Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Writing Assignment 10: Images

One moment I will never forget is the first time I felt like I belonged in Rome. Not only did I feel like I could survive in Italy but I felt confident that I could also create true friendships, develop my career, enjoy a high standard of living, and become a part of this previously intimidating, foreign country. It was a feeling of elation and success. I had conquered my fears and enhanced my ability to adapt. Not to mention I was eating the best lasagna I have ever tasted while processing these thoughts.

I was invited to dinner with two Romanian friends and was surprised to end up eating with their Italian entourage. They had said nothing to me about others being there and had told them nothing about me other than my name. They made no excuses and gave no explanations for my presence except to introduce me in Italian and label me as a good friend, after which they left me to fend on my own. Thanks to Fede, I was an expert at introductions and small talk and was thus able to answer their questions for the most part. They assumed I was another Italian originally born in Romania and I pleased with this assumption. Fortunately for me, the waiter interrupted our conversation before they could learn otherwise.

Our waiter was a quaint man. I could not place his age at all, nor could I identify his personality. He was neither friendly nor unfriendly. He seemed extremely serious and forlorn at first but made some deadpan jokes and even cracked a smile as he warmed up to us. If I had to guess, I would say he was in his early thirties but he fell easily into conversation with everyone at the table. I was grateful for this. I was glad he was taking his time getting orders because I had just realized everybody was ordering without a menu and I began to panic. I am one of the most indecisive people I know. Call me crazy but I also like to know the prices of what I’m ordering.

I was concerned. Every time I’d been out to eat previously, even with a menu that had clearly stated prices, I ended up spending at least twice as much as I intended. How was I supposed to order something without knowing what it was? I looked at the calm faces of those around me and decided to stop worrying. If they could do it, I could too. I would try the Italian mentality and let things work themselves out. When it was finally my turn to order, I asked if they had lasagna (my absolute favorite dish in the universe) and the waiter winked and said it was an excellent choice. I also ordered both tea and water –quite a splurge for me.

As soon as the waiter left, the table erupted in fun conversation. For the moment, they were all wrapped up in their conversations and I would be allowed to rest. Trying to understand and reply in Italian is exhausting. Instead, I took some time to look around, wonder, and listen without pressure. The first thing I noticed was the utter lack of tourists. There was no English spoken in this restaurant. Next I noticed the restaurant had a very hip and modern feel. The table sheets had paintings of menus, Italian quotes, or pictures of landscapes. The walls were covered with similar paintings, candles, flowers, mirrors, and some interesting statues. There was a lot to see and take in. I loved the fact that part of the kitchen and the chefs were visible from the main dining area. They waved to us and periodically attempted to impress us with their balancing or dicing skills. They were amusing.

And the smells. The food smelled absolutely delicious. Everywhere I turned my head, I was hit with wave after wave of different, delicious smells. My nose was satisfied. My ears were also pleased to listen to the melodic Italian that danced around me ceaselessly. I was so lost in the sound of the Italian being spoken that I didn’t realize the boy I was listening to was actually talking to me.

Eventually, they would find out that I was not Italian after all. Most were impressed at my ability to fool them and one teased me relentlessly about not being more adept at the language after two months. Everyone was friendly and I was pleased that they continued to address me in Italian.


My meal came. My lasagna was delicious. Incredible. Amazing. It was big, cheesy, meaty, and it was exactly what I’d hoped. I wanted to cherish the taste and the experience as long as I could. I ate that lasagna slower than I’ve ever eaten anything in my entire life. I will never forget how warm and happy I felt enjoying my favorite food among Italian friends who had accepted me. As a bonus, the meal turned out to be one of the cheapest I ever had in Italy --confirming my belief that tourists are charged different prices that natives.

It was a beautiful, memorable experience. It was the best lasagna I have ever tasted. It was served warm and was eaten in good company. I’ve always believed that laughter, comfort, and authenticity contribute to the taste of food. Thus, unlike many others who have concluded that they prefer Italian food in American restaurants over Italian restaurants, I beg to differ. I don’t think I will ever taste lasagna as wonderful or as satisfying as the one I had that night in Rome.

Arrivederci Roma,
Teo

Saturday, March 13, 2010

Writing Assignment 9: Rome is like a bottle of wine...


