Barcelona Ball

In Barcelona my friends and I decided that we really wanted to go to an FC Barcelona football match, and it was perfect luck that there was one that very night.

Camp Nou in Barcelona

We asked a Spanish-but-mostly-Catalan-speaking man in a restaurant how we could get tickets.  He took us to a machine that looks like an ATM but apparently releases tickets to events when you paid with a credit card.  We could not figure out how to select the tickets so we decided to buy them at the stadium.

We got to the stadium later that night and looked for pre-game street ticket sellers (commonly referred to as scalpers).  I paid 30 euros for my ticket and into the stadium I went!

The gate through which I was to enter was in the 90s, of course separated from the others in my party.  I did not mind this in the least because it meant I would be free to immerse myself in the living culture of Barcelona fanhood.  I was presently in the 'teen gates, so I had some walking to do, aaaaall the way around the stadium.  I got to my gate at last and give my ticket (made of glossy, flimsy paper you'd find on a magazine page rather than the almost-cardboard-like consistency I had expected) to the ticket taker.  I was inside of Camp Nou, FC Barcelona's house!  It was exciting to me as an American because FC Barcelona, I am told, is one of the elite franchises in the world, and I was a foreign guest!

I thought my seat was great.  I was in the fifth row of the upper deck, up and to the right of one of the goals.  There was a group of Americans to my left, who looked American.  I was surprised to see so many of us.

The fans in the crowd were not as raucous as I had been led to believe.  I could see no shirtless, screaming fanatics making a scene with their passion for the game.  I saw no brawls throughout the entire duration of the game.  Maybe it's the English football fanatics I was thinking of.  The fans in Camp Nou were nevertheless an excitable bunch, wild and crazy at the first sign of an impending Barca goal.  It was a great environment to be in because everybody, even small children, were into the game and ready to celebrate.

The game went Barcelona's way, 4-2 against RCD Mallorca.  Lionel Messi, one of the best players in the world, scored on a penalty kick in the goal closest to me amidst chants of "MEEEES-SI! MEEEES-SI!"  I felt honored to be in his presence.  I was cultured!

Confetti rained from the top of the open roof when the game was over, and the happy fans and I reveled in the splendor.  I had found a European football team!

Prague's Clock Keeps on Tickin'

Prague's Astronomical Clock is a medieval marvel that you may miss on an adventure through Europe, but definitely should see.  It covers the base of a several-storey-high clocktower in the center of Old Town Prague.

It was built in 1410 and was unlike anything the world had ever seen.  It was so amazingly impressive at the time that Prague’s ruling class found Mikulas of Kadan, the clock’s creator, and poked his eyes out so that he could never make another.  They wanted to make sure that Prague was the undisputed clock champion of the world.  My tour guide said there is a legend that Mikulas, now blind and vengeful, decided to cast a spell so that the clock would stop forever.  The clock has indeed stopped a handful of times in its history, but has been subsequently repaired.

The clock has wonderful features for all to enjoy.

At the top of the clock is an animatronic golden rooster that crows on the hour (though my tour guide said the rooster's crow is not what you'd hear in a rural barnyard - it's more of a pathetic, sputtering wheeze).  Simultaneous with the crowing is the emergence of miniature Apostles who show you the wonderful things they are holding.  They move their arms up-and-down and side-to-side joyfully, though very slowly, as they were built nearly 600 years ago.

In the center of the clock is an elaborate, ominous clock that tells the position of the sun and moon, flanked by figurines representing the vices and fears of the medieval period.  These unnerving things are (in order, from left to right):

Vanity (Represented by a man admiring himself in a mirror;  vanity is bad because it makes a person selfish)

A Jew (Who was feared because he was believed to be corrupt and greedy)

Death (In the form of a skeleton.  Nobody wants to die)

A Turk (Who would kidnap you and take you away to his mysterious foreign land)

Further down still is a circular calendar with small paintings representing all twelve months, between four sculptures of a golden sword-and-shield-wielding angel and three prophets.

This clock is the centerpiece of my favorite European city to date.

What Is This Crazy Place?!

I have noticed several differences between Oregon [where I live] and Paderno Del Grappa, Italy in the northeastern Veneto region [where I study]:

There is much more walking to be done in Italy than in Oregon because there are not so many cars. 

Walking is by no means evil because it is a form of exercise; it is good for you.  I have remarked at least once that "Italians are skinny because they walk everywhere and they smoke!" (They also don't eat as much or as often as we do - good for them!)  In a tiny town like Paderno you don't need a car anyway because walking across town takes under five minutes.   Most of the automobiles you see are ambulances, buses or police cars.  Lots of people have cars, but in a very small town like Paderno there are no traffic jams.  Portland is all about traffic jams.  Paderno's speed limit is much more generous than Portland's, and drivers are not afraid to drive very close behind the car in front of them.  I have not seen any fender benders so I suppose it works just fine.

The cafeteria food that we eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner is 'high-end' cafeteria food, similar to that of an American school. 

It is very nice to have meals prepared for you, but cafeteria food is universal in quality.  Most of us say the food is bland and boring and that they prefer eating at the pizzeria in town, but it is enjoyable because of the variety.  We have spaghetti, penne, gnocchi (a potato-noodle combo) and ravioli with or without meat sauce.  Parmesan (which I love) is provided.  There are fruit and rolls and pudding and yogurt that keep meals interesting.  We eat our meals in a ballroom style room with paintings of Venetian boats on the walls and tubular chandeliers on the ceiling.  It's very classy.

There is an obvious difference between Italian sports and American sports

We like football, they like soccer (soccer and other sports are a common interest).  To watch American sports you have to stay up until 7 PM (1 PM Eastern Standard Time in the U.S.), 10 PM (4 PM EST), 11:30 PM (5:30 PM EST) or 2 AM (8 PM EST) depending on what time an event starts in the U.S.  Last night we watched Iowa come back and beat Indiana, Kansas fall to Texas Tech, and Oregon dismantle USC.  The USC-Oregon game started at 1 AM, and those who are devoted stayed up to watch the entire thing.  I went to bed at 6 AM this morning (and got up at noon for lunch) because after the Oregon game was over we watched the Yankees beat the Phillies in Game 3 of the World Series.  What a night.

I have not seen a huge group of Italians in Paderno crowded around a TV for a soccer match, but I have seen it in Cinque Terre.  I believe you don't see huge groups of people watching soccer because a) there are not so many people in Paderno and b) there are not so many venues in which to crowd around a TV, save the sports bar (but I have not seen this happen yet).

Italian food in general is much more culture-specific, made with many more rules for preparation

It would seem to me that Italian food, as it has had centuries to develop, is a fine art that must be given special attention in order to be made.  American food is made quickly (I'm not talking about fast food) without so much demand for perfection.  Many cultural food styles are borrowed from other countries.  There are very fancy American restaurants but I suppose Italy has history on its side in comparison.

American fast food caters to the host country's preferences, so you will see hamburgers styled to what Italians like.

Young Italian people can compliment each other in ways different than in the U.S.

Young men in Italy often call each other 'bello' (handsome) in everyday conversation.  In Italy this is a custom.  It is perhaps similar to an American saying "Hey, handsome!" to one of his friends.  A man regularly calling another man handsome in America is permissible if a) the two men are related romantically or b) there is a joking nature to the gesture.  In the U.S. Option A is nothing to think twice about given romantic intent, but B, even humorously, will attract a few strange stares and a degree of uncomfortability if it happens too frequently.

There is also the custom of girls holding hands as they walk down the street.  The same rules apply in America as the previous case: it's considered a sign of romantic interest.  American girls hug when they are happy, but the hug ends after a brief moment.  Anything beyond a few seconds is considered romantic.

An Italian kiss on each cheek upon greeting is a sign of respect in Italy and the U.S., but permission must be granted for an American to let it fly.  Americans are territorial and you must be given clearance to make contact.  High-fives and fist bumps are the American standard of physical greeting because there is minimal contact, and they are fun!

