Rosa in Roma

Things I will miss

Running in the Doria Pamphili park

Siesta

The fresh produce 30 seconds from my front door

Everyone in my program. And everyone I’ve met

Moka pots

Cornettos

Gelato

Tapas

Coke in a glass bottle

Being of drinking age

People engaging in conversation rather than their phones

Writing workshop in the Pio

The Campo di Fiori forno

Pizza Bianca

The Tiber, even when it flooded

The Torre Argentina Cat Sanctuary

The warm weather

How accommodating everyone was to my lack of Italian speaking

The peanut butter

Site visits in place of class

Creative writing assignments as schoolwork

The Janiculum at night

Living in an apartment and cooking my own meals with such fresh ingredients

Todis

 & much more

  Things I will not miss

Trying to interpret the nutrition facts on food labels

Buying baking supplies—trying to find brown sugar

People trying to sell me things I do not want to buy

Having to ask restaurant people for wifi

How expensive almonds are/how expensive everything is

Running on cobbles

Having to carry my camera everywhere

Standing up to drink coffee (no to go coffee)

People trying to pit pocket everyone

Seeing prostitutes

Transportation, especially the busses

Breaking into a sweat 30 seconds after leaving the apartment because it is so humid

Long plane rides

Trying to ration my shampoo & conditioner to avoid purchasing overpriced toiletries

The lack of pancakes available to eat

Presentations/public speaking

  People

The fish man at the market that says good morning

Amy from Australia

Mikey & Erin

New Zealand doctor

PJ:  hostel host

Edgar

Rob the dolphin trainer from London

Lady on the bus on the way to Villa Borghese

The two Spaniards in Brussels caught in the rain storm

  Realizations & things I noticed

Tom Cat

I befriended the Anne Underwood of my generation

I did not think our entire class would memorize Keats’s “Ode on a Grecian Urn”

I have yet to experience negative capability, or if I have, I have not realized it

The BCN airport looks like the airport in Bend it like Beckham

Clock towers in Rome, if there are any at all, are not the center of the piazza—people do not revolve around time like they do elsewhere

Only bathroom I had to pay to use was in Brussels

Belgian chocolate isn’t actually too remarkable

The apparent racism in Rome, especially present in their rival soccer teams

Dinner in Spain is really late. Everything is really late

Italians wear leather jackets even when it is 90 degrees out

  Food

Yogurt in Paris

Kebabs:  not what you’d think

Best cornetto:  Paris, morning before the Louvre

Best (and only) espresso:  The place by the Pantheon

Stroopwaffels from Amsterdam

The peanut butter in Amsterdam

Duck gizzard salad in Paris, even though it gave me heartburn

Horchata

Tiramisu in Assisi

The wine in Assisi

Buffalo mozzarella in Paestum

Pasta at the place in Trastevere

Fresh bagels Saturday morning at 11 am

All of a sudden, there are no novels to read, essays to write, or pitches to tailor. The quarter is complete, finishing unlike most:  our dead week was quite alive, and our finals had us looking at the past, writing to ourselves in the future, and wondering about death during the visit to Keats's grave. We had our final recitations on the Janiculum at the Doria Pamphili park, where Tom, Kelsey, and I have run many miles. On our last evening in Rome, we had a final banquet. WIth jars of coffee and Disaronno in hand, we headed to our professors' apartment, which overlooks the Campo di Fiori.

Tom & Garrett

Rick and Carol hosted a cocktail party, where the writing groups presented double-dactyls and rhyming haikus to all seek revenge on a previous attack by Thomas's group. Here were the ones I presented:

My dearest Tommy

Allergies again?! Your sneeze 

Is a tsunami.

While you're not sneezing

You run slower than a slug.

It is quite pleasing.

Tom isn't the only one

Who is sneezing and can't run.

Oh Kelsey McCann

You purse got stuck in a door.

Now what a swift plan.

The bag stayed affixed

As your strength was not enough.

Too much trail mix.

Bryan, with Professor Sydney and Jesse.

We then had an urn-off, where each writing group nominated people to recite Keats's Ode on a Grecian Urn for a prize. I was one of the three from my writing group, and am proud to say I was not the first one eliminated. Tom won and was awarded an urn shirt. 

Dinner!

Travel graced the topics of

college applications and SAT essays,

writing of the “profusion of ivy icicles in Ireland” to hook the reader

as if four alliterations wasn’t enough, and even though

you had to look up “profusion” in the dictionary

to make sure that’s what you meant.

Those college applications now sent,

received,

admitted,

committed

to the University of Portland.