Rome is like a bottle of very good, very expensive white wine. It must be swirled, sniffed, and sipped slowly in order to be fully enjoyed. Rome and I did not fall in love at first sight –though like most visitors to Rome, I did fall in lust at first sight. I wanted to be a part of Rome before I even knew what Rome was. Few people spend enough time in Rome to see beyond its outward appearance. In order to truly discover Rome’s personality, one must rid oneself of all expectations and pre-existing notion. It was only when I stopped looking and started living that I first fell in love with Rome.

The day it happened was absolutely beautiful. I was running back along the Tiber River towards Campo de Fiori. However, instead of focusing on my music and breathing, I found my eyes wandering and witnessing a million different events in every direction. Rome was incredibly alive. There were couples sitting along the River gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes. There were men dressed in suits holding briefcases and walking determinedly. There were darker skinned men selling sunglasses and there were tourists trying to avoid them. There were also men walking dogs, teenagers talking into cell phones, and a woman waiting at the bus stop.


It wasn’t just the people that caught my eyes but the architecture also looked alive. The river and the buildings/scenery that flank it looked incredible for reasons they never had before. The beauty had nothing to do with history or with the fact that millions of people and professionals deemed it to be so. It was the kind of beautiful that would be observed by a young child with no knowledge of architecture, art, or history. It was beautiful because it just was.

Where else in the world are buildings created with so much regard to pure aesthetics?
Where else is beauty valued over economics and practicality?
Where else are beautiful things created so that people can simply enjoy looking at them?

For the first time in my entire life, I found value in pure beauty. I found inspiration, calm, and meaning in simply looking at something. Whereas once I would have been angry at government money spent uneconomically when so many citizens are without basic necessities, I was not. Sometimes it is more valuable for a thousand people to experience inner peace and calm than for one hundred to receive one hundred loaves of bread. Although expensive, impractical, and tourist-magnets, the architecture in Rome might be worth it. A walk around Rome in the beautiful sunlight is illuminating, gratifying, eye-opening, and thought-inspiring. It is food for the soul.

This realization left me in awe. I continued to run but I felt as though I were flying. I ran past Campo de Fiori, unable to end my adventure just yet. Soon, Castel Sant’Angelo came into view. This was always my favorite monument in Rome, although I have never been able to explain why. I felt compelled to stop my run and take a seat. Rome does that. It compels to you to slow down, take a seat, and look around. At this moment, hundreds of regrets for not having done or felt this sooner entered my mind. How could I have missed this beautiful aspect of Rome all this time? How could I never have felt thus inspired before?


I took a seat along the top of the Tiber and leaned my back on the hot stone. Down and to my right was a man kayaking gracefully across the Tiber. I never would have thought to step foot in the Tiber –I treated it more like a monument than a part of nature. It seemed as forbidden and untouchable as much of Rome. But the kayaker didn’t have any such reservations. He, like many true Romans, was treating Rome like his backyard. I loved it. He didn’t care that he was the only person in the entire river and he was oblivious to all the onlookers gazing at him. He was also incredibly graceful –almost as graceful as the seagulls that surrounded him. One of them in particular caught my eye. She was removed from the rest and soon took flight. She landed on one of Bernini’s Angels in the most natural way possible. She was not worried about being yelled at my guards or scuffing up the sculpture –she was using it how she pleased. Once she was on the statue, it seemed that she had always been meant to be there. It was a strange thought. I hoped that she would never move.

Ahead and to my left was the castle itself. Breathtaking. Especially with the sunlight pouring down on top of it. Nothing could ruin my good mood –not even the American tourists that asked me to take a picture of them. They had confused me for a Roman. This actually uplifted my mood even further and it was an occurrence that happened more and more during my last month in Rome.

The language (at times) seemed to flow from my mouth. I have always loved Italian –it is the most melodic, sensual language I have ever heard. I always wished I could speak it. However, even if I had not already been passionate about the language, I would still have worked hard to learn it. I believe it is impossible to have an authentic experience without knowing the language of the country you are in. It is through understanding, observing, and communicating with natives that one begins to understand culture.