Italian business hours are very strange to an American

Italy, like Spain and other Latin countries, enjoys a siesta (the word varies from country to country), a mid-day break of about three and a half hours in which every shop and restaurant will shut down.  This is the most frustrating cultural difference for Americans.  The local tabacchis (general stores, as I call them) in town close from about noon to about 3:30 PM.  These times can be exact or subjective because the owner decides when to come back.  My American peers in Paderno are not big fans of this because between noon and 4 o'clock is the most productive time of the day.  It is the opposite of what we want.  The office on campus does the same thing to try to be fashionably Italian, but it is most often annoying (not to say that I hate the office) because we have to wait a very long time to get mail or drop off forms or get laundry tokens or do other such important things.

Paderno and its tiny (yet very classy) neighbor towns up and down the street are geographically like Eastern Oregon

The land in these towns is flat and dry with huge mountains (The Dolomiti, at the foot of the Italian Alps) in the direct background.  There are piny trees and lizards that climb stone walls and trees.  Just like in Eastern Oregon the mosquitos are out in force.  This is in no way comparable to Paulina Lake in La Pine, Oregon, where the mosquitos hear you coming and won't give up until they've had their fill.  At Paulina Lake you can see swarms of mosquitos from one-hundred yards away.

It has been a constant 60 degrees Fahrenheit every day since we've been here, and it's very cold at night.  It has rained only five or six times since I have been here, and when it rains it literally pours.  Early in September it rained very hard for two or three days.  Most people complained, but not the Oregon people: we love the rain!  I have an umbrella but it shall remain unused (until further notice).  Where I come from rain is only water, and we have sweatshirts to stay warm.  There is a saying in Oregon: umbrellas are for Californians!

You will not find screens on Italian doors and windows.  Rather, there are wooden shutters

Wooden shutters are very stylish but do no service to keeping bugs out.  I have seen stinkbugs, giant grasshoppers, bees, mosquitos and ladybugs (as of a very recent infestation).  All of these invaders are insanely attracted to flourescent lighting in my stone-and-wood room.  Mosquitos are worst offenders.  It is never cold for long enough, so they never die!  The way to get rid of insect invaders is to ignore them and let them die, or swat them.  Bugs will cling to walls, waiting for the light and forgoing food until you get rid of them.

Conveniences that Americans are used to are not so readily available

- Ketchup
- Ranch dressing
- Couches and comfortable chairs [I miss laying around and watching TV / playing video games / watching movies!]
- Popcorn
- Driving a car

ETC.

Being in Italy is like staying in someone's house for three months.  That might be the most obvious statement ever, but that's exactly how it is.  You can't truly make yourself at home because things are done differently than how you would like them to be done.  The best thing to do is smile and say thank you

Language

I was not afraid of the language barrier until I tried to have an actual conversation with someone who speaks no English.  It's not so easy when you have to think of words for yourself

Staycationing is Fun!

A staycation is a brilliant modern travel plan in which you stay where you live (or, we'll say, within two hours away), but act as if you are new in town.

Reasons to Go on a Staycation:

- No expensive train / plane tickets
- No exhaustive packing / keeping track of luggage
- Travel time is not compressed [it takes no time at all to return because you're still where you were before!]
- No major time agreements have to be made [you don't have to worry about if other people will want to spend time on what you want to do]
- You do not encounter tourist-trap prices or 'scams'

Going on a staycation is an inexpensive way to live it up where you live.  You can drop all of your priorities and enjoy yourself for as long as you have in which to do so.  You could even stay in bed and watch TV all weekend, if that's what you like to do.  It's the best and easiest way in which to do nothing in the truest sense of the phrase.

My travels thus far have been to far-off places (Florence, Cinque Terre, Munich, Prague and Vienna).  Each of these places have required spendy transportation and paying attention to details in order to make it back to school on time.  There are rules for such vacations that you must remember and maintain.

Not so with a staycation.

This weekend I am going on my own staycation.  Some friends and I are going to explore the towns around Paderno Del Grappa because up to now I have been 'too busy,' disinterested, or (some other lame excuse).  I have a four-day weekend at my disposal, so now there are no excuses; it's time to rock and roll.

This weekend there are no time constraints and no headaches except for what to do next.  I have been to Asolo and Crespano, but only briefly because I had pressing matters that confined my time and attention.  I could not fully appreciate the towns because I was in a rush.  This weekend I could return to both, and I could even explore entirely new towns like Bassano and Vicenza.  I want to make a return trip to Venice (a less-than-one-hour straight-shot once you get to the train station in nearby Bassano), but we'll see if that happens.

It is exciting to have the freedom to make choices from minute to minute and fly by the seat of your pants.  There's no time like the present to think of things you might or might not do.

Dachau

The day before we went to Oktoberfest [Saturday] we decided that since we were in Munich we would take a tour of Dachau, the original concentration camp.  I was intrigued that we could see it up close and personal, but I was also wary of what part of history it represents.

Dachau was the camp around which all others were modeled.  Commanders put in charge of running such camps were trained there.  Dachau was the place that people feared worldwide.

We entered through the front gate of the compound, black with a cross-bar design.  On the gate door is spelled out ARBEIT MACHT FREI ('Work Makes You Free')  This is notable because it is the biggest lie ever told.  Those words are there because the Nazis wanted to make Dachau seem clean and efficient, an institution in which enemies of the state were reformed and improved through hard labor and discipline (we know that this was a fabrication as well: it was a place of starvation, cruelty and an asylum in which one was worked to death).

The open pen of the main camp was very scary because I knew that millions of people had been hanged, gassed and tortured without mercy within its walls.

The buildings are a solemn, pale, white, as if they are haunted by reminiscences of the atrocities that they witnessed.

I did not want to speak inside of Dachau because speaking is not appropriate, and there is nothing to say.  It is the last place in the world for merriment; rather, it is a memorial of the horrific tragedies the world will never forget.

We watched a black-and-white film about what went on at Dachau.  The film was from the '60s and narrated the story of what Dachau was and how it functioned.  It was supposed to be informational, to spread awareness of what life was like for a prisoner inside of its walls for those who were uninformed.  There was graphic footage of the dead and dying, and you really get a sense that you're sitting in the place that was once the most vile institution ever concieved.

The German nation is eager to let the world see the memorials of what happened, as a statement that they are in no way denying that it happened or that it was a dark period in the history of humanity.  They want to stress that the Nazi Era is not representative of the rest of German history, and that those who subscribed to such evils are not the same as the rest of the German people.  Dachau survivors are invited to come back to honor the dead and find closure, but why in the world would you ever go back to the place where you were starved, worked, beaten and considered less than a rodent for (most often) years at a time?  There are memorial statues all over and the camp, which has been re-established as a museum to honor those who were victims.

After the main building which had maps and displays of the Third Reich's expansion and the different tortures that were carried out, we walked past the plots where the barracks used to be.  The barracks were the shacks in which prisoners were jammed shoulder-to-shoulder into bunks with no ventilation and no personal space except for one's weary, unhappy thoughts (why should you be given anything when you are sent there to die?)  At the end of the barrack rows are enormous Christian and Jewish monuments, a tower that bears the cross and a shrine with the Star of David.

Down this stretch there are trees which are old and thin and add to the depressing atmosphere of this house of horrors.

From there we saw the crematorium, the long building in which prisoners were forced into taking Zyclon-B showers and suffocated to death with poison gas.  The Nazis used Zyclon-B, a rat poison, per Joseph Goebbels' propaganda that equated Jews to rats and other pests:

‘It is true that the Jew is a human being, but so is a flea a living being - one that is none too pleasant . . . our duty towards both ourselves and our conscience is to render it harmless.  It is the same with the Jews.'

This very subject is difficult to write about.

