Reading List

What I’ve read (or sometimes just started reading) in Arezzo:

..And a whole lot of Rick Steves.

Ugly Americans

For your viewing pleasure, a montage of Sammy and I being weirdos in Italy.

At the Peggy Guggenheim Collection.

In Murano.

In Florence.

By the Arno.

At the Coliseum.

Inside Florence’s Duomo.

At the park in Arezzo.

At the Uffizi.

In Rome.

At the Palpatine Hill.

And my personal favorite…

In the Doge’s Palace.

You’re welcome, Italia.

L’Ultima Fine Settimana

It’s officially my last weekend in Arezzo. Even though I’m returning to theatre, my Oklahoma friends, and a summer with my other half, I am not ready to go. I admire people who can say their goodbyes without dramatic displays. The first time I boarded a plane away from NYC, I wept; Sammy and I always put on a show for airport security; I still get mopey when I reminisce about film camp at Northwestern. So, leaving Italy? It might wreck me. Not that I’ve had the perfect life here–I’ve often been lonely, and frustrated with trains, and I miss quesadillas–but I think this country, or at least this region, suits me. Maybe because I’m aesthetically satisfied 99% of the time thanks to preserved architecture and great views everywhere. Maybe because I feel enmeshed in history. Maybe because I like getting afternoon nap time and abundant coffee breaks. Maybe because Italian words fall on my ears with a lot more grace than English ones. In any case, I think my American return will feel a lot stranger than my arrival in Italy.

Yesterday was a national Italian holiday celebrating when the Allied forces first arrived here. Unfortunately it took a long-ass time and a horrific war to figure out who would control Italy, but on May 25, everybody gets off work, goes to the park, and drinks a lot to commemorate the beginning of the end of WWII. Our Italian teacher–quadri-lingual genius-slash-goofball Beatrice–organized a picnic in Arezzo’s hilltop park, where plenty of other Italians were lounging in the grass or playing soccer.

The night before, the program directors of OUA hosted a barbecue for everyone at their house (which has an unbelievable view of Arezzo’s Duomo). The potato salad was a real highlight for me. That, and playing with the directors’ sons, who enlisted all the college kids in a game loosely based on Freeze Tag, roped some of us into hoisting them up to play Chicken, and sang for us. Inevitably the Star-Spangled Banner started up…and the OU anthem…and the OU fight song. We coerced Alex (my favorite Rod Stewart-humming ever-curious Catholic) into mimicking the drum major’s entry onto the football field. We all had Italian exams the next morning, but we ended up staying until 10pm anyway. On my walk home, I passed through Piazza Grande, where the Italian Special Olympics had set up their opening ceremonies for events this week. All four regions that compete in the Joust represented with their band/costume parade. My neighborhood’s procession (complete with drums and lances) led me home. I was so happy I cried.

I was so mad I wanted to cry after sleeping through 2 classes this week. My mom has hypothesized that thyroid troubles may be to blame, but I think the real culprit is my enduring love for sleep and the befuddling functions of Apple alarm clock applications.

Although it’s raining today, my windows are open and I’m ready for some final weekend wandering. Maybe I’ll chop off more hair, or do yoga (#brag), or hike the back roads when it’s less wet, or hop a train to Orvieto tomorrow. I’ve left my options open. Come at me, adventure.

 

P.S. Shout out to Mr. Perry Overton Sr. I hear you’re my #1 fan. Thanks for reading, sir!

Midterm Meltdown

Picking up where I left off, Sammy and I checked into our adorable, antique-furnished room at Camera Con Vista in Arezzo. Just staying there made the week more special. We had a big bed, a dining table with a vase full of flowers, a little kitchen, and a tiled shower so big it had a window. Sammy enjoyed posing like a Classical sculpture inside of it.

On Monday I had class from 9-11 and 1-4, then a study session for Art History until 5. I was so sick that I feel asleep during my afternoon class and woke up in the middle of the study session. Surrounded by my classmates. Staring at my terrifying professor. I showed back up at the B&B sobbing. We turned on the panacea for my bad moods: Saturday Night Live (the Christoph Waltz episode). Then we found what seemed to be the only restaurant open on a Monday night, where the restaurateur told us all about screwed-up Italian politics. Fun fact: the country doesn’t really have a government right now. The election basically resulted in a 5-way tie.