Travel dabbled in conversations during the first week of college

As you met one-hundred boggled eyes

that seemed to have the same name and all replied

“wow! That’s cool!” to your mentioning of past vacations.

The older ones would ask,

“Are you interested in study abroad?”

The question a broken record as they pointed to their Facebook photos

Eager to show off their experiences.

You did, and you would. Ireland, Greece, and Italy taught you that.

Applications sent,

received,

admitted,

committed

to Salzburg, Austria, for a whole school year.

Study Abroad! It’s all you needed

to escape the clenched fist of Catholicism

strangling your education and social life.

But this tool for escape was misused.

Only transferring schools could alleviate this discontent.

Applications sent,

received,

admitted,

committed

to the University of Washington. Take two.

But study abroad still sat on the horizon,

as competitive nature and interest in writing grappled with the idea

of applying to study in Rome.

Another application—at this rate, what’s the difference—

received,

admitted,

committed

to the English Department’s Rome program.

I was not to flee or escape,

but to travel and write.

Like the profusion of ivy icicles that dotted the Irish lane, and wove it’s way into

college applications and SAT essays,

you’d notice the unnoticed

and jot it down. Frantic to capture the sound of your surroundings,

a hurried scribe scribbled down moments;

observations that would once turn into writing

of the more eloquent sort.

And I hope at 40, you have sorted these notes

and written the things tangled in my mind—perhaps in half the word count.

I hope you untie those knots

to see what this experience was, and will be.

Because right now these words are tangled, and I’m not sure

Darkness disturbed by that opalescent round—

A 60-watt bulb in a black-walled room.

A 2-winged firefly stagnant in twilight.

An 8-legged widow with a white spot on his back.

The moon lit full in the deep night sky—

Darkness shrouds most,

but does not kill the dying fire’s embers

glowing just enough to see the silhouetted figures

not quite asleep; alive

in fields with sighing trees and expansive skies.

Breathing in the black

Number of days in a week: 7

Number of museums & churches I have visited in the past 7 days:  9

Number of days left in the program:  6

None of this is plausible.

Last week our class took a trip to Paestum. Along the way, we stopped at Pompeii. It was a very overwhelming experience; I thought it would be vast and vacant and much like Hadrian's Villa, but instead I was greeted with many clumps of tourists wearing cruise ship labels and color-coordinated hats. The crowds were immense, and so were the flashes of lightning. The weather was so fickle--one second it would be 80 degrees, sticky, and hot, and the next I would have to take cover under an archway to avoid getting drenched from a downpour. Through all this wild weather we walked about, together and alone, noticing Pompeii without guides or books or cheetah-print umbrella sticks. 

We continued our drive to Paestum, where the weather brightened and we were gifted a pool and such quaint, clean little rooms (although ours did not have electricity for the majority of the time and I may have slept with roaches near me, it was quite fine with me). We (including Professor Kenney) went swimming and played several rounds of ultimate frisbee in the pool. I hate frisbee, but I loved this game. Later that evening, the Agriturismo (the place where we were staying, they make all of their own wine, buffalo cheese/milk, bread, butter, jam, etc) gave us a delightful meal of all things buffalo--mozzarella, butter, quiche, steak--along with many bottles of free wine. we sipped and chatted as the thunderstorm returned for the night.

The next morning we went to temple ruins in Paestum. It reminded me much of the Acropolis in Greece, and I was not too far off when I found out that these ruins are indeed Greek. We got to wander about them much like in Pompeii, minus the necessary navigation through crowds. Tom, Mayra, and I tromped through fields (which we later found out were ridden with poisonous snakes...) from ruin to ruin. It was pleasant, minus the fact that I wore a skirt that constantly threatened to be inflated by the wind, so I was forced to walk with one hand fastened to my skirt at all times. It was a cute skirt though.

We went to this buffalo mozzarella (I keep on spelling mozzarella "motzerella." ugh.) farm for lunch and they provided us with a little peek inside their factory (see photo) as well as a lunch. Guess what we ate? Fresh mozzarella. So fresh when you bit into the ball it leaked juice. A strange sensation. I followed this meal with buffalo milk gelato and a lemon wedge I stole from a tree nearby. Also, to note: I won 1 euro for eating that lemon. 

We headed back to the field of ruins and went to a museum with lots of museum things. I contemplated borrowing this unchained bike I saw for the duration of our visit, but I decided against it due to my skirt issues. Fifty hours later we went to a little town in a thunderstorm, got coffee, ran back to the bus in the rain (where I almost accidentally threw Tom through a window and killed Garrett in the process), and then went back to our hotel. Dinner was even better than the night before. 

