What if?

“But sometimes we forget what we got, who we are and who we are not. I think we got a chance to make it right, if we keep it loose, keep it tight” – Amos Lee lyrics

My experiences in Milan have, honestly, not been too numerous. In part, this is because I was tired when I came home after work every day and in part because Milan did not strike me as too moving of a city. Yes, it is Italy’s economic and business center, but as a result, it is somewhat somber and uniform in its grayness. I really enjoyed the Duomo, both inside and out, because it is an incredibly elaborate building. It is also supposed to house a nail from Christ’s cross, has a very complicated sundial across the floor, and has a series of well-known statues. It reminded me something Rev. Peter Gomes said at Easter Service this past year in Memorial Church about why he loves visiting old cathedrals and churches and never tires of seeing them (like some tourists complain of)…he said that cathedrals are different from other historical monuments because in them the work for which they were originally intended is still being done after so much time. Few historical monuments or buildings can still claim that. My other favorite sightseeing moment in Milan was going to a Money exhibition at the Palazzo Reale. I remember reading a book on Money when I was really young, but since then, I’ve most certainly forgotten most of what I read, so attending this exhibition was really eye-opening. Apparently Japanese photographs and paintings had a profound influence on the painter’s search for the ideal representation of nature and his search to draw “nothingness”…one could say that Japan was to Monet what Africa was to Picasso! I had not really learned THAT much about Monet in a long time, so I really enjoyed having such an inside look into his artistic process.

The actual work at the summer camp I enjoyed very much, even though some of the children were somewhat unmanageable! The purpose of the camp was to be half summer fun and half academic setting, which is more than little difficult to uphold when you have a bunch of 7-9 years olds who really just want to be on vacation! Then there is the all-too-obvious added element of the language barrier, as the Italian education system focuses so little on foreign-language acquisition that on the first day, my class couldn’t even answer the questions “When is your birthday?” and “How old are you?” The two weeks of teaching were challenging to say the least, but they were also rewarding! I had never taught children that young – not to mention foreign children that young – and having to adapt to different situations on the fly was a really valuable lesson to learn! I had some trouble children, mainly Matteo who was literally incapable of sitting still, Federico, who was loud but brilliant, Sara, who was incredibly lazy and always wanting to go play football outside, and Giulio, who was just…well, slightly out of it. However, even they were sometimes a joy to have: Sara was really affectionate, Giulio was completely normal outside of the classroom, and Federico was really clever and funny. In general, the experience was exhausting but gratifying in that I hope we taught them something while they were having fun.

I was teaching with David (an English lad, math and physics Cambridge grad who has worked as an actor for several years) and Jesse (a Canadian who does Environmental children education). Then there was also Silvana, who was the English teacher at the school during the normal school year and acted as the director of the summer camp…she, more so than anyone else, was a lifesaver. She brought us coffee during breaks, she helped with bad discipline problems, she translated instructions to the kids when they stared at us with blank faces for several minutes! Silvana was amazing and on the last day of camp when all four of us gathered to sneak some champagne and snacks during school hours (gasp!), we all felt acutely that the past two weeks had been worthwhile and we would legitimately miss our working dynamic. Thankfully, we realized early on that we worked well together and found each other’s strengths and weaknesses during the activities, which included a fashion show, an art competition, the Olympics, a water fight, etc.

On the last Thursday, David, Jess, and I were invited, along with Silvana (the English teacher at our school who is running the camp) to have dinner at the restaurant that is owned by one of my student’s families. The evening was the first time that all of us could really gather outside of the context of school for an extended period of time (especially with Silvana) and it was nothing short of great to have the opportunity to get to know a different aspect of such an incredible teacher and women. It is really not enough to say that Silvana has been our savior during these last two weeks, because she’s been more of a mix between friend, colleague, mother, accomplice, and safe keeper of sanity.

There were nine of us at dinner and the conversations were as lively as the atmosphere was comfortable, cozy, and fun, especially since the pizzas kept coming out on tray after tray and wine bottle after wine bottle was opened. This dinner solidified for me just how grateful I am to have been placed with Jesse and David, without whose humor, wit, and empathy, the camp would have been a far less enjoyable experience. We were lucky to have each other and to have Silvana; it was nice to have a special moment to commemorate that.

I walked home late, listening to Tracy Chapman. Lightening colored the sky all around me in a strange, almost fluorescent gray. The breeze smelt of imminent rain and, step by step, I felt incredibly content, at peace, and with a thankful sigh at my lips.