After class on Tuesday, we enjoyed the three seconds of sunlight by walking around Arezzo’s gorgeous park, poking into the Duomo, and eating lunch at the Lancia d’Oro, under the loggia overlooking Piazza Grande. We watched some kids kick a ball around the slanted courtyard. The sweet, snappily-dressed owner knocked some Euro off our bill.

 

This is the place where Guido catches the key from Mary in “Life is Beautiful” and if I talk about it for too long I’ll start weeping.

We found this photo in the tourist office. That boy on trumpet? He looks JUST LIKE MY BROTHER.

Next we went to Casa Petrarca, which was closed, then Casa Vasari which…doesn’t exist? The map led us astray. We popped into an art museum for a while but raced through it when we realized we were both sick of museums.

On the way back to the B&B we shopped for souvenirs on Corso Italia. I admired lots of fancy soaps. Back in our room, I prepared dinner–meaning I boiled spinach and ricotta ravioli, cut up some foccacia, and poured two glasses of life-changing Chianti. Seriously. It’s my favorite red wine ever.

On Wednesday I showed up late to my insanely difficult, two-hour-long Art History mid-term. Then Sammy and I raced to catch the next train to Florence so we could make the most of our half-day. We climbed up the dome of the Duomo. Unfortunately, the combination of illness, midterm stress, and acrophobia resulted in me having a panic attack inside the dome while staring up at a bunch of Last Judgment demon-paintings. Long-suffering Sammy held me until I could finish the trip to the roof.

We thought about seeing the David but bailed once we glimpsed the hours-long line at the Accademia. We tried three flavors of gelato each at Festival. We scoped out the Palazzo Vecchio and some shops near Ponte Vecchio. We chased after the sunset.

After consulting with the tourist office about concerts we could see that night, I realized I had two midterm essays to write before we left for Venice the next day. So, we got one last look at the Duomo and Piazza della Repubblica by night while finishing off a Moretti (road beer!) before we caught the train back to Arezzo.

I think this is when Sammy told me to say something funny and I yelled, “Fart noodle!”

At Osteria L’Agania, Sammy tasted the heavenly flavors of tartufo pasta (black truffles can’t be beat) and finished off a bottle of house wine. He slept next to me while I hammered out two 500-word essays on Italian Lit & Film in three hours. BAM.

In the next installment, Sammy and I fight frostbite in Venice! Also to come: disasters in Barcelona, Easter in Eastern Europe, an accidental overnight in Siena, and a solo hike in the Cinque Terre!

Sick in Italy

I haven’t spent a full weekend in Arezzo for 6 weeks. Whoops. Here come the updates.

For his spring break, my goofy sexy vegetarian Toms-wearing cello-playing Ravenclaw boyfriend visited me for a whirlwind tour of Italy. As soon as I picked him up from the Florence airport, we grabbed pizza for lunch–incidentally the WORST pizza I’ve found in Italy–and caught our train to Rome. We checked into our hotel room, which we’re pretty sure borrowed furniture from a hospital, and took a necessary nap before walking out to Trastevere for dinner.

Sammy’s first gnocchi.

And at that moment, Sammy decided we’re moving to Italy some day. For us, it’s all about food. (The night we met he declared, at 4am, that I HAD to try McDonald’s sesame salad, and  soon, since it was “for a limited time only.” He once drove to my house at 11pm just to make me taste a black bean burger he’d cooked.)

After our fried artichoke, pasta, and gelato, Sammy almost navigated us all the way back to the hostel without a map. We broke it out on the last block.He clearly is the ying to my non-directionally-savvy yang.

The next morning we successfully got up at 7am to make our 9am Colosseum tour with time for breakfast. Sammy sipped his first Italian espresso, whipped up by an enthusiastic barista who kept whirling plates at us, and cornetto. I got insta-teary when I first saw the Colosseum. Guys–it is not just a set from The Lizzie McGuire Movie or Gladiator. It is a REAL, BADASS PLACE.

Put on your GLADIATOR FACE.

Our Angel Tours guide led us around the Forum first, holding up diagrams of what the buildings used to look like.

She told stories seriously, and intimately, not so much to us as a group–she didn’t do eye contact–but to the soil of Rome. At first it was kind of creepy but then it seemed magical. Especially when we got to skip the hours-long line and take the elevator up. It’s reserved for people who need it, like old folks or people in wheelchairs, but our tour leader didn’t give a SHIT. And since my nose transformed into a snot faucet an hour into the tour (thanks Italian flu!) I was all about modern conveniences. She showed us models of how slaves transported animals onto the stage, marks where coins had melted onto the steps, and spots where Italians have been nicking metal brackets for centuries.