 We walked through the building and passed through the actual gas chambers and I have never been so creeped out in all of my life.  I was standing in a room in which countless people had been showered with acid and gassed before their bodies were put into ovens and cremated.  When the camp was functional the room was fitted with fake shower heads to lure the prisoners into a false sense of security.  The prisoners were made to disrobe so that their prison clothes could be washed and used for the next wave of prisoners brought to the camp by train.  The shower heads have long since been removed, but the grates on the floor and the ceiling remain.  The next room had the large brick ovens in which bodies were burned to ash.  It was strange to actually see a former concentration camp.  One can FEEL the death in the silence around the compound.  Though it was intriguing to take a tour of the site, don't feel right calling it interesting because it is a memorial to the evil that once plagued the earth and killed so many.  It deserves absolutely no positive review.

Throughout the tour and to my ultimate dismay these two women were posing and smiling for pictures in front of the huge map of all the hundreds of concentration camps there ever were in the Nazi Empire.  I could only watch in disbelief as they did because I had assumed that no one would make light of it.  My friend and I wanted to say something, but we did not because we were too bewildered.  Dachau is NOT Disneyland (in fact it's the exact opposite) and you DON'T trivialize a holocaust museum.

Five Cities by the Sea

My latest adventure found me in Cinque Terre, Italy, five magnificent towns carved out of earth and sea.  Cinque Terre means Five Lands, and it lives up to its name.  Each town is remarkable in its own regard.  Each one is different from the rest, and all five come together to create a magnificent oceanside tapestry.  Every city begins at the bottom of a hill on a beautiful, sunny beach and climbs uphill, where you will find corner stores with fresh fruit, trattorias, bars and high-rise hotels.

Since 1998 the Italian Ministry for the Environment has been taking action to preserve this spectacle that is Cinque Terre.  Italy has created the Parco Nazionale delle Cinque Terre to preserve the cities, the coast and their wildlife from pollution and other forms of destruction.

The small towns, Monterosso al Mare, Vernazza, Corniglia, Manarola and Riomaggiore, are connected by a hiking trail that anyone can handle.  You do not need to be in shape to complete this venture (Look at ME!  I did just fine)  It's a great walk and you will meet all sorts of people along the way (we ran into a group of American girls studying in Rome).

There is a 5-Euro entry fee to walk among the towns, but don't fret: IT'S ABSOLUTELY WORTH IT.  

The crown jewel of this hike is what I call the Tunnel of Love, a tunnel carved out of rock that resembles a medieval cliffside fortification.  On the walls of this tunnel is a stunning display of graffiti murals of every shape and color.  This is not your typical graffiti; these masterpieces reflect the wonders of nature and the human imagination.  People have added to the amazing collection over time, adding to the splendor of the rocky visage.  At the end of the tunnel is a plaque paying tribute to The Beatles that reads:

 And in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make.

  
My buddy Charlie and I spent lots of time in there, marveling at the varieties of art and inspiration.  I took pictures of every one of the tunnel's wonders because it is something that I never want to forget.

Florence

Last weekend some friends and I were in Florence, a major town in the west of Italy and north of Rome, enjoying our first weekend of freedom, away from tedious seminars and dizzying programs.

We arrived on Friday night and found our hostel with the help of a friendly stranger, who happened to be from Houston, Texas, like one of us in the crew.  Most of us were tired, so a few of us went out while those who were tired went to bed.

Saturday was our day of adventure.  Our first sight to see was the Duomo, the cathedral of Santa Maria Del Fiore.  Inside the colossal church are very high ceilings, curved upwards in the classic medieval style. Stained glass window portraits, brilliant tapestry-paintings and shrines of honorable religious figures dressed the wall, signifying the majesty of centuries past.  Straight ahead from the entrance was an enormous section devoted to Mass and other processions.  Rows of wooden pews faced an altar curve up front with stained glass windows and an altar upon which they shine their divine light.  The section is roped off to preserve its regal glow, but tourists are free to admire two 'trees' of candles for worship and inspiration.  A gift shop is located downstairs, in an old cellar used for storage for relics.

Adventurous persons looking for a bird's-eye view of Florence can climb to the to the top of the Duomo.
 There are three levels of circular walkways that look down upon the Mass areas.  The first is halfway up to the spectacular Heaven and Hell painting adorning the top of the inside of the Duomo.  The second level circles at the base of the painting.  Of the five of us who went up into the dome (Rob, Ryan, Donna, Jeremy and me), Donna and I decided not to pursue the third and final outside level because we are not fans of being up at such great heights.  I was happy to have seen the  inside of the dome, so I had no objections to getting down to the bottom as soon as possible.  Donna was even more excited to get back to level ground than I was.  Rob said that we had made a good choice in not going to the third level because the walkway is on the outside of the dome.  It's very narrow and the protective gate would only come up to my waist had I gone.  I was not unhappy that I had decided against it.

After that we crossed Ponte Vecchio, Florence's famous bridge, on which were several merchants, some with carts and some without, trying to sell their posters or knick-knacks or t-shirts or postcards.  The bridge and the rest of the city are jam-packed with people, and very busy.  Every now and then a car would come through, and those who were selling on the street would have to retreat closer to the sidewalk so that their merchandise would not get smashed.

We went to see the Boboli Gardens, a terraced hill graced with limestone fountains, statues of Neptune and other magnificent, muscular gods and beautiful goddesses.  To be in the garden brings a feeling of mysticism, as if you are among the gods in their immortal realm.  There is a cave on the property in which statues are covered in the stalagmites that cascade from the ceiling, reminiscent of the cursed sailors of Davy Jones's ship in Pirates of the Carribean.  It is very difficult to tell whether the statues are carved from the rock, or if the rock has covered the statues as it formed over time.  It is a wonderful thing to consider and to behold.

We came back to the hostel that night, some of us willing to go out, while some of us were beat and wanted to go to sleep.  It turns out that two young men from Wales (23 and 24, I believe they were) had moved into our communal room of eight.  Their names were Andy and Andy, but Andy B is the one I spoke to more, so I'll refer to him as such to make the distinction.  They were very personable, and said they'd been traveling around Italy for the past few days, though I don't remember exactly where.  They asked Rob and I (because we were the only two in the room at the time) if we knew where Wales was.  We both did because I am a huge fan of history and geography Rob is a huge fan of soccer.

"Most people think it's part of England," Andy B. said.

The Andys were curious to know what stereotypes Rob and I knew of British people (because it's always fun to hear what other people think of your people), so we came up with a list of those we had heard over time:

1. Bad teeth
2. Tea and crumpets

Our list was weak.  Andy B. said he enjoyed tea and a scone from time to time, but that Tea Time as we perceive it in the United States is very old-school British, very traditional, and not so commonly occurring anymore.  I later asked Andy B. about how often one in the U.K. hears "'Allo, guvnah!" or "Bob's Your Uncle," and he said that you could still hear "'Allo, guvnah" in more cockney areas, but not so much of the general population.  "Bob's Your Uncle" (as in "We'll go out on the town, have some lunch, catch a movie, and Bob's your uncle!"; it's a phrase used after a plan is proposed to state that everything will work out) is apparently more common.  I did not ask about Bangers and Mash or Toad in the Hole.  I'll just have to look those ones up.

Conversely, Andy B. said that people from the United States are much more personable than our reputation would predict.  Rob and I said that most people are friendly, but that it's the extremes that one should look out for (but that's the case with most groups of people).

We decided to go down to the hostel bar in the basement, a glorious cross between a pool hall and a dance club.  In one corner was a bar one would expect to see in a Bacardi commercial, with a lit backdrop accentuating the bottles of booze and liquor that stood upon it and a trendy waiter shining glasses.  On the wall were painted silohuettes of dancing people, each with their clothes in the theme of a national flag .  On the ceiling was a disco ball that sprayed circles of a light that alternated colors across the room, moving to the music, a mix of the Black Eyed Peas, Michael Jackson, M.I.A. and the Happy Days theme song, among others.  There was nobody dancing, and I don't blame them.

When a Michael Jackson song came on I asked how people in the U.K. feel about Michael Jackson.  The sentiment is the same there as it is in the U.S.:

There are lots of people who say 'I grew up with his music,' but there's others who say 'He's a nutter, so F him!'

Our conversation moved on to an inquiry of Rob and I's taste in music.  I told him that I am into 70s and 80s rock and hair metal.  Rob showed Andy his own collection.