Soon after I fell in love with Rome, I fell in love with Romans. If this had not happened, I would not have been half as sad to leave. But it did. As strange and unlikely as it sounds, I made real, true Italian friends. I made friends that I trust and care for and that I will keep in touch with while I am away. With them to guide me, I experienced a Rome that many have not. I had to put myself out there, speak the language, and overcome their pre-conceived notions of all tourists in order to do it –but I succeeded. The reward was well worth it. I saw Rome as a Roman for the first time. I went to the sea at 3am and ran in the sand. I drove a manual car along the coast and realized how much of a danger I would be as a driver in Rome. I ate dinner and went out for drinks like most Romans do –for free or discounted prices. I went dancing at clubs outside of the centro storico. I kissed cheek to cheek. I was introduced to more friends and I was considered part of the gang.

I loved it and I am very thankful to them for their warm welcome. I will truly miss the friends I made in Rome. Relationships are such an incredibly important part of life. They are attachments I will have to Rome no matter what. In the future, they will be reminders of a life that I lived for ten weeks.

Here is my advice for those who truly want to experience Roman culture:
1. Love the language. Embrace it. Speak it. Work hard because hearing yourself ask for a glass of white wine and water in perfect Italian is worth it.
2. Listen. Do not always walk around with your IPOD. Instead, listen to the sounds of the river, traffic, conversations, markets, dogs, etc. The more perceptive you are, the more you will learn.
3. Try. Try everything! Italy is a place where almost anything is possible and where most things are got because they were asked for. Ask for an extra piece of bread, or free entry into a club –those who learn to work the system, profit. Ask also for advice on where to go to dinner or where to find whatever you need. Italians live their life as if they have all the time in the world and they love to offer their opinions. Be confident and be forward. Make friends and have faith. They will surprise you.
4. Have a short memory for negative events. Of course Rome is full of people that want to scam tourists. You will most likely be ripped off for a couple meals and various other things, especially at the beginning of your trip. Take it with a grain of salt, learn from your mistake, and don’t do it again.
5. Make a to-do list and add to it as you go. For example, jumping in a fountain (500 euro fine if you get caught), clubbing in Testaccio, dinner at Trattoria Moderna, take a walk every day, get a ride on a motor scooter, try as many different gelato places as you can, stay out long enough to watch the sunrise on your way home, watch the sunset from castel sant’angelo or the wedding cake, run along the Tiber, talk to a stranger every day, cook something new every week, dress up for simple occasions, indulge in nutella –and more!
6. Make friends!!!! It is so hard to do this and it could take months but do not give up. True friends are true friends no matter what nationality they are and what language they speak. Friends make everything better. They will show you a different side of Rome and you will not regret the effort. When the time is right and when you are ready, they will find you.
7. Be perceptive. Be so perceptive that my advice is useless. Create your own opinions based on your own experiences, beliefs, and observations.

Rome is like a bottle of very expensive, very exquisite white wine. Sip it slowly because as the bottle begins to empty, you will enjoy it more and more and when it is over, you will miss the taste. And then all you can do is buy another bottle or throw a coin into the Trevi and ensure your return trip to Rome!

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Writing Assignment 7,8

Napoli: Teachings about Perspective



Naples is poorer than Rome: “The pizza is much cheaper.”
Naples is richer than Rome: “The pizza tastes much better.”

Napoli is “the most dangerous city in Italy.” Every Italian I spoke to warned me to be careful. In fact, the very first blog I posted was based on a conversation I had with a young man from Sicily about the differences between North and South Italy and the dangers of the South. This week, I saw a little part of Southern Italy myself and created my own opinions.

Napoli was raw, undiscovered, and challenging. As soon as I stepped off the train, Napoli began to taunt me. It was relentless! My eyes were drawn in every direction at once. With each step I was forced to look to my right towards the motor scooters zooming by in close proximity to my purse, to my left towards the potentially dangerous window-shoppers only pretending to be thus engaged, downwards at the uneven ground that constantly shifted beneath me, and upwards at the beautiful sky, architecture, and waving Neapolitans on balconies. To top it off, the streets were filled with the sounds of a loud canon, yells, music, and the chanting of “la-vo-ro” by participants in the manifestazione. The buses were not running because the streets were blocked –Napoli likes to throw everything at you at once.

We walked. I walked in silence. I walked with both hands on my bag, eyes constantly scanning the streets, ears on full alert, and intuition engaged. (Only my sense of smell was allowed to rest and only because my nose was still stuffy from my cold.) This hyper-awareness caused me to live completely in the moment and to notice things I otherwise would not have seen. If I had not been on full alert, I would not have noticed the smiling woman dancing on her balcony while hanging up her clothes to dry –and I definitely would have missed the man farther down the street who couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Neither would I have paid attention to the black cat that ran across our path twice, (perhaps to warn us about the overly interested young man constantly trailing just behind Mick) if I was not trying to avoid the junky, uneven sidewalk. Furtheremore, everywhere I looked, I saw pizza, panini, and pasta entering mouths. My eyes were drawn to the display windows of caffes showing off gelati, pies, cornetti, and other delightful cakes for prices unheard of in Rome. They were beckoning to me and I promised them I would return.