When the tour ended, Sammy and I wandered around for as long as my flu-riddled body could handle and then got tea and veggies for lunch at Cafe Cafe. Then we hit the Senator Palpatine Hill. That’s what it’s called, right?

At this point I could’ve fallen asleep on a rock. I’ve never been so sick and so enraged about it. Somehow, in the sun, in Italy, standing next to my history-appreciating travel-soulmate, I felt like shit. My body wanted to stop, my traveler’s heart wanted to keep going, and my boyfriend didn’t want to pay for public transport. So we kept walking.

Outside the giant-ass monument to God-knows-what that critics call “The Typewriter.” Seriously, you have no clue how big that marble mofo is.

Sammy plucked this from a tree on the sidewalk. It tasted disgusting.

We didn’t bother busting through the crowd. We just threw our coins from the second level. Same result.

At one point Sammy said this was his favorite thing in Rome.

Surprise stilt-walkers on the street!

We popped into churches until we burned out on them. After hitting as many hot-spots on the map as I could handle, we recuperated to dubbed TV back at the hotel before dinner. After house wine, caprese salad, two kinds of ravioli, and tiramisu, Sammy was ready to move to Italy immediately.

On Sunday morning we caved to our aching feet and bought Metro passes for easy passage to Vatican City. Thankfully the Pope Vote 2013 hadn’t started yet, so we got a relatively quiet look at St. Peter’s Square marred only by blank projection screens. Sammy spent a solid ten minutes laughing at this territorial seagull.

He named it “The Papacy-gull.”

St. Peter’s is, of course, huge. We searched for a statue of Pope Gregory the Somethingth, since he decided music was OK for Catholics. When a procession of priests came in, a guy was talking too loud to his girlfriend and some lady ran over and smacked him on the head to shut him up.

The Sistine Chapel was closed (dammit Pope Ratzinger!) so we hopped back across the city to see the Pantheon.

Oh-so-Classical.

I’ve seen a lot of stuff now, and the Pantheon probably made my top 10. Maybe it’s the roof, maybe it’s seeing something so old in the middle of this normal-ish piazza, maybe it’s the jug of wine we drank after.

Cin cin!

Three mugs later…

When we ordered, we didn’t appropriately estimate the volume of a liter, or our capacity to imbibe that much vino rosso. But imbibe it we did, as the economical couple we are. We got our Euro’s worth out of that decision.

We saw the rest of Rome in the rain, in a haze, in a hurry.

Someone’s buried here. We took the obligatory photos, then wandered around the gorgeous park behind it until we found the subway spot…a half hour’s walk away.

That is a real flavor. And I ate it. 

We got to the Spanish Steps just in time to snuggle for a second before the rain came down.

We planned on taking the last train back to Arezzo, but then the rain soaked through our shoes. Sammy’s waterproof-sprayed Toms never stood a chance; even my bicurious Timberland knockoffs took a hit. So we caught the Intercity to Arezzo and got a compartment all to ourselves.

Up next: I attempt to balance midterms and boyfriend time in Tuscany.

 

 

Paris Part Two

After successfully using Claudia’s jerry-rigged shower (showerhead + twine + 3M wall hooks + garment bag = genius), I set out for the Pantheon while Claudia did some homework. I took maybe thirty minutes getting oriented, but used my leftover French to get reliable directions–I am getting better at maps, I swear. There’s a beautiful unity to the painting style there, and it’s uncluttered compared to churches with all of their necessary stations and equipment. Unfortunately I didn’t see the important tombs on the lower level (Voltaire, etc.) because I didn’t know they existed. Oops.

Afterwards, I hopped the Metro to the Madeleine and the ticket booth, thinking I’d snag some 10 Euro student seats. Turns out they only do 50% general discounts there, and I had no idea what I wanted to see or where. I’d been expecting TKTS and found a glorified newsstand. I peeped into the Madeleine (big, beautiful, dark), lit a candle, and walked to L’Opera. You can see the gold topper from a block away. I reluctantly paid the 6 Euro to gape at marble, velvet, and gold everywhere.

I got a few pictures of costumes on display for my dear designer Melissa.

This is me realizing that a pivotal moment in Anastasia was set in that very opera house.