We talked about the rules of Cricket (of which I still don't have the foggiest), how cool it is that the Union Jack has five flags built into it, the British movie presence in America, how the U.S. was NOT to be considered the same as Canada, how nobody cares about Finland, and how Italian and British girls are beautiful. 

Throughout all of our cultural conversations I heard "Ace" and "Wicked," used to say that something is awesome.  I heard the bathroom called a "lou," which I love, but I'm not sure if I know how to spell it..

Also, a "cue" is a (waiting) line and a  "Chippy" is a place at which one eats fish and chips.  I LOVE CULTURE!

In the morning we went to see the statue of David at L'Accademia and met the Andys there.  The statue is WAY bigger than I thought it would be (if the statue is life-size, he must have been nine feet tall!)  No photography is allowed in the museum because I assume the flash could ruin the adjacent original paintings of holy people doing holy things, but luckily everyone knows what the statue of David looks like.  The gift shop had heaps of David memorabilia for those who wanted to take a David home.

After marveling at the rest of the statues in the museum (of men, women, and children and/or angels [the children and the angels looked very similar]) we wandered the streets some more before saying goodbye to Andy B.  It was not to be a permanent goodbye because he gave me his e-mail so he could read my blogs.  The internet is terrific!

The beautiful blue skies turned to gloomy gray the very minute we left Florence, as if the city was sad that the weekend was over and the weather was staying sunny for us until we left.

A weekend in Florence was a great idea and a fantastic ways to shake the boredom of going to school in a small town.

The LIFE Program

Then came the dreaded LIFE Program, the lifeblood of the CIMBA Program.  I had heard of its horrors from the group that did it before me, but I decided to do it because I wanted to improve myself, and I didn't want to say I was one of the few who had not done it.

There was a seminar and dinner before our three days of terror were to begin.  We were told to memorize Success by Ralph Waldo Emerson:

     To laugh often and love much, 

     To win the respect of intellingent persons and the affection of children;

     To earn the approbation of honest citizens and endure the betrayal of false friends;

     To appreciate beauty; to find the best in others;

    To give of one's self; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition;

     To have played and laughed with enthusiasm and sung with exultation;

     To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived - 

     This is to have succeeded

The program took place in the DiMarchi Room in the main office building.  The instructors were stiff and cold and spoke militaristically a la Full Metal Jacket, but did not scream - they were talking at us.  They wore suits with name tags reading "Mr. / Ms. (Last name)," and were not allowed to smile or say anything except what the program demanded.

The first night was a challenge, but it wasn't so hard.  We were given seven minutes to write a three-minute speech about how to be a leader.

I've Got Friends in Paderno Places, Where the Red Wine Drowns and the Beer Chases My Blues Away

Paderno Del Grappa

Time: 13:39 [1:39 PM Italia; 4:39 AM Oregon]

The first two weeks of this program have been insane!  I have:

- Hiked Mt. Grappa, the enormous mountain directly behind campus

- Gone to Florence for a weekend and hung out with two guys from Wales

- Taken tons and tons of pictures of everything because I'm on an adventure in Europe!

The campus in this small town is beautiful.  There are two buildings: the SGP and the Pio, both of which are very old and made of limestone and concrete. 

The Pio has single rooms and the SGP, where I live, has doubles.  The rooms are much nicer than I thought they would be.  The furniture is made of hard plastic made to look like wood, the standard of any dorm room and the same as at U of O.  I have a bed, a shelf, a desk, a chair and a window with red and brown wooden shutters.  I like the shutters because they are truly European.  They remind me of movies in which people close their shutters when an army rolls into town.  On the inside of the window pane are glass windows on a wooden pane, closable and lockable to keep the bugs out. 

Keeping the bugs out is not always easy.  Mosquitos are public enemy number one here.  They are relentless (when it's warm, but that's every day).  Flies and ladybugs and moths and bees love the florescent lights in my room, so they literally come out of the woodwork to get to the light.  There are grasshoppers on the other end of the building, but I haven't had any.  The bugs are free to come and go as they please because they can fit through the gaps in the windows, even when they're locked.  There are no screens.

The view from my window is great because beyond the Pio I can see farmland and the distant hills of Asolo (the closest town down the road).  I see green fields and rustic country houses that have been there forever.  I see a blue sky and green trees along the ridge. 

Every morning a rooster crows in a nearby yard.  People have chickens and a duck running around in a yard down the road, with cows in a pen next door.  The rooster's internal clock must be off because he crows all day long, long before and long after the sun has risen and set.

Opposite the SGP and the Pio is the main CIMBA office, in which all of the busywork is done, not by the students but by those who intern and have volunteered to do very tedious administrative work.  It is a building in the middle of campus with many ballroom-style room, and it's where the LIFE program took place (you'll hear about that later).

The campus itself is serene.  In addition to the three large buildings is a fourth building, smaller but just as important.  It is a U-shaped complex on the other side of campus with two classrooms, a library, a computer room and a bathroom.

The bathrooms in Italy are something else.  Those that are less private have a basin and a hole in the ground.  That's it.  There is no toilet, no throne upon which to sit, but a flush box on the wall with a chain that you pull when you want to flush.  To do so you have to pull a chain to release the block and allow the water to run through.  I am certainly not used to having nowhere to sit.

The geography of this campus is a lot like that of Central Oregon.  Flat and hilly with grass and trees along the walkways the grace the Earth around it.  Right now it's a perfect day.  It's usually very hot in direct sunlight, and just right in the shade.  The land is dry, and even in late September it feels like summer.  It has only rained twice since I've been here, and boy did it ever!  Torrential downpours for two straight days with gloomy skies.  It has not rained since, and I've almost forgotten what rain even is.  I expect it to snow here because we're at a high elevation and it gets very cold in the winter (it never actually did snow).

On my first day here I took a walk down the main road, taking pictures of the wonderful things I saw.  Cars scream down the narrow, curvy streets, so I walked in the grass off the shoulder.  Down toward Castelcucco, a much bigger hill town, which might as well be Paderno Del Grappa Part Two.  The two blend together on a shared country road, with only a roadside sign announcing CASTELCUCCO.  In both are rural Italian houses with barnyards.  Some houses have chickens, running around among the grape vines.  The house next to the chicken house has cows.  On every country road intersection is a Catholic shrine depicting an apostle or Jesus or Mary or a fascinating Saint in a statue.  It's a nice touch to this hilly countryside.  Ten meters from any old stone house are modern country villas with enormous yards and private drives.  As nice as these villas are, they are uniquely Italian because they are covered in vines along dirt roads on a mountainside.  This is exactly what I imagined Italy to be.  La dolce vita!

In Paderno, back up the road, is the hotel, a pizzeria, a pharmacy and Alpina, a gelato and pastry shop that many of us visit daily.  Across the street from campus are two tabaccis, small general stores that remind me of the ones back home.  One has sandwiches and fruit and soda and beer, while the other has lottery tickets and toiletries and drinks.

There is a stone tunnel on the edge of campus that leads to the Centro Sportivo, home to two soccer fields, a tennis court and three paved basketball / soccer courts.  The Key areas are widened in the FIBA (Euro basketball) style.  One court is clay red, one is green, and one is red and blue.  Circling each of them are coliseum bench seats so that fans can get a 360-degree view of the action.  Further down the path is a bar that we call the Sports Bar because of its proximity to the fields.  In the same lot is a gym with a pool and workout room.  If you do not bring a sweat towel or a swim cap to these places, you will be stared at because you have committed a workout foul.  At 6 PM the Americans are kicked out to make the facilities private to Italians.  Lots of my colleagues go there every day.

My classes this term are spectacular -

Travel Writing is taught by an Oxford-educated English man who devotes his life to Venice and its sinking problems.  I get to write something about my adventures every week (as seen in my other blog World Tour 2009), and focus on my travel stories for my larger works.

For Journalism Ethics I have the same teacher.  It's about making good choices by balancing morals and media objectives.

