The Thames and Breakfast

My trip this weekend to London was wonderful, and relaxing. As Mom described it when I was telling her about it, kind of a vacation from this quarter abroad. I spent most of the weekend simply hanging out and visiting, remembering stories, swapping photos, chatting for hours. It was a lovely counterbalance to the things that are slightly difficult for me here in Florence – I stayed in the easy, comfortable company of good friends and I spoke in English.

I hadn’t really realized that a small amount of stress comes from the difficulty of having to concentrate every time I want to say anything, or anyone says something to me. It’s become a part of the day for me here, but to be able to drop it, to understand the conversation overheard in a crowd, or what the radio was saying in the background, to be talking and totally relaxed – it was nice.

And of course it was absolutely lovely to see Harriet and Tonya (counselors with me this summer in LPC) again. I’ve never really had the chance to go over camp months after it was over, since no other LPCers live near me, and it was interesting to both think about my views on it now that I have some distance from it, and also hear what the others think now that it’s over. And to get to relive it with people who were there with me.

To be honest, I didn’t really see that much of London. We drove into the touristy area, through Notting Hill, past Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey and Big Ben. We parked by the Thames, and spent several hours walking along it. The street performers were out in droves, entertaining passers-by on the cold, windy day. Many people in some sort of costume, pretending to be statues or odd personages like a dinosaur on a bike or Mickey Mouse. If you gave them money they would do something fun, and Micky and Fran (Tonya’s daughters) had fun giving out coins and being part of the performance of these various curiosities. We thought about going on the London Eye, but it was a long wait, an expensive ticket, and being overcast, a bad day to go up. So instead we looked at the Houses of Parliament across the Thames and got a Jedi Knight to take a photo of us in exchange for listening to his spiel about some event he was supposed to be selling tickets for. Then back up the Thames, past the Tate Modern and the Millennium Bridge to a café just past the Old Globe Theater which Tonya said was a very good place to get tea and scones. However the café had turned into a bar/restaurant since she had been there last and they didn’t have scones, so we got a pastry and some hot chocolate instead and enjoyed the view of the Thames. The theater was unfortunately closed, but I walked past the outside, which is cool enough for the moment. I definitely hope to come back to England in the future – I must admit I barely saw anything. Hardly a surprise, since I was there for less than 48 hours and didn’t want to rush around.

I did, however, have a blast. Tonya, Harriet and I got to spend some time on our own – we went out to an Indian restaurant close to Tonya’s house, and then out to a pub afterwards. The pub was pretty nice, “posh” if you want to be British. And, as Tonya described it that night “full of blokes!” I hadn’t realized how many words and phrases are different between American English and British. Some of the street signs caught my eye – “Dual Carriageway” apparently means a road with a hard divide between the different directions, and instead of speed bumps they have signs that say “Humps for the next 600 meters.” And little things, like a car park instead of a parking lot, or car hire instead of car rental. So many more than I had ever known!

Above all, I enjoyed how relaxing the weekend was. Dinner with Harriet and her dad in their kitchen, breakfast of toast with delicious multi-grain bread which seems to simply not exist here in Italy. Lunch all together in the candlelit warm living room of Tonya’s house, or lounging on their couches looking at photos. Harriet and I stayed in the attic room of their house, which seemed appropriate and familiar after the attic room the girl counselors shared this summer in camp. And Micky, bless her heart, came up with the idea to bring Harriet and me fruit and tea in bed to wake us up, telling us when we were up there would be pancakes and bacon downstairs. Lying there in the quilts with Harriet, waking up slowly and sipping tea, enjoying the extra hour of daylight savings so that we didn’t have to rush to get to the airport. Downstairs we sang some of the camp songs, sat down to a cozy breakfast, and wrote an email to the rest of the staff. Simple, homey, friendly things. It seemed so luxurious to be so comfortable and taken care of and at ease with Harriet and Tonya and her family. A real vacation, and a wonderful weekend.

Voting

I officially mailed in my Absentee Ballot today, after waiting impatiently for several weeks for it to show up here in my mailbox. However, one of the best parts of voting is getting the "I Voted" sticker (I'm not sure I want to think about what that says of my maturity level), and I obviously didn't get one here in Italy, so I thought I would give one to myself. Here it is, the prized sticker:


The election has been front and center in people's thoughts here. Our teachers are using it at every excuse to share American view points with Italians, and for Italians to share their opinions of America with us. Lots of cultural sharing happening. We're also organizing an election watching party, one of many here in the American-saturated city of Florence. And, many thanks to the time difference, we will be up till at least 2:30 in the morning (5:30 pm pacific time) to watch elections, maybe later. Anyway, fingers crossed for November 4th!

I Left My Heart in Assisi

Everybody knows the beauty of Tuscany. The rolling hills sprinkled with villas, vineyards, ruins, art. It is famous. In fact, I just finished reading “Under the Tuscan Sun,” which I picked up from an English bookstore here in Florence, since I felt that it was culturally important to be familiar with such a well known story. Although I did not realize that the book and the movie are so different. Anyway, my point is, Tuscany is famous.