Here are some set models for Don Giovanni. Since I crewed props for the OU production, I geeked out over these.

I met Claudia in Montmartre near an Islamic-inspired church and a carousel. Then we roamed some cute/odd shops on our way to the cemetery. This is one of Paris’s smaller cemeteries.

We passed the Lapin Agile, found a statue based on a French short story Claudia likes, watched the quick-draw artists do portraits and painters hock variations on the Eiffel Tower in this particular square, then headed up to Sacre Couer.

Even in February, so many bundled-up tourists gather there to stare down at Paris from the steps, sipping Heinekens peddled by immigrants. A man did tricks with a football on a ledge; another had just finished up a puppet show about Noah’s Ark. I walked through Sacre Couer (I think the dome looks like animation–in a good way!) and we took the steps back down and popped into a few more artsy/weird shops.

After a splurge dinner in a restaurant decorated with Barney’s The Bro Code and a Swedish fish hanging inside a birdcage, we saw a play about the Marquis de Sade performed in what I think must have been a movie theater once. The plot involved a bald man wearing leather pants in a prison cell, talking alternately to an old prison guard, a corseted maybe-too-young girl, and a convincing transvestite nun with a slit up his habit. The bald guy (de Sade, I guess) dictated letters, grabbed the man-nun’s butt, and took the back door with the corset lady (who I’m pretty sure was basically his imaginary friend and seemed bored by the sexual proceedings). Claudia caught more jokes than I did, but neither of us could really tell you what the French it was about.

The lounge area in the theater

Claudia’s Pomona friends came over to her apartment once we got home. We stayed up again sharing the craziest stories from our high schools. Some winners: a boy who brought a snake to prom, parents who walked in their own front door to find their daughter throwing a party and making out with her friend (topless) and walked back out again, and a drunk boy locked into a tennis court for his own good who scaled the chain link only to fall on his head.

Claudia & Co.

I still had a lengthy to-do list for the next morning, so I went out solo again and took the Metro to Place des Vosges (neat looking but not much to see), then the Louvre. Brag: I got in and out of that labyrinth in less than an hour–bag check included. I power-walked to Winged Victory, teared up, and power-walked back, enjoying the architecture and art at the greatest possible pace. The walk through the Tuileries took much longer, since I got turned around and couldn’t find a Metro stop. But it was snowing, and French schoolchildren were eating lunch in a circle, and I could see the Arc de Triomphe through the snow–I was happy. The British couple I asked for directions didn’t know about any Metro stops around, but they did tell me about the rugby game and calves’ head dinner they had enjoyed the night before. And eventually the woman did spot a Metro station for me!

I climbed the Arc de Triomphe in no time–though I couldn’t breathe for a second at the top (note to self: pack inhaler). I took 2 pictures of panoramic Paris through the snow before my camera died.

Then I spent about 30 minutes trekking the Champs Elysee in search of a Croque Monsieur before settling for a baguette full of tuna salad. Outside of the bus station, I found my Croque Monsieur while searching for a last-minute eclair and had to buy both. BEST FOOD DECISION OF ALL TIME. I sneakily ate it on the bus to Paris-Beauvois airport while the snow started whipping down.

After we boarded, our flight got delayed forever. I became so enraged by the loud dippy entitled girl behind me complaining about the lack of space due to the ridiculous amount of luggage she brought for a weekend trip that I forced myself to fall asleep. We missed the last train that passed through Arezzo, so we ate at the 24/7 McD’s in Florence (Happy Meal for me–those focaccia burgers sono costosi) and caught a bus to Arezzo. Thank God we found the stop in time; two more minutes and we would be bunking up with the hobos nesting under the train station overhang. Sadly, by 3am I was too tired to enjoy the zombiepocalypse-esque walk through silent Arezzo.

I had felt guilty about hitting Paris again since I have so many new cities to see, but staying with Claudia and eating all of that food ended up being worth the 100 Euro plane ticket. Plus, I felt inspired to pick up French again. Maybe. Once I finish my 2 majors. Que sera, sera.

Three Days in Brief

Wednesday: Spent two hours waiting to get finger-printed and mugshot’d at the Questura (Italian police HQ). We got there at 8:30, then the police started helping us at 9. They took a break at 10, came back to help around 10:20, and took another break at 11. Our Art History class toured a fresco cycle–“The Finding of the True Cross” (which involved Saint Helena torturing a man in a well)–painted by Piero della Francesca. Took a van to Ipercoop, the sleek Italian version of Wal-Mart. It felt like an airport, especially with the miniature perfume and clothing stores grouped by the check-out. Bought microwave popcorn. Bought airline tickets to Barcelona for Spring Break (!). Finished watching Cinema Paradiso. Cried.