Then came Friday – the last day of camp! Where did the last two weeks go? Saying goodbye to the kids was a bit emotional at the end, but the final show went off well and kids and parents were satisfied!

That night, I was invited to dinner at the flat of one of my student’s family, the same ones who joined my host family and I for dinner the first night I was in Milan. We ate sushi, drank beer, and had an incredibly lively discussion on a very broad variety of topics, including the co-existence of the terms “ladybug” and “ladybird” in English, which apparently refer to the same insect. This evening was actually a perfect way to end this week: intimate, refreshing, commemorative. Both sets of parents are people whose company I truly enjoy and with whom I am happy to have exchanged email addresses. I’ve been invited to visit Milan again and to keep in touch, and I most certainly plan on doing so!

Finally, the next day (Saturday): I slept for 13 hours!!! And awoke today to French toast, prepared for me by seven year-old Susanna! Tomorrow, I am leaving for 8 days of traveling and, as excited as I am for it, I will miss the little routine I had created over the last two weeks here and certainly I will miss the people I have met in Milan!

For dinner, we drove to Bergamo to eat at a family’s friend apartment. I have to admit that I was, for some odd reason, absolutely exhausted and sleep at the dinner table. However, the actual meal was incredible and authentically Sicilian…the wine was from Sicily, the dishes were traditional (balls of rice filled with meat, cheese, peas, covered in bread crums and deep fried), and even the canolies were apparently authentic!

Venezia!!

"I want to go where the rivers are overflowing and, Ill be ready, Ill be ready" - Tracy Chapman

I got off the train from Milan to a rainy, windy, and cold mid-day in Venice. Tourists milled around everywhere, undeterred by the horrible weather, most of them having decided to splurge on a crappy sweatshirt from some kiosk to keep warm; as a result, everyone was wearing noticeably bright “Italia” and “Venice University” hoodies. Amid the sea of blatant, wide-eyed, and shivering tourists, I felt distinctively isolated. It had been a while since I traveled somewhere entirely solo and the shock of seeing a mass of identically clad strangers made me all too acutely aware that I was, in fact, for better or for worse, alone.

I dismissed the slight anxiety that resulted from this realization, bought a map, and headed out into the city from the train station. In a miraculous display of proper packing etiquette, I had come to Venice with only a handbag, so I could begin exploring immediately. Scrunched inside, was an extra t-shirt, a toothbrush, and my face wash; behold the miracle, for the first time in my life, I had managed to pack only the things that were necessary!!


Over the course of the next several hours I made my way through Santa Croce and San Polo, along small, crowded paths and streets, occasionally crossing bridges to some unknown final point. I must admit that I was entirely lost but decided to float along with the crowd, willing to give in and discover whichever tourist mecca they were on their way to see. All in all, I saw San Polo square, walked along the docks and the fish market next to the Rialto bridge, crossed the bridge itself, and made my way to Piazza San Marco. On the way, I wandered into some stores, the most notable of which (ironically) sold handmade stationary and was playing Billie Holiday music…as I browsed the carefully crafted (and overpriced) cards, I let the music come in waves and felt an unexpected feeling of recognition, of familiarity in this alien country. What a nice surprise!


Having made my way to Piazza San Marco, I explored the church and the surrounding area. Although I had expected San Marco to be…well, larger…the inside was covered in exquisite gold-leaf mosaic and did all but disappoint. One may argue that my sneaking in through the exit to avoid the queue was entirely legitimized by this viewing…

The rest of the day involved an almost absurd amount of walking (I even ate my dinner as I walked). I was driven by some nervous expectation, as if Venice were sinking directly under me and I had to check-off the major tourist destinations before the apocalyptic event began to unfold. As the day progressed, it became only a bit warmer but significantly sunnier, and walking became much more pleasant. Although it would be easy to omit this, I will not hide that I got lost. A lot. I walked to the opposite end of one island, I took the vaporetto in the wrong direction, I couldn’t find a church for about 30 minutes… However, I also have to admit that I thoroughly enjoyed these moments of uncertainty, I guess in part because in Venice the uncertainty is limited by the very physical barrier of surrounding water, so the threat of wandering off into a different city or into an area off your tourist map is not really plausible. Armed with an acceptance of this particular kind of ambiguity, I wandered somewhat aimlessly through the partly sunlit and partly shaded streets, ate watermelon gelato, and listened to Buena Vista Social Club on my iPod. What lovely moments!! I wandered in random churches, I sat in random parks and embankments, I shopped around for random souvenirs but bought only two. At night, exhausted, I headed back to my hostel…or rather, my campground, as I slept in a tent!!