Intercultural Communications is taught by an American, who has all kinds of imaginative, progressive ideas for the ways we see ourselves and others.  Its focus is on the differences between cultures and how cultures come to be.

Italian For Travelers is the work of a real Italian lady who is a perfect bridge between English and Italian.  We learn conversational Italian so we have something to say anywhere in Italy.

ECS (European Cultural Studies / Business, Culture and Society in Western Europe) is led by Milan Pagon (Mee-lawn Puh-go-n), who's from Ljubiana, Slovenia and is a cross between Robin Williams and Mr. Bean.  At one moment he is making jokes, and the next he looks like an Eastern European assassin.  On the very first day, we had to think of all the stereotypes that came to mind for Americans, Mexicans, the British, Canadians, the French, Germans, Czechs, Polaks and Russians.  Russians received the most negativity and the Germans got the most love.  He encouraged me to do the LIFE (Leadership Initiative for Excellence) Program when I was still deciding.  He said "You should do it because it will change your life.  It's a great opportunity that you might not get again."  Thank you, Dr. Pagon.

The other weekend some friends and I decided to climb Mt. Grappa, the gigantic mountain directly behind the school.  We left the campus at 8 AM Sunday morning and went through Bassano Del Grappa, a nearby town that is worth putting on a map.  The trail went through town and up a 45-degree country hill, past an orchard and a beekeeper's residence.  There are dogs in the yards and horses in the shade of the apple trees.  Along the way were more statues of holy figures and the Stations of the Cross ... Italy is SUPER, SUPER CATHOLIC.  We stopped and asked for directions halfway up the hill, having passed through an open market with clothes, fruit and fresh fish sold out of trucks.  I asked a man where the restroom was and he didn't understand, so I asked him where the BATHroom was.  He said "Aaah, the BATHROOM!  In the back."  I had said "restroom" because I thought he'd know the more proper word.  NOT!  The mountain trail zigged and zagged from the base on which a giant church stands, wedged into the valley.  There was Sunday Mass at that time, and a creepy, froggy voice which sounded recorded could be heard from outside.  There was a freshwater fountain and a mountain stairway outside the church.  The trail was not friendly - it seemed that it would never end, but it was very scenic, much like Spencer's Butte in Eugene.  We passed many Europeans along the way, who looked like they climbed the mountain every Sunday.  I believe they were an assortment of Italians and Swedes (or Germans).  There were Armstrong-esque bikers on the road to the church, amazing because we could not even imagine biking up the steep incline; we could hardly WALK it.

After hours and hours of stop-and-go hiking because of fatigue, we reached the top of the mountain.  I lay down on my back, spread-eagle for five minutes, reveling in the splendor of the view and the fact that we'd scaled the mountain faster than people had said we would.  We broke out the Persecco in victory.  Going back down the mountain was easy; downhill the whole way with room to hop, skip and jump all along.  We stopped at the Gelateria in Bassano and made it back to campus in time for dinner.  It was actually more like 4 PM, but but was still in time for dinner.

On another trip, most of us went to the nearest mall a few dozen miles away for stuff we needed.  We all went to the Burger King in the food court because we had been eating cafeteria food (which in its defense is relatively high-end) and we wanted something that wasn't served by a lunch lady.  The XXL Burger I had was satisfying but way too expensive for being a Burger King.  some bought fans and mattress pads at other stores, but I bought highlighters and contact solution.  I am so cool.

Then came the DaVinci Challenge, a team-building ropes course in which you had to rely on other people to complete objectives as fast as you can.  The missions were:

Jungle Vines


Cross a tightrope quickly while balancing on two hanging ropes, passing the ropes back to your teammate as you go.  Only two people could be on the rope at once, and if you fell into the 'lava', your team had to start over.

The Spiderweb


Get everyone through a frame of 'spiderwebs', having only one person pass through each hole.

The Wall


Help everyone climb a huge green wall.  The first person has to pull the others up, and only three people may be on top of the wall at a time.  Those who've already climbed can only catch people if they fall.

The Planks


Set up two planks so everyone can cross from one platform to the next without falling off, and without dropping the bucket of supplies.  Lift the planks when everyone is across.  Do all of this as fast as you can.

My team and I were amazing - we set and / or broke the time records for three of the four activities.  The other activity was to see how many people could stand up and sit down three times while crossing and linking arms.  I believe the record was 29, and we broke it with 30.  What a day.

Conquering Mount Grappa

Last weekend I climbed Mount Grappa with a group of friends, early in the morning. We left the campus at 8 AM to embark on our journey to new heights.

The weather that day was perfect; 75 degrees (Fahrenheit, of course), blue skies and a cool breeze. We could not have had better hiking weather.

We passed through the neighboring town of Crespano to find the start of the trail. Along the way are very old houses and flat, green fields that emphasized the towering mountain range behind them. Crespano is a town true to the Italian style; dozens of statues amid multi-colored houses with flower boxes in the windowsill and wooden shutters laying flat against the exterior. There is a gigantic marble church in the center of town, and a gelato shop across the parking lot. In town that morning was a street market featuring stations stocked with fruits and vegetables and all kinds of seafood, fresh and ready to be sold. We stopped into a restaurant in the center of town to have some breakfast, and the man behind the counter spoke English. Before we left I asked the man where the restroom was, and he said that he did not know what a restroom is. I asked "Dov'e il bango?" (where is the bathroom?") and he said 'Ah, the bathroom! Back of the restaurant on the right." I was surprised that he called it a bathroom rather than a restroom. Hmm.

The restaurant had very nice antiques in its anterior, and I remarked to one of my hiking mates that the United States has to buy art for its restaurants, while Italy has centuries of historic pieces that are just considered commonplace to Italians, but to the Americans they are amazing testaments to the human imagination. Italy says "Oh, this old thing? I forgot I even had it, it's been ages!"

We continued on down a dirt road, past open fields and an orchard, pronounced by the rows of green trees and a horse in the distance. It seemed that the horse had acres in which to roam free, the way nature intended.

Further up the road was a bee keeper's yard with a row of honeycomb boxes of all different colors side by side.

We reached a trattoria and pizzeria with an adjacent gravel field designated a parking lot, and asked directions from some Italian bikers in authentic bike suits riding Lance Armstrong-esque bikes. How they could bike up such a steep, unforgiving hill I haven't the foggiest; my entire group was huffing and puffing and sweating long before that point. The bikers said that the base of the mountain, marked by a huge Catholic church about two kilometers away, so we resumed our uphill climb, eager to stand atop the mountain, triumphant and proud.

When at last we approached the church, which is wedged inside a mountain valley and standing at the end of the road with a gigantic steel cross in the front symbolizing the eternal omnipresence of God. A basin, carved in rock and spouting fresh mountain water, provided relief while we took a moment to rest and recollect before beginning the ascent.

The trail to the top of the mountain was anything but broken-in, and anything but easy. We had even been told that rattlesnakes lived along its trail. Endless zigs and zags of shoulder-length trail edges demanded constant balance and solid footing. Groups of European hikers shared the trail with us, kindly yielding as we tromped by. We were symbols of American pride and determination. I felt honored to be an American hiker on international ground, displaying my strength of will to all around me. An hour or so of constant zig-zagging took us to a lookout point, a flat hilltop about halfway to the summit. From the vantage point one could see Paderno Del Grappa and its neighboring cities, which from such an elevation looked like tiny forest clearings beneath the massive, rolling hills of Mount Grappa and the Dolomites. It was a cloudy in the distance that morning, so we could not see Venice, but it is said that on a clear day one can. We were proud to look down upon our progress, the nature we had conquered, and up at the challenge we still had before us.

We pressed onward and upward once again, energized by the idea of conquering nature and looking down on creation. The trail went from narrow and zaggy to wide, steep and rocky with trees and shrubs lining the steep hills that offered no sympathy. The air became thinner and I began to burn out, where previously I had driven forward with determination and excitement. I began to curse the mountain, whose twists and turns seemed never to end, though through the trees I could see brilliant sunshine, the beautiful reward at the end of my quest. I began to despise the mountain, its trails giving me nothing in return for my efforts. Several personal pit stops along the trail allowed me to regroup mentally and press on. I refused to fall behind my team. "I WILL get to the top of this mountain," I thought, focusing on the splendor of reaching the top and being able to say that I had defeated the great Mount Grappa.