Thursday: Went out to distribute student meal voucher info to local restaurants, but mostly skipped around in the sunshine because it never happens here. Grabbed a cappuccino at Bar Sbarbacipolla and petted a dog wearing a T-shirt who lives there. Sat in the park smiling. Cooked black bean soup and Italian-ized quesadillas (no cheddar–blend every other cheese instead) at the study center. Sat on some stairs in Piazza Grande and wrote a few pages of my short story. Watched a man playing harmonica/guitar/tamborine on Corso Italia. Met Alessia, my bleach-blonde mohawk-sporting bisexual cabaret-dancer friend, to go to the piercing shop. When we got there, the proprietor was brazenly smoking a joint in the street. Bought a nose ring. Met up with Ilaria, another amica Italiana. Listened to her and Alessia gossip in Italian. Helped photographer-travel-buddy Karin look for Oxford shoes. Came home to try on new nose ring. Discovered my nose is too fat. Flipped ring inside out because I was running late to meet Dom for dinner. Enjoyed a mamma-made Italian meal (prosciutto, mozzarella, tagliatelle al ragu) from Dom’s host family. Conversed with his host mother using two months’ worth of Italian vocab–with shocking success. She speaks slowly and clearly, so with enough repetition I could understand all of her thoughts. Met Sky, the family’s fat white cat who likes to sleep on a kitchen chair with his head and multiple chins between the slats. Went home at 11 to Skype Sammy.

Friday: Took a tour of “secret Arezzo” for my Getting to Know Arezzo class, led by a goofy Italian girl with a British accent. Saw sites of Etruscan temples and wells. One is now a fancy restaurant where I will definitely be splurging with Sammy. (Nom in ancient tunnel? Don’t mind if I do!) Visited a restoration center where experts clean and sometimes retouch paintings. Gaped at gorgeous works-in-progress. Expect pictures soon, dear reader. Toured Museo Ivan Bruschi, a renovated palace where an antique collector kept about a million priceless curiosities including Michelangelo’s (alleged) desk, vintage female urinals, and the skeleton of a BABY DINOSAUR. Snacked on antipasti and vino rosso in the banquet room. Ran home to shower, pack, and leave for Bologna to stay with former roomie forever friend fellow Italian expat Madeline Stebbins. Here I go!

10 Ways to Save

1. Force yourself to go grocery shopping every Monday, even when it’s raining.

2. Force yourself to go home and cook lunch. Watch a Medici documentary or a new episode of Girls while you cook to keep yourself from saying, “Forget this” and buying three slices of pizza.

3a. Buy snacks at the grocery store. It sucks to spend 1 Euro on a portion of mixed nuts, but it’s better than buying a slice of pizza three times in one day because that’s the closest thing to the school and you’re starving and don’t want to walk up the hill home.

3b. Don’t eat your entire bag of pasta in one sitting. Your body can ingest things besides flour-wrapped meats and cheeses. And it can survive on a lot less than a potful. No, really!

4a. Stop going out for drinks every time someone invites you.

4b. Even when it’s your cool Italian lady friends.

4c. Don’t even think about conning Italian boys for drinks because that’s not right as you are an independent woman capable of purchasing your own beverages.

4d. And you may have a boyfriend who would not like Italian boys buying you shots.

5. You really don’t need a bottle of wine per week. You don’t.

6. Or a cappuccino every day. That’s over 7 Euro a week. About $10 a week for milk and coffee.

7. Buy gelato tubs at the grocery store instead of going to the gelateria every day. I know it hurts. But you will have $15 extra per week for something besides sugar and cream.

8a. Stop carrying enough money to buy whatever leather good or dressy blouse you happen to come across.

8b. I know it’s Saldi season. I know it’s 50% off. That doesn’t mean you need it.

8c. Except that shirt. It brings out the green in your eyes. You need it.

9. SKYSCANNER. Look it up. It has decided my future side trips for me. Do I give a shit about Norway? I don’t know, but it costs about $30 to get there, so here I go!

10. Bring a water bottle everywhere, because paying for water at restaurants leaves the taste of injustice in your mouth.