So 

much

buffalo.

(did you know "Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo" is a grammatically correct sentence?)

Our final morning away from Rome we went to Naples to visit another museum. My favorite exhibit was this crazy reconstruction of the city of Pompeii (photo!). I could actually trace where I walked the two days previous. Other than that, my lack of interest in museums definitely was prevalent during this visit, although I must say I have increased my tolerance for museums quite a bit over these past few months. That, and walking. I will never complain about walking again.

Remove the watch

Shed time and ticking

There is no meter to our matter

Timing is nothing and this tour has no cost.

As we walk on stones with gaping holes

And trod the trail by poppy fields and a lifeless hawk,

Stare at the snail with its tic-tac spiral shell nested in the red rocks.

Get lost alone, away from the uniformed tourists following bobbing umbrella sticks.

Give up your map, and take hold of the wind.

Follow its breeze, let it be your guide.

Trace the temple’s rim, allowing its perimeter to be your guide.

Trail the ants back to their mound, may their march be your guide.

Grip onto the unnoticed stone or sun or bird or trail

Let it lead you.

If beauty is truth,

Truth is beauty.

A fallacy, they say

If A is B, B therefore A.

What is truth?

Anything but a lie?

To say the columns are grand

And the ants simple

Is truth

And therefore beauty.

But are simple ants and grand columns beautiful to all,

When each individual’s interpretation is a metamorphosis from the last?

The beauty changes,

And therefore truth.

Affirming the Consequent argues otherwise,

Providing structure to each thought.

The whites of your eyes

Pearls of truth

Bright clouds diffusing sunlight

Both visible with one eye, winking—

Looking at the white, with one eye black

Blinded, darkness visible.

  Entranced by the caresses of my eye, you reply.

Cheek scrunched tight, brow compressed

Light turned dark

The violence of vision wild and dancing.

  Eyes reopened cannot recover

As the damage from this darkness is unyielding.

A sin stronger than the sting of bloodshot, blurry eyes

From white to black is all it took

Finally postin' about part three of our mid-quarter trip! Amsterdam! Where the bikes ride free and food is cheaper than in Rome. 

On our first whole day in Amsterdam, Mayra and I headed to the city center and rented bikes. We wandered about for quite some time in the cold Amsterdam sunshine, pedaling through alleys and freeways (oops). 

Then we stopped at a coffeeshop, where we met a very sweet dutch lady who spoke little English, but was very genuine and helpful. I love Dutch people, and I love pretending to understand what they're saying (it sounds a lot like German). Then we ate our sack lunches (consisting of sandwiches with the BEST peanut butter:  it is creamy and has slightly toasted, roasted, sweet little peanuts mixed in, a dream in a jar cheaper than the peanut butter in Rome). And then about two hours later, a series of events occurred:

1. In a cafe, getting out of the wind (so windy we thought our bikes would topple right over as we pedaled about). We decided to return our bikes so that we could get a cheaper rental rate. 2. The streets of Amsterdam, already confusing, were TERRIBLY confusing as we biked about, trying to find the bike rental store, which was in some alley by some tower near a road (very hard to find). Somehow Mayra used magic (or something) and she led us back just in time. Returned bikes. 3. We had plans to meet Katy and Abbey at 3:30, so we headed toward the meeting spot until we stumbled upon an ATM. I got money just fine, but when Mayra put her card in the machine, it stopped working. We stood there with the blinking "out of order" screen yelling at us, unsure of what to do. And then, out of no where, the entire ATM machine POPS OUT OF THE WALL (I felt like I was in a back to the future movie or something).  4. Around 5-10 minutes later, out of God's good graces or something Mayra was given her card back by a worker who fixed the machine. We continue. 5. While walking on this busy street in broad daylight, I am notified by a kind lady that I almost got pit pocketed. Freaked out, Mayra and I clench our purses and trot to a park to gather our senses and eat an apple. 6. Senses sort of gathered. We walked back to the meeting spot and then decided to go back to the hotel. 7. On the tram to the hotel, a lady appears to be giving birth in the section between two tram cars. There are people running back and forth, and I could hear a nurse counting breathing patterns for the patient.  8. Returned home safely. Ate a cucumber, some apples and peanut butter, and chocolate.

One of many.

Bikin' in this beauty of a city.

The next morning, we decided to tackle some of the more touristy parts of Amsterdam. After satisfying my pancake cravings at this fantastic pancake parlor, we walked to Vondelpark in the sunshine. The park is massive, and is a great place to bike through. 