We made it to the hostel without incident. And then we experienced the whole thing again on the way to the archeological museum. And again on my wandering walk afterwards. Excitement is everywhere in Napoli! All one needs to do to find adventure is step outside.

In order to fully experience Napoli, Giulia and I decided to take off on our own. Napoli may have been exciting and chaotic while in a large group, but it became even more so when we split into smaller groups. With only one other friend, Napoli was intense. Although always chaotic and exciting, Napoli became also intimidating and fear-inspiring. Some of the narrower, darker side streets seemed foreboding and taunting. I thought twice before pulling out my camera and my map –ultimately deciding to use both as little as possible.

Unlike cities more tolerant of and accustomed to tourists, one does not have the luxury of walking bluntly, airily and conspicuously throughout Napoli. Thus, instead of using a map, Giulia and I picked out a destination on the horizon and hoped the city would unfold itself along the way. Our decision was a true reflection of the nature of Napoli –random, unknown, and full of surprises. The plan was to eventually reach the castle, our chosen ending point, but we did not. In the end, I'm glad we did not make it to the castle -our adventure was about the journey, not the destination.

As we climbed higher up into the sky, Napoli felt more and more dangerous. Aware of my personal tendency to accept challenges and push boundaries, I consciously and constantly promised myself that I would turn back at the slightest inclination of real danger. And still we climbed. We walked on wide streets and on narrow streets. We walked past churches and many, many madonelle. We walked past a group of kids playing soccer and we walked past an auto shop of sweaty, dirty, jeering men. On our left, we saw glimpses of beautiful houses on the hilltop, reaching to the sky. On our left, we saw broken houses with colorful clothes left out to dry. On our left, we saw couples kissing, lone men wandering, teenagers staring, and stray dogs barking.


At one point, we came to a big intersection. We had a choice: left or right? We chose neither. Across the street, there was a narrow stairway. At the bottom of the stairs was a small group of rough teenagers who stared unfalteringly. Although past experience caused us to believe the stairs would lead to a gated apartment complex, there was also the possibility of an opening at the top. And so we climbed. We climbed on hope alone. The smell was horrible! I think there was a sewer beneath us. Halfway up, I was ready to turn back. On we climbed. Near the top was a five foot area that was blocked off because of a hole in the stairs. There was also a Madonella on the wall surrounded by candles and flowers on all sides. We climbed around the area that was marked off and found, to our extreme pleasure, open space. We stepped off the stairs and into freedom.


The view was incredible. Absolutely astonishing. We could see all of Naples. As we watched, the clouds began to reveal Mount Vesuvius, as if rewarding us for our perseverance. Very carefully, we took some quick photographs and discussed our plans, both agreeing to turn back before the sun began to set. Then, we continued on. The top of Naples and the castle were within our reach. As we walked towards them, we tried our luck with a few more intimidating staircases –but they all lead to nowhere. One in particular led to a dirt road that may have been a driveway on private property. From there, we could see into the backyards of Neapolitans that lived on the hill. One family had decorated their little garden with gnomes representing Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. All of the homes had an incredible view of the city and the world beyond it. They overlooked a hill of houses and monuments, Mount Vesuvius, the coast and the vast expanse of the ocean. Words cannot describe it. We admired the view as long as we could but were soon scared away by the angry barking of an enormous black dog.

We ran back down the stairs, laughing and tripping all over each other. We named our new dog friend, Caravaggio (after my favorite painter). At the bottom, we took a right and resumed our walk uphill. However, as the sun started to fade, the people also seemed to fade (especially the women). There was more and more garbage on the sidewalks and there were less and less cars in the streets. We continuously admired the view but started to accept the idea that we would not reach the castle after all. Finally, we decided to walk another twenty feet to a niche view point, admire the scenery, consult the map, and then head back speedily.