I saw several exhibitions during my stay. The first was by Enzo Fiore, whose black/brown and white portraits are organic and raw, quite literally since he uses mostly leaves, trees, plants, and in some cases, entire insects, to create his designs. It sounds horrible, but his work is actually surprisingly beautiful, especially if you stop to consider how all of these organic elements of nature are trapped under a hardened layer of glorified transparent slime and turned into human form. Of all the exhibits, I have two clear favorites: Judy Millar and Sandro Chia. The former is New Zealand’s representatives to this year’s Venice Biennale festival. Her presented work was a series of blown up representations of her abstract canvases, fragmented and broken up around a church (see photo). The inside of the Maddalena is round, and the dislocations, inversions, and special disruptions that Millar’s geometric work creates in the space asserts a palpable feeling of immediacy in such a historic and calm context. It’s a beautiful tension to behold: old and new, modern and ancient, stable and ephemeral, clear and undefined. The second of my favorites can best be explained briefly: a photographer and a painter teamed up to paint a series of life-size replicas of the famous terracotta army of Xi’an, then photograph them in “real life” scenarios. Some of these (like an abstractly colored terracotta warrior carefully planted in the audience of a wedding celebration) had such fine humor and irony, that I was literally laughing as I walked around the space. Quite honestly, these were both a pleasure to witness.


I think most people consider St. Petersburg to be the Venice of the North, but for me the converse is true. Venice has a distinctly similar air in some ways – the sound of water lapping at your feet, for example – but the banks of Peter’s city are clad in marble and granite, not wood, so Venice feels quainter, less regal, more homey to me. I like this vantage point because it turns the city into a less glamorous, and arguably more real, entity. Driven by this, I wandered away from the center to Cannaregio during my second day. What wonderful silence, what tourist-free streets!! I took a tour of the Jewish Ghetto there, sat down on bridges to write and enjoy the sunshine and the breeze, entered random buildings and galleries, and felt my patience renewed. I walked a lot, but more calmly this time, and that distinct feeling of loneliness that greeted me when I arrived in Venice fell away. Later, as the train pulled away and westward, my window passed graffitied wall that said, in crisp, simple black writing, “Regina, I still miss you!” And on that last, somewhat melodramatic but still romantic note, I left Venice.

Como se dice....?

On Sunday, fresh from having arrived from training the night before and only barely settled into our respective host families, four of us – Jesse, Paul, David, and I – headed out on the 1.5 hour train ride to Lake Como. Situated just north of Milan, the lake is a very frequented location for locals as well as tourists, even if to the typical well-read American, it might only ring a bell because George Clooney has a house there. Needless to say, the views were spectacular and somewhat reminiscent of my visit to Montreaux, Switzerland several years earlier. The breeze from the lake provided a welcome respite from Milan’s scorching, still heat, but even so, the weather was oppressive. The four of us visited the Duomo there, walked around the lake, had a delicious lunch (in the shade), and saw a Russian avant-garde exhibition at Villa Olmo (some very rich family’s summer residence back in the day). The entire trip took only 5-6 hours, but it was fulfilling and energizing as we prepared for our first day of class!

A spoonful of training and a pint o' fun...

Ya, I hear ya, in the background balling. What happened to your sweet summertime dress? - Amos Lee lyrics

Finally, I am in San Remo!!

There are 160 tutors training in this city, all of us living in cramped suites at a (somewhat shady) hostel/hotel. However, the location was about 3 feet from the beach, the weather is hot by day but chilly and cozy by night, and we are, all things considered, in ITALY.... few of us have thought about the bad food or odd accommodations long enough to complain!


The training itself has been a somewhat intensive course designed with the intention of preparing us for teaching English in a summer camp setting and to children with very little foundational knowledge. We have spent the time learning games and songs, scheduling our class days, and simulating exercises! I must admit that these seemingly ridiculous activities have resulted in much humor and brought together a very disparate group of people: legitimate school teachers who are just doing this program as part of their summer holidays, directionless college graduates in search of an excuse to go to Europe, random theater actors from England, etc. We are a bit of everything rolled into one Australian, Canadian, English, Irish, and American mix, but somehow, it has worked.