Adjacent to the park sits the Rijksmuseum, which is home to the Iamsterdam sign. We explored that area for awhile, taking pictures on the sign, which is used as a jungle gym for ages 3-100. 

Vondelpark.

Behind the Rijksmuseum.

Amsterdam sign!

Later, we visited a cigar shop, as I thought it may be fun to get a fun cigar for my brother as a souvenir. Bad idea (sorry Riley). Wrote this little description that hopefully does this shop owner justice:

Cigar glued to her lip with gummy saliva, the shop owner slumped on her stool behind rows of glass cases filled with smoking vessels. Her hair in matted rungs resembled Medusa’s snake-ridden scalp. Unwilling to leave her lair to tend to her customers, she glared from the corner, offering only ridicule and remarks nearly as venomous as the snakes on her head.

Death.

Not by rope or knife or sword

There was none of that.

No red ooze of blood, leaking from young purple veins.

No one to blame

But my little lungs.

  The thing that keeps organisms alive

Was the thing that took my life.

Oxygen, the supporter of existence,

The air that fills the bright blue sky

Could not be inhaled by my lungs, so young and frail.

  I turned blue,

As I was unable to take a breath.

And then I was grey

And everything turned to black.

After Paris, we headed to Brussels. Upon our arrival, we were greeted with thunderstorms, and by the time we got to our hotel we were soaked. Our spirits were quickly lifted over a meal of Thai cuisine and some unique beers at Delirium Cafe, which is a bar that offers more than 2,000 types of beer. The next day Mayra and I went from shop to shop, taste-testing all kinds of food--frites and coffee and chocolate and quiches and waffles. We spent quite some time doing homework at our beloved EXKi, which we were delighted to find near Grand Place. 

FOOD (& etc.)

The Grand Place in Brussels.

The weather while we were in Brussels was quite rainy. Although we are used to Seattle rain, this was a new experience. Every so often, the sky would darken and a flash of lightning would introduce a downpour of rain. DOWNPOUR. Drops bigger than cats and dogs fell from the sky, to the extent that everyone was forced to take shelter under roofs and onings. However, in the process of being trapped under a roof for awhile, we met many interesting folks. 

It felt as if we used our time in Brussels somewhat as a placeholder between Paris and Amsterdam, but I'm more than happy I got to explore the city. Brussels isn't very well known for their art in comparison to Rome (or practically any other city I've recently visited, for that matter), but they do pride themselves on their Manneken Pis statue. Which is literally a little fat boy peeing water. 

Manneken Pis.

Still need to post about Brussels and Amsterdam, but in the mean time, recent thoughts/events:

1. Visited Borromini and Bernini churches. If you can guess which one is which, I will give you a cookie (I pinky promise):

Breathe the breath of life! Now free of yellow yolk, the eggshell encases air and light, filling itself of beauty unknown to all, etched deep in the walls of the shell. Cast the lamplight! And the translucent eggshell will express the piety and preciousness locked in the grains of the shell. Hold the egg! And it will not be broken of its beauty and form by a clenched fist; it sits small and strong, forever breathing and pure.

The yolk of an egg, home to an embryo, breaks to ooze rays of yellow, coating all breath and life, casting weight and color on its inhabitants. This seed of life spreads to the crevices of creation, saturating all forms of life with its molten movement. Heavy but steady, the yolk spreads like the golden bulb of the sun reaching it’s rays to earth, gluing itself to the life and breath of all things alive or dead or somewhere in between.

2. Went to the Galleria Borghese today. I'm not much of a museum person, but the paintings and sculptures (particularly some by Bernini, who sculpted the myth of Apollo and Daphne) were fantastic. You could get up so close to see just how fantastic the pieces were--Daphne's toenails turning to roots...the layers of leaves on her back...her smooth skin turned to bark...this picture does not do it justice. I wrote a poem about a painting by Solomone for our writing pitch (a mind-meld):

Draped like sun-worn cloth, the babe lies still A greying mound, a heaping hill. Cheek turned to earth, although he cannot hear His death came too soon for folk to shed a tear. How did he die? With shriek or yelp or trill? It was a silent, helpless kill. With no protest or gun or knife, The babe was tossed his only life. A life escaped by little lungs that could not hold He lies there small, to rot and mold. As strength and age were far to find, The little babe is left behind.

Bernini's Apollo and Daphne.

3. On a lighter note, I went on a run this evening with Kelsey and it was so nice and I will never ever ever get tired of running in Rome. It is warm and calm and I feel free from cramped cobbled roads, whether I'm up on the Janiculum or down by the Tiber.