After many more pit stops I came to a clearing, the top of a ridge where there were no more trees, but rather stony ground and hilly curves. I could see the top of the mountain, and I sang a song of joy and pushed on, within 100 yards of standing atop Mount Grappa. This song of joy was internal though, because on the outside I was tired, sweaty, and sick of hiking. When I joined my other teammates who had run ahead (one group stayed back to take their time, the other wanted to run up the mountain) at the top of the mountain I laid down spread-eagle on my back, happy to be able to rest and to say that I had conquered Mount Grappa. Once all of us were at the top, we broke out the Persecco (because young people these days feel that doing something physical and difficult calls for a wine reward) and took pictures, documenting our accomplishments.

The way back down was, as you can imagine, much easier than the climb to the top. A few of my team mates sprinted down the mountain, happy as clams to be done with the hike that seemed to never end. We strode joyfully down the mountain and headed to the gelateria, happy to be able to be off of our feet and proud that we, the few, the proud, the adventurous, had climbed Mount Grappa.

Let's Go to Paderno!

I left Portland, Oregon, my home town, for my first-ever European adventure, on September 3rd, 2009. I was about to study abroad in the far-away land of Italy, in the magnificent, hilly town of Paderno Del Grappa. I had never heard of the town before I learned of its Semester Abroad opportunity.

My flight plan was Portland to Chicago, Chicago to Munich, Munich to Venice, and Venice to Paderno Del Grappa via other small towns in between. I was very excited to make pit stops in each of the cities preceding Paderno because I had only heard about them, and now I was finally going to see them for myself! I was about to begin the adventure of a lifetime.

I decided that it would be fitting to enjoy one last American meal before I left Chicago for Munich, so I went for the most American restaurant of them all: McDonald's. The Coca Cola and Quarter-Pounder with Cheese would become distant memories of my homeland, and they already have.

My overnight flight to Munich was very, very long but enjoyable, thanks entirely to the free movies provided. As I waited for my flight to Venice a woman approached me and asked me a question in German. I happen to speak no German at all, so all I could give in return was a blank stare. All that I could think to say was "I don't know." She realized that I spoke English and, thankfully, switched to my language. She had asked me if I was reading the newspaper to my right, and I told her that I was not. We talked for a little bit (she wasn't the least bit shy about sitting down next to me) and she told me that she had taken business trips to many places, but never the United States, and that she had known a man from Portland. I did not find out what her name was because it never came up. We were in the same terminal because she was waiting to fly to Marseilles, France and her gate was in the same terminal. The highlight of the conversation was my attempt to explain to her the Red Bull Flugtag, the annual downtown Portland in which teams construct crude, themed aircrafts and roll them off of a ramp and into the Willamette River. I mentioned the event because I thought that perhaps the event originated in Germany. She had no idea what I was talking about.

My plane arrived at last and I flew to Venice, where I spent two days sightseeing with another student with whom I had rendezvoused at the airport. I reveled in the fact that I was a foreigner, that no one knew me, and that I could explore to my heart's content. I was fortunate enough to get directions to Paderno from my hostel manager. I recommend the Antico Capon in Venice's Plaza Santa Margherita because they have a generous manager and a wonderful restaurant in the lower half of the building. It was there that I learned that a lemon soda in Italy is straight lemon juice.

When it was time to move to Paderno we took a train to Castelfranco, as the directions dictated. It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon, but unfortunately the bus that we needed to ride to Paderno was not running. After nearly two hours of waiting for the bus that would not come, we called a taxi and were in Paderno in twenty minutes. The taxi driver spoke no English, but I used my newfound broken Italian to have a conversation with him. That night we stayed in the Hotel San Giacomo, across the street from the Insituto Filipin, the campus on which the program was to be conducted. We spent the night at the pizzeria with other students from the program and moved to the campus the next morning.

Portland to Chicago to Munich to Venice [The Beginning]

9/3/2009

Flying over the U.S.

Time: I don't know (probably 3 PM PDX time because I've been on this plane to Chicago for nearly an hour maybe, and I left Portland at about 2 PM)

I'm on my first hour or so of my first three-and-a-half hour flight to Chicago on my first flight to Italy and already some interesting things have happened:

First there was an unattended briefcase found in the gate before I boarded the plane to Chicago, so it was reported and the police took a look at it to make sure there was no bomb with the intention of blowing a chunk of the airport sky-high.

Then I got on the plane and into my seat (the window seat, which was great). The chick who had the middle seat, of course reading Twilight, the book you can't get away from, asked the flight attendant if she could have a new seat because she felt she "didn't have any space." The flight attendant told her to bring the armrest down between us, but still the chick insisted that she had no space. You may have guessed that she felt cramped next to me because I am a very large individual, and you are right. Now she's in a row behind me and I get to share a lot more legroom with the other young woman in the third seat. Awesome.  Now I have way more room for my backpack and and long, beastly legs.  I caught a break when she moved.  My size really does get me ahead in life.   I have a song for this situation: "Big guuuuy in a liiiittle seat!" (Think Tommy Boy)

Back to the unattended briefcase - it turns out that it belongs to a man a few rows back, who somehow left it behind. He realized he was without his briefcase containing what he said to be his laptop computer, business papers and some money, so he asked the attendant if he could dash back out to the gate and retrieve it. The attendant had just shut the door for takeoff so they said he would just have to be without it. Luckily for him the pilots had the briefcase passed through a window in the front of the plane, so everything is alright now. Judging by his accent he seems to be from Germany, which is very cool.

I had the great timing of using the restroom while the drink carts were out, so I had to wait to return to my seat until they could move the carts and I could get by. The rest of the plane watched as I stood waiting, forced to stand in front of dozens of strangers. It's fun to have an audience.

The lady in front of me has her seat reclined, with the longest legs on the plane [mine] crushed beneath. It's funny that the ONE reclining passenger on board is the one I'm sitting behind, but it's not a lot of fun. She does have a cast, though, so I suppose she needs her comfort.

Why is there a privacy screen between first class and 'regular' class, and why is it see-through? A privacy screen is supposed to keep people from seeing what's on the other side.

For the current in-flight movie is Imagine That starring Eddie Murphy, in which Eddie is a busy businessman whose daughter comes to live with him and his life ends up better than it was before because he uses his daughter's imaginary creations as creative ideas to succeed at work. I have seen a movie just like this: it's called The Gameplan with Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson.  '30 Rock' was on before this.  I hope I get to see The Office.

I have decided to take my journey to Italy one step at a time (because what choice do I have?) What I mean is that I am enjoying every little thing that happens as if it were my entire adventure, because you want to make everything you do awesome on such an amazing adventure as the one I'm beginning. I am excited to land in Chicago and get on an all-nighter to Munich, then take a border-hop flight to Venice, where I'll meet up with Gretchen (a girl in my program) and spend two days living it up in Venice before moving to Paderno Del Grappa (Keeper of the Wine), a small hill town in the beautiful Veneto wine region of Italy for school.

I am also excited to be a stranger in town, amazed by all of the Italian culture and people and food and wine.

I am ready for my Ducks to smash Boise State tonight. I'll be on the all-nighter to Munich during the entire game, but I am ready to see and hear about how Oregon destroyed Boise State. Go Ducks!

This plane that I am currently on is what you'd expect of an airplane; it's the regular size. I've always wanted to be on a 'mega plane,' the ones with, like, three blocks of seats. Maybe I'll get on one when I head to Munich.