Umbria is not. And why, I have no clue. As far as I’m concerned, it is the unknown gem of Italy. Granted, I haven’t exactly seen all of Italy. But I was completely unprepared for the beauty I found there. Umbria is a region in central Italy, just south of Tuscany. We made our way there to its capital Perugia last weekend for the European Chocolate Festival, which the city was hosting. Delicious. Overwhelming and crowded. Fun. But I was struck by how beautiful the city itself was. We had a beautiful panoramic view of the city: small, spread out, and sprinkled with fields and trees and greenery throughout the valley. Gorgeous old buildings, enough so that it felt like a large town, but that it still felt like it was half in the countryside.

We hadn’t been able to find a hostel in Perugia for the first night of this chocolate festival, so we ended up staying at Hostel Sul Lago, on Lago Trasimeno, about a fifteen minute train ride out of the city. We got there late, and had to leave early the next day, so we didn’t see much of the area, but we did manage to fit in a bike ride before we left Sunday morning (they had free bikes!). We woke up at 7:30, and hurriedly got dressed. Since the lake was surrounded by hills, it was light out but the sun wasn’t quite over the crest of the hills yet, so we biked in the pale, rosy light of dawn around the edges of this lake, surrounded by fields and meadows and beautiful trees. The trees were just shading themselves with golden yellow of autumn, and a fisherman was pulling up with his catch, a crowd of birds following him. Across the lake I could see a small town of old buildings, built who knows how many centuries ago. The hills were patched with the lines of vineyards and olive groves and houses scattered around. It was beautiful to be out in the countryside.

We cut our bike outing short in order to catch the train to Assisi, which my host mom recommended we do. We boarded an incredibly crowded train, which emptied itself of Chocolate Festival goers after we passed Perugia, and we arrived about half an hour later at Assisi. The city itself is up on a hill, and is the prettiest town I have seen yet, here in Italy, which is saying something. As Kelly said, every time I see something I think it has to be the prettiest thing I’ve seen, and then I see the next thing. But I think Assisi will be able to contend for prettiest for quite awhile. We walked very quickly across the historical center, hoping to make it to the church at the other end while it was still open (our guidebook said something about it closing at 12:00). We passed beautiful squares, a roman ruin which we hardly glanced at they’ve become almost commonplace, and passed the occasional panorama of the valley below and sucked in our breath at how pretty it was, but kept walking. When we rounded the corner on the steep winding road to the Cathedral, I was struck with how simply beautiful it was.

The church wasn’t ornate or overwhelming in its intricacies or beautiful arches, mosaics, carvings, colored marbles. It was simple, with a few delicate details, and much more graceful than many of the Italian churches I have seen with their heavy presences. And it sits on the edge of the hill, with a grassy area in front of it, so the eye sees a field lead down to this beautiful, simple cathedral, and the panoramic valley set out beyond it. It seems to almost float there, a companion to the birds soaring and swooping around it. The perfect place to dedicate to a saint who loved nature as much as Saint Francis did. With a town like that, living with a view like that, it would be hard not to love nature. And, to complete the impact, as we walked into the cathedral the choir for mass was starting, and the voices echoed through the frescoed walls. Churches have the most wonderful acoustics, and hymns are some of the most beautiful songs in the world. It was probably one of the most spiritual places I have ever been to. And of all the saints I know of, Saint Francis is the one who I agree with the most, so it seemed more powerful to me than a place dedicated to beliefs or ideologies that I don’t relate to at all.

The lower cathedral, built literally under the larger one, was much more intimate, but generally very similar to the other. Beneath its floors lies the body of Saint Francis, and a steady stream of people were quietly filing down one set of stairs and up another. Down the stairs the crowd slowly and reverently walked up to the body, around the pillar it stood in, and back out. Some people had stopped on benches on the side to pray, and a monk sat keeping an eye on the crowd. The only sound came from the shuffling of feet, quiet whispers, and the noises of children. Infants carried in the arms of their fathers and young children just learning about the world. One small child pointed and told his father, both showing off and double checking, “tomba.” “Si,” the father encouraged the use of the new word, “tomba.” And a few older children whose mothers, trying to instill some piety, irritably told them to be quiet and stop complaining about it being boring.

After the beautiful churches, our stomachs returning us to the world of practicality and the need for lunch, we went to a restaurant called “Locanda del Podestá” in some ancient building – who knows how old the wall that I leaned my purse against was. But the food was some of the best I’ve had in Italy – ravioli dei tartufi (truffles) e noci (walnuts, which are in season at the moment) with a side of asparagi (asparagus). Absolutely, completely, satisfyingly delicious.

On our walk back to the bus stop we wandered through the town, looking at some of the things for sale and enjoying the poetry of the buildings. I swear I have never seen a town as universally beautiful as Assisi. Even the trees that lined the road seemed more beautiful, more graceful as they dropped their leaves, spinning down to the sidewalks like dancers, than normal trees. It must be something in the air of Assisi. Maybe St. Francis really did bring a blessing to the place.

