelato, to top off the pastries. On the way to the best gelateria, I saw a cafe I had heard about, but never been too. "Il Re Magi". Supposedly it has to-die-for hot chocolate. We decided to go there instead.

European hot chocolate is not like american hot chocolate. Like coffee, if you take the italian version and add a lot of water, you might get something that the american version can come close to competing with. Italian hot chocolate is thick, like pudding, but it tastes more like a liquid brownie. Some cafe's have an entire menu dedicated to just hot chocolate, and the various flavors.

After eating the hot chocolate, we went back to the porta romana and Joe waited for my bus to come, then we said good bye, until may, and he went to catch his train.

Domeneca (Sunday) 23 Ottobre, 2005:
I had such a great time with Joe last Wednesday, and with Rich and Tia and Joe over the weekend. Having seen them I'm starting to miss home more. Joe reminded me of thanksgiving, and thinking about seeing everyone and the grand festivities at Sitto's house and how I won't be there is a little painful -- so I do the Mr. Happy thing, which is to ignore painful things. But its something I should think about, and I can't just ignore it. I really will miss you all, but its a trade off. I am getting the most amazing experience(s) here, and I'll be back for thanksgiving next year. Everyone eat a little extra for me.. a grape leaf, a piece of turkey, something.

English Narrative: Mia Mattina

Sun, 23 Oct 2005 10:34:26 GMT

The following is an english assignment I did. The assignment was to write a "narrative" essay about an experience we have had in Italia. I have english first thing in the morning, and so I wrote about that morning up until that point (though I accidentally used the "usually" present tense here and there). Here it is:

Spending my senior year in Italy is supposed to be an adventure -- and it is -- but sometimes I get more adventure than I bargained for, so to speak. Let me begin by saying that I am not a morning person, in any sense of the word. I take the stereotypical grumpy-in-the-mornings-male teenager to an extreme. At home, just getting to the shower without falling down the stairs was a daily struggle. In Italy, my mornings have become even more interesting.
This morning was a very good example of my typical morning. I woke up to my alarm at 4:30 because if I set it for any later I am in too deep of a sleep and I don’t hear it, which infuriates my host mother, Clotilde. I reset my alarm to go off again in an hour. There are no “five minute” snoozes for me. At five thirty, I forced my grumpy body to do as I told it, and managed to roll over enough that my shoulder hit the alarm clock onto the floor, turning it off. Then I did the typical morning yawn+stretch that is universal, and in doing so, tricked my body into turning on the lights, thus forcing my eyes open. I then pulled out my to-do list to see what I had been too tired to do after dinner last night; I’d done nothing. Great! It would be a long morning. I pulled out my laptop and turned on some quiet but aggravating music to keep me awake (fittingly, “Start Me Up” by the Rolling Stones), and then proceeded to completely rewrite the history essay I had done in post-pasta-stupor the last night. At six twenty I stopped, and began the cleansing ritual that is known to all (or at least most) men. Just because we all have to do it, does not mean that scraping a knife across one’s face is fun, or even a long distance phone call away from mildly entertaining. Then comes the shower. My shower is not what pops into mind when someone says “picture a shower”. It is a drain in the middle of my bathroom floor, and a shower-head on an extendible hose that rests on top of the toilet when not in use. After that I do the spiritual dance known to my people (of Toowoomba Australia) as the “its freakin’ cold in here! where the feck are my pants!?” dance. I grab some books that look like they might be important off of my desk, stuff them into my backpack, and walk outside. It is five-till-seven already, so i’ve missed my “breakfast” of powdered espresso beans in milk with stale cookies. This day the sky was exceptionally black, and the sun was very much missing. The prospect for the rest of the day did not look good.
A short drive to the Vetralla bus stop is followed by me sitting on a cold stoop in front of a butchers shop, for half an hour. My host mom seems to think there is a bus at seven o’clock, and that I need to catch it. I have tried to explain that there are no busses until seven thirty, but to no avail. As I sit and wait the Italian students, all between the ages of i’m-about-to-hit-puberty and i-just-hit-puberty, begin to show up. These are not the nice italians that can be found in Viterbo. I do not get along very well with people around the age of thirteen, but these kids are just pure jerks. I have tried to be nice, and introduce myself, of even just say “buongiorno”, but I am ignored completely. At seven thirty the first bus showed up, as usual, and drove right by, as usual. I could see some empty space in the back, but the driver was sent from god to get to Viterbo and get the kids out of his hair. The third bus stopped, and I managed to squeeze on, in between two obnoxious thirteen or fourteen year old girls, with WAY too much perfume. On my right hand side there was an Italian couple, and I tried my best to not look in that direction, but the noises I heard were unavoidable; You can draw your own conclusions about that. Half way to Viterbo a note book hit me on the arm. I was aghast; I thought some stranger had just decided to hit me. I turned and saw Susi, whom I had completely missed, sitting in the seat to my left. And so I talked to Susi for the rest of the way, while also trying to to fall backwards into the couples lap every time the bus went around a corner.
When I arrive in Viterbo, my day slowly begins to get better. I run across the four lane highway between the bus stop and the Porta Romana, and am reminded of how similar it is to the game “Frogger”. Then I remember how horrible I am at “Frogger”. Yikes! I followed my usual morning routine, which involves a mad-dash down hill to Cafe Cavour, for some caffeine (at last!) and sugar, in the form of a cappuccino and a cornetto. Then I sat and waited for the school to be opened, and after two and a half hours of adventure, I’m ready to begin my day.