Flying over Illinois

Time: 9:15-ish PM [7:15 PM PDX]

I am officially on a Lufthansa flight to Munich! I have been on this flight for about 20 minutes or so now (I give estimates because there are no clocks or cell phones to tell you what time it is). The map screen at the front of my section says we're flying over Michigan. There is a TV / movie screen to every seat, with music, movies and TV shows programmed in. At the moment I'm watching Appaloosa. In the tunnel on the way to the plane were free copies of Suddeutsche Zeitung, Handelsblatt and Die Zeit, German newspapers. I love foreign stuff, so I grabbed all three. I don't read or speak and German, but I don't care - they're wunderbar!

As I hoped, this plane is a mega plane! I am happy. My seat is a window seat once again, and it's magnificent to see the full moon. I will be able to watch the sun come up as I move east.

I am having a Coca Cola, not a beer, because I don't believe in drinking and flying. Ha ha ha. The flight attendants are hot German women. That is a good sign of things to come.

When I got to the ticket-taker before boarding in Chicago, there were people with yellow-edged tickets. My ticket was not one of those, so I asked, "Am I in the right line?" The ticket-taker chick said "Yes, and you make me feel very short." My height is remarkable.

My seatmate on this plane is an older woman that doesn't seem to speak English as her first language.  She is interesting because of that.

My passport hasn't left my money belt, and it won't for a long time.  There is no way I'm losing it.

I have just made another amazing discovery - there is a lower bathroom floor!  It's incredible!  You don't have to stand in front of everyone to wait for the restroom - you can go down to your own private poop deck!  Haar haar haar (I apologize)

Appaloosa was boring, but alright because of tons of gunfights.  Now for Night at the Museum 2 with Ben Stiller.

There is a GROUCHY old lady in front of us who is getting angrier at the lady next to me because she feels that her chair is getting pushed and pulled every time the lady next to me gets up.  She expects not to be disturbed when she has her seat reclined into her neighbor's lap.  Of course I won't say anything, but I'm stuck watching them for the rest of the flight.

September 4th

Time: 10:18 AM [1:18 AM PDX]

Almost to Munich

This flight has been something else.  I just finished recovering from dehydration - actually, I'm still only about 70% hydrated.  Do NOT under any circumstances neglect drinking water on a 9-hour and 40 minute flight.  Time and altitude will ruin you, so keep drinking water and you'll be just fine.  I made the mistake of drinking a medium Coke from McDonald's before I left Chicago, and some orange juice on the flight.  When you have no water to balance out Coke and orange juice and keep you hydrated the acids create a terrible storm cloud in your stomach.  For what feels like an hour and a half I stood downstairs on the lavatory deck, chugging Dixie cups of water rather than the ocean I need to survive.  I brought this situation upon myself by not refilling my water in Portland after I drank it.  I didn't want to deal with the 3-ounce rule, so I went without.

I have not slept because sleep is for people who are not on amazing European adventures.  I am beating jet-lag with excitement.  Jet lag ain't got nothin' on me!

A minute ago I was given my first breakfast in Europe, complete with strawberries, kiwi, cheddar cheese, a roll with jelly and butter, and an oats-and-honey bar.  I'll call this my Germerican breakfast.  Danke very much!

I am flying over England, guvnah!  I passed Ireland a few minutes ago.  Woo-hoo, laddie!  I am INTERNATIONAL!  Time for Funkyzeit in Munich!

P.S. - Night at the Museum 2 was delightful.

September 5th

Time: 9:02 PM [12:02 PM PDX]

Venice

Here I am, on my second night in Venice and I am still tired, but not nearly as tired as I was last night when I got in.  Here's what's happened up to now:

I survived the flight (I still can't believe I was on a plane from Munich to Chicago 9 hours and 40 minutes because it didn't feel that long [that's what she said!]).  I cleared customs in Germany.  Customs was interesting because I hesitated to put my things in the x-ray bucket because I wasn't sure if they wanted me to do something else than what they want at an American airport.  Turns out it's the same security everywhere (doy!)  I found my way to mein terminal and had a seat to wait.  It was the first time that I was in a land that did not speak English!  It's funny that European people learn English and a whole bunch of other languages in school, but American kids only have to for a few years, after which time we forget it.  I was excited to be in an all-German-speaking place because I'd never been a foreigner before, and being in a completely new continent, country and city is a thrill.  I should mention that on the plane to Munich I left two of the three German newspapers behind, sparing Die Zeit because it has an awesome name and the main story was about the trouble with figuring out which chancellor (the German president) to vote for. To illustrate this tricky situation, the front page image was two hands trying to solve a Rubik's Cube with several different candidates given a color.  Clever!

 

At the terminal were three or four scattered rows of connected chairs, two tea-and-coffee machines, a T-Mobile hotspot (at which you had to pay to use), several chairs in the far corner, a TV with German CNN, and a smoking station.  A smoking station is a glass box/room in which you can smoke as you please.

I sat down in one of the seats to wait for the shuttle that would take us to the plane.  This German lady came up to me and asked me a question in German.  I gave her a clueless look and finally said "What?"  This told her that I spoke English and she switched to my language.  That was sure nice of her, ha ha ha.  She had asked me if I was reading the newspaper to my right and I told her that I was not.  She had left it there and was coming back to it.  She decided to sit down next to me and we talked abbout where I was from and if I'd been to Europe before.  She told me she'd never been to America, and that she'd known someone from Portland.  She said she was a German to English translator, which is very cool.  I tried to explain to her the Redbull Flugtag that happens every year in downtown Portland, but she had no idea what I was talking about.  She said France is very difficult to be in if you do not speak French; apparently they don't pay any attention to you if you don't speak their language.  I also learned that it's not rude to ask a German to speak English.  I didn't find out what her name is because it didn't come up.  She was on her way to Marseilles, France for business.  She left for her flight before I did.

My shuttle came at long last, and we were carted to the plane, boarding it from the ground like presidents.  The plane was small but it had much more leg room than the bigger ones.  I was happy.  In a short 45 minutes we were in Venice.  I took a nap - rather, I fell asleep - during that time, not out of choice but of exhaustion.  Nature won.

In Venice I waited for my luggage, and as I did two girls in my program, Denise and Annelise, found me.  Denise is from Medford, Oregon and Annelise is from Minnesota.  They met in Minneapolis and took the Minneapolis-to-Amsterdam (or Frankfurt, I don't remember) route.  I'm pretty sure both of them go to Oregon.  I know at least Anelise does.  They're both Juniors.  It was just after I found my luggage that Gretchen, from Minnesota and going to Iowa State, found us.  The next step was to buy bus tickets to Piazzale Roma in Venice, the touristy area that every traveler needs to see.  Once there we decided to meet the next morning in the same spot.  I was staying in the Hotel Antico Capon, in Piazza Santa Margherita, about five minutes from the meeting point; very convenient.  Denise and Annelise were in some place 'by the bus station.'  Gretchen was on Giudecca, the southern island in Venice.  We split up to meet again.  I found my hostel, which has a trattoria on the bottom floor.  Classy.  I was given the key to my room and got set up, glad to be rid of my bags that could not carry themselves.  I was free to wander as I wished.

I walked along the alleyways and backstreets, amazed by the ancient style of architecture that looked like they should be in an old painting.  The buildings have bricks and stone and chiseled arches that look like they have been there for hundreds of years.  
















European architecture does not change over time as does that of the United States.  U.S. buildings seem manufactured in comparison, confined to a standard building code.  I feel like I'm in some very old movie when I walk around Venice because the windows don't have screens, but original wooden double-door window coverings.  The architecture is also beautiful because the buildings and houses look like they have withstood the test of time.  The stone walls are often chipped, giving them a rustic, historic impression.  There are curved balconies that come out a foot or less from the wall, covered with potted plants and ivy that make the windows look very natural.

The canals of Venice are the best part of the whole city.  They accentuate everything and set it apart from anywhere else in the world.  There are people driving boats around the narrow (well, semi-narrow) water-streets with the greatest of ease.  The gondoliers are always a sight to see because the gondolas are black and covered with bronze lion heads and other cool stuff.

The water looks very clean.  It is a magnificent shade of green.  It doesn't seem polluted, but I could be mistaken because it's rare to see any public trash cans in the city.  I could write all day about how Venice looks.  It has been preserved for centuries and it continues to be a spectacle today.