In any case, Assisi currently has my vote for most beautiful town in all of Italy. If you ever get the chance, go!

Gelateria La Carraia 2

I’ve walked past this Gelateria almost every day since I arrived in Florence, because conveniently enough it is located on my walk to and from school. A small hole in the wall place, I didn’t originally have much faith in it. Judging a gelateria on appearances is a fine art, as there must be thousands of gelaterias in Florence. According to my host brother, gelato was invented here in Florence and, he added, the inventor of the ice cream cone was an Italian, in America, who got tired of his glass ice cream dishes breaking so invented cones to replace them. Don’t random facts like that make life more interesting?

Anyway, I didn’t go inside Gelateria La Carraia 2 because I couldn’t tell if it offered gelato of the mass-produced, poor quality type or not. Eventually, though, convenience overcame my skepticism and Kelly and I stopped in one day. We’ve stopped several times since then – I think of it as sort of the “house wine” of gelaterias. Not jaw dropping, celebrate a special occasion kind of gelato, but rather a pretty good every day gelato.

It has several things going for it. First, as I mentioned, its always easy to stop by. There are several good lunch places nearby too, so its easy to just make it our next stop. Second, Kelly’s favorite flavor which she never fails to order is yogurt, and Gelateria La Carraia 2 offers not only yogurt gelato but also yogurt and nutella gelato – how can you beat that? And third, it offers gelato in a 1.30 euro price. Most places the smallest you can get is 2, or 1.50, so this generous small is nice – just the right amount, never so much that you feel uncomfortably full even if you do come straight from lunch, and not so much as it makes you reluctant to pull out your wallet (gelatos seem to add up very quickly here!).

I've enjoyed trying several flavours: cioccolato fondente (dark chocolate), cioccolato (chocolate), nocciola (hazelnut), and biscotti (cookies). Very good. Its hard to find a flavor to stand up to the decadent but not super sweet cioccolato fondente, but I love it, so I’ll keep experimenting with new combinations.

"Home"

Slightly brain-numb from the exhaustion of traveling and overwhelmed by the Archeological Museum of Naples, Tristan, Kelly and I let our eyes drift over the knickknacks, books and posters in the bookshop. Some of the images seem pretty and I wish we had been able to see the originals, the vast majority of which are currently not on display. I think I might be interested in a poster if I can figure out what each rolled up and saran-wrapped image is, and while we’re looking at them Tristan mentions that he wouldn’t be able to get it home. Glancing up at Kelly, I realize we’re both uncertain and I turn to ask Tristan “Home, as in Florence, or home as in school?” He responds with a laugh “Oh, I just meant the hostel. I don’t want to carry that around all day.”

It brings up an interesting point, at least for me at this point in my life. What is my home? Is it the place where I lay my head? That’s what Tristan meant. And for the moment, that’s where I belong you might say, with reservations and plans with the others to spend the night there.

Or does it need more? A space that will be yours even while you’re not there? A community you belong in. A place to come home to. Does the house of my host-family in Florence count? I notice that I can’t seem to call it my house. But arriving at the train station in Florence I don’t need to pull out a street map and check my progress at every corner – I can walk strait home and pass the familiar shops and restaurants. Dinner is waiting for me when I get there, and there are people to greet me as I finally walk in the door, to ask how my travels went and welcome me back. There are places to put away all my things, and unfinished tasks waiting for me as I sit back down at my desk. Today, on my walk to and from school, I waved a quick greeting to the cobbler and the wine store owner – both of whom I have made eye contact with enough times on my daily commute to recognize. Knowing a place and the people in it, and having them know you, does that make a home? There are people here who care about my well being, provide for me, and help me out. There is a room that is mine, where people ask my permission to enter. Is this my home?

And of course, the debate about Stanford campus and Encinitas. I call them both home. When people ask where I am from, I’m not always sure which answer they want. I spend the majority of my time at Stanford now, so if they want to visit me the best odds are to go to Stanford. I have a family of friends there, who I can look to when my world falls apart, or simply get a second opinion on a new dress. We have our regular routines and I have a room all my own, with my things and a key to lock it shut from anyone else. I know the local restaurants well, and I know how the public transportation works. There is a community on campus of common interest and shared experience. It is definitely a home of mine.

But Encinitas, despite only living there for two months out of the twelve this year, will always be home for me. My family, and my old friends, and my old self all live there. The people there know me at a deep level, better sometimes than I know myself. I can walk into Pannikin and have the waiters say “Wow you’ve grown up! I remember you when you were five!” The community of home is stronger there than any other home I have, and at this point the physical place of that home is so ingrained in me that it has strength too. Even if everyone moved out and strangers bought the house, there would still be a connection to this place. So even though I can go home and be surprised by the changes made in my months of absence, I can slide easily back into a place worn comfortable for me over the years of living. Unlike any of the other homes mentioned, 1402 Eolus Ave will keep the title of “Home” forever.

It seems, though, that it will have to learn to share.