Every day during my lunch hour and after training was over at 4:30pm, I have changed into my bathing suit and sat on the beach or by the pool. Melville wrote that we witness something mysterious about ourselves and our origins in the contemplation of the sea, something vast, sublime and incomprehensible, and I would tend to agree. I have usually sat, read, or slept, absorbed in the completely inactivity of my body (and usually my mind) after months of continuous labor. The sound of water crashing has provided the perfect welcome, quiet, without the unnecessary burden of words, explanations, qualifiers. A relevant quote comes to mind: "...to be without time, or rather in time with no concern for time, free of the passions and troubles of the soul, experiencing something like calm in the face of things and of oneself." (http://www.reasonproject.org/archive/item/happy_like_god/)

In the evenings, we gather in the balconies to drink (very cheap) wine, sing to Jason’s guitar, and sometimes go out dancing, only to wake up early the next morning to learn songs about little green frogs, big great moose, and what the crocodile said to the orangutan! The humor of our binary existence has not been lost on anyone, including our supervisors, who have seen some individuals roll up to training in the morning with dragging feet and oversized, (very) dark sunglasses.

Now, the week is coming to an end and we have each received our placements! I will be working in Milan for the next two weeks! On Saturday morning, off we will go, by train or bus or car to our own corners of northern Italy, potentially never to see each other again. I have forged some good acquaintances during these last five days, so I am personally hoping that at least some of them last!

90 days later, she finally arrives...

I'm in love with a girl who's in love with the world. Though I can't help but follow. Though I know someday she is bound to go away and stay over the rainbow - Amos Lee lyrics

Brief posting: my commute to Italy entailed a flight from NY to London, then London to Zurich, and finally Zurich to Milan. Upon arrival, I THEN had to take an hour bus ride into the city. Upon arriving, a college friend of my mom’s met me and took me to her apartment for a one-night stay. Extremely tried, I took a quick shower and had a lovely dinner with her family (mother, retired atirst/architect husband, and computer science-studying 24 year-old son). Notably, after passing around several rounds of celebratory wine drinks and a surprise whiskey pour, the conversation turned to European politics. I tried my best to decry communism in my inebriated and exhausted state, but I do not recall how the conversation suddenly turned (no exaggeration) to how my father is the “perfect specimen of manhood.” I will not qualify that statement with my own agreement or lack thereof, but imagine my surprise when a nice “Welcome to Italy!” family dinner with people I have never met, suddenly turned to such a topic. Having sobered up the next morning and caught a train to San Remo, I still had no idea what logic our conversation had followed!

Off again...

Friends (Romans, Countrymen?),

Last summer I did not write at all about my travels. In part, because I wanted to keep them to myself, in part, because I did not have constant access to the (wild) web of the internet, and in part, because my escapades were limited due to a variety of unforeseen factors. In any case, this upcoming summer looks to be a return to my previous travel-blogging habits! Thus, I’ll be updating you on my adventures through Italy, South Africa, and my return home to Florida for the entire month of August before I move to (gasp!) New York.

This week, with graduation imminent, it occurs to me that the changes we dread are laced with a high degree of constancy, for even if a lot of things change, many of them inherently remain the same. I’m reminded of my sophomore paper for my tutorial in Psychology, which, among other things, hypothesized that happiness and sadness are seen as abstract extremes in Western, but not in Eastern cultures. It is my impression that we tend to see “good” and “bad” as dialectical opposites and ascribe events and emotions to one of those extremes as a result; in this way, “happiness” is always “good” and “sadness” is always “bad” and we lock ourselves to a limited range of possibilities when it comes to our experiences. In Eastern cultures, these ends of the spectrum are not seen as mutually exclusive; in fact, they exist on a continuum and occur, often, simultaneously. I’ll stop short of citing academic papers and research on this, but I’ll say briefly that in my research (and in my opinion) this is presented as a much more balanced and realistic approach to how our emotional responses should be to the events that happen in our lives and the world that surrounds us.

In light of this….
People have told me that a quote I’ve been using to describe the current stage is depressing, but I have found it to be the exact opposite; to me, it is a very accurate and pithy reflection of the kind of transition period that graduation and post-college life is, and I find that there is something serene and beautiful in its honesty. I guess I like it because it allows the happy and the sad to coexist. The quote is by Henry Ellis and it says, “All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on.”

Now I am off to pack. Next time you hear from me, I will be sending you hugs and good wishes from Italy!