Later on I had a dinner of spaghetti and mushrooms, and it was amazing.  I had it at the trattoria in front of my hostel, so I got a discount.

After I ate I went to my room, exhausted, pushed my luggage out of the way, and went to sleep.  At the time nobody else was in the room, but I woke up at God-knows-what hour to two guys from Japan moving into the room.  I got up and brushed my teeth, then went to bed for good.  The other guys went to sleep even before me, and I assumed that they were Japanese because that is the language they were speaking.

I woke up a few times that night before I woke up for good in the morning.  I got up because I didn't want to be late meeting Gretchen and because I like having plenty of time beforehand.  I met Gretchen and we waited for Denise and Annelise for half an hour, but gave up when they didn't show.  We could not call them so we were out of luck.  We didn't know their numbers, anyway.  We crossed this enormous bridge to another plaza.  It's a foot traffic bridge.  If someone drove over it they would run over dozens and dozens of people.

 As we walked I took tons and tons of pictures because I didn't want to miss capturing the magnificence that is Venice.  Every alley, every shop, every gondola was as unique as the one before.  We saw this woman dressed in a black dress and veil, holding a cup in her hands, begging, head down.  I wondered if it related to some Italian or Catholic legend or something.  We also stopped for gelato and I had my first triple-scoop cone of blackberry, blackberry and vanilla.  I LOVE GELATO!

We saw some young Italian men and women dressed in very nice, high-fashion suits and dresses.  They looked like they came from a D&G ad (D&G is HUGE, from what I've seen).

I forgot to mention that after crossing the super bridge we saw that someone had spray-painted "Venice is sinking."  When I saw this I thought immediately of a Berlitz ad I've seen: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CPlydXySG6c.

We came across another giant bridge that looked over a massive arm of the Grand Canal, wider than any other part.  The place was packed with people, walking all around and doing all kinds of different things.  The super canal was a sight to behold.

We came back to Piazzale Roma and decided to go to Giudecca for the sake of exploration.  Giudecca is like Venice, Page Two, but nobody (relative to tourism) goes there unless they live there.  The water taxi (a barge outfitted with rails and a roof and a standing / sitting area) makes several stops in a loop around the canal connecting Venezia and Giudecca.  We were on our way to the stop that would take us to Giudecca when I had the realization that as we were in Italy I could buy myself a Heineken.  It turned out to be a bad idea because I despisethe taste of beer.  It makes me sick to my stomach to drink sour, watery beer, and I cringe at the smell of it.  By the time we were on Giudecca and had walked across half of the island I decided to stop forcing myself to drink it (I paid for it, so I had to get my money's worth) and throw away the almost half-full can of liquid monstrosity, thereby committing an international party foul.  Oh well.  I like wine even less.

On Giudecca are several small tabaccis (general stores that sell water, soda and lottery tickets as well as an enormous selection of cigarettes) and a few residential neighborhoods.  I saw two men fishing on the canal, which was interesting because I had not thought that there would be fish in such busy water.  On the door of an apparent small house carved into the side of a building was a hammer-and-sickle symbol that looked to have been painted on and had rusted over time.  It looked like a carving, but I didn't see any indentations.  I have heard that in Italy you are either a Communist or a Fascist.  I could not tell you why.  The entire island is covered in very old factories.  There is a boatyard on the backside, from which a boat was being raised and lowered into the water for use.  There was what looked to be a family there as well, so maybe they had just bought it.  We walked through a residential neighborhood and hit the end of the island, so we turned back.  I went back to Santa Margherita and Gretchen stayed.

On the water taxi ride back I decided not to buy a ticket because the locals were not buying tickets.  When in Venice, do as the Venetians do.  I admired the gigantic church on the bank of the canal because of its size and its architecture.  It is the centerpiece of Giudecca.

When I got back to my hostel I decided to spend the evening in the square rather than in my room.  I had an enormous plate of four-cheese spaghetti with nothing else but the main dish (I had already fallen for being charged for bread sticks and two waters; nothing is free in Europe).  The spaghetti was fantastical.

At the restaurant were four waiters.  The first was tall and built like an Italian Bill Walton, and all he ever said was 'Ciao.'  The second waiter was more of what you'd expect - helpful but very limited in his English.  He asked me where I'm from and I showed him the Portland, Oregon postcards that Gavin's mom had given me to show people.  He told me that I was 'good people.'  He was the most talkative of the bunch and he hawked tables like a superstar.  The third waiter was an older man who was talkative but had nothing much to say.  I came to sit at the restaurant and write these words earlier, and when he realized that I wasn't going to order anything he moved me from the money-maker table I was at to one in the back.  I sat at the table for a good while before I got tired and went upstairs to sleep.

There was a soccer game on, and two bars in the square at which to watch it.  I thought I'd sit, watch and write, but one was very small and the other required that I buy something.

As they had before, my Japanese roommates were up and moving around at a few different points in the night.  It was not so bad because I can sleep through anything.  The guys got up very early both mornings and seemed to be going somewhere for business because they dressed very nicely.  They were gone all day and well into the night.  It was interesting to have them around.

I awoke on my second morning in Venice and became excited to get to Paderno Del Grappa.  My checkout was at 10 AM and I was to meet Gretchen at noon to make the trip.  I left the hostel and had a few hours to wander the city and eat breakfast in Venice one last time.  I noticed that unowned dogs roam the streets.  They are friendly.

In the square outside my hostel was a dog with no owner but a collar, sitting still beneath the church bell tower.  It was fascinating because I would have expected a stray dog to act way differently.  It was sitting upright, looking around at people in the square like an old man on a park bench.  The dog even looked like an old man.

I was tempted to forge a new path to the rendezvous point, but I thought better of it because I didn't want to get lost.  Before leaving the square I filled a bottle with water from a fountain in the center of the square, a necessity for an American in Italy because there is no free water anywhere.  I am confident that it was good water- it tasted alright to me.

In the alleys on my way to the point were Germans, as wide-eyed in splendor as I was.  I was happy to be in the midst of many kinds of Europeans because I felt that I was really in Italy.  I wanted them to notice me and the Americanicity of my Texas Longhorns t-shirt.  There was a self-service movie rental machine, with recent American movies given Italian names.

I reached the bus station (adjacent to where I needed to be) and decided to get breakfast.  I opted for a tuna sandwich-type thing, and it was great.  I DO miss the Village Inn, though.

An old couple asked me in Italian to take a picture of them on a bridge.  After a few shared failures to get the point across I realized what they wanted.  I took the picture, looking up at them as they stood against a Venetian background of canal and sky (on the bridge in the picture below), and they thanked me.

Pay restrooms are my least-favorite things ever.  There is nothing so un-American as a bathroom you have to pay to use.

A grayhound came close to me as I sat waiting, but would not come to me when I called it.  Hmm.

I looked for an Italia sweatshirt, but failed to find one, as Europeans are small and I am huge.  The biggest they had was a 2XL that should have been an XL because the sleeves covered my forearms and came nowhere near my hands.

I met Gretchen and we got in line to buy a train ticket once we found out where the Santa Lucia train station was because a generous Italian lady led us there.  Getchen's suitcase was WAY TOO HEAVY!  We bought our tickets to Castelfranco, a town along the way, and off we went!  Old trains are like old Cadillacs: a hard leather / feet smell and as hot as Hades inside.

In Castelfranco we had to walk across town (ALL THE WAY across town) to the bus station to ride to Paderno.  Being a Sunday, the bus we wanted was not running, so after two hours of determined waiting I had the town's gorgeous ice cream girl called us a taxi.  The taxi driver spoke no English but I still had a conversation with him.

We drove along a country road for about half an hour before we got to Paderno.  We tried tipping the driver but it is an insult to Italians because it implies that they do not make enough money.  I LOVE that policy.

We settled into our hotel (across the street from school, in fact!) and I could finally relax.  We had pizza and wine with other people in our school group and spent the night in luxury.  The next morning we moved onto campus and the term was set to begin!