The way down was as exciting as the way up. It was shorter (because we walked faster) but it was even more of an adrenaline rush. We did not speak, preferring to stay inconspicuous. It’s an interesting thing to walk side by side in forced silence. The mind imagines crazy scenarios when unoccupied by conversation or physical exertion. During that silent walk, my mind ran through tens of unfortunate scenarios that could have occurred -all scary and unavoidable. Fortunately, Giulia and I were both consoled by the fact that all we carried between us were maps, one old camera, one cheap cell phone, and 5cents. In retrospect, there was little logical reason to worry but I am still glad we stayed on our toes.


Return to the Centro Storico
It was an amazing experience. When we got back to the centro storico, we both relaxed and our pace slowed drastically. We wandered around street shops and poked our noses at display windows. We seriously debated the different flavors of gelato and the merits of the pizza in Naples. In my opinion, cioccolato bianco is the best gelato and piazza diavola is the best pizza. To read her opinion, which I quite disagree with and therefore refuse to repeat, you should consult her blog! We had a blast and we smiled from ear to ear the whole way to the hostel.

Back in Rome:
Rome has become comfortable in a way I never thought it would. I know parts of Rome as well as I know my own hometown. I can easily get from Termini Train Station to Campo di Fiori, located on opposite sides of centro storico, without thinking twice. I can do this at night, wearing a backpack, rolling a suitcase, and I'll still feel completely safe. In fact, it is difficult for me to remember the time when this little journey did not feel natural. It is hard for me to look back to my first night in Rome and remember how foreign it was getting off the train at Termini. I remember clutching my bags tightly and keeping my distance from absolutely everyone. I remember feeling as scared that first night in Rome as I ever did in Napoli.


Rome is homey, but unauthentic. Rome has been tainted by the constant waves of tourists that pass through. In Rome, one does not need to act Roman in order to get by. In Rome, foreigners can expect to be treated worse than Romans. Yet, even those aware of this fact choose not to make an effort to learn the Roman culture and perhaps begin to fit in. The city has adapted itself to benefit from ignorant tourists –but the tourists have not adapted their behaviors to avoid this ill treatment. It is too easy to get by speaking only English for them to find it worthwhile to learn Italian. They would rather be over-charged for goods than exert effort in learning Italian culture. They would complain about receiving poor service in a restaurant than take the time to wonder why. Thus, Romans have lumped all tourists together and assume the worst from all of us.

I’ve found that many Romans have been jaded by their experiences with and observations of past tourists. This is the biggest barrier I feel I have to jump with every new Roman that I meet. In order to be treated with respect or even interest, I have to work twice as hard to separate myself from the average tourist. Fortunately, I have finally started to figure out the way the Roman system works. I have made friends in restaurants and dance clubs –thus getting the best meals/drinks for the best prices. The dessert shown above, along with other desserts and drinks, were free (gratuito) -giving out free/reduced-cost meals is very commonly done for those who know the servers in Italian restaurants.

Unfortunately, although figuring out the system is extremely helpful, it is not satisfying. It does not feel right. The Roman system caters only to the “in-group,” which is most often determined by nationality, language, and skin color. It appears to me that Napoli, being poorer and less traveled, is not as eager to categorize and rate human beings. Napoli has not been jaded by a constant wave of tourists. Those of us that truly want to fit in and experience Italian culture still have a chance in Napoli. My Napoli is richer than my Rome.

Ciao!
Teo

Monday, March 1, 2010

Rione: Testaccio Presentation

Testaccio Presentation


Intro/Reflection:

Testaccio: the two-faced neighborhood.

In the day time, Testaccio has a working class, proletarian feel. Instead of cobblestone, we walk on pavement. Clothes are left to dry on balconies and even in front yards everywhere. Testaccio feels real. Livable. Unlike most neighborhoods in Rome, Testaccio is not a disneyland. There are no attempts made to hide the mundane and sometimes harsh aspects of real life.

In the night time, Testaccio is a completely different place. The middle aged workers that crowded the streets in the daytime are replaced by young, hip party-goers. Instead of people dressed in conservative, modest work clothes, these teens are dressed in very chic, expensive, modern attire. The more chic, the more likely you are to get into the clubs –some of which are impossible to get into without paying a fortune regardless of how you look. The night is a stage for a competition to be the best looking, most desirable, and the wealthiest. This Testaccio takes on a very exclusive, modern, creative, youthful feel.


History:
Testaccio was once a river port where olive oil, wine, grain from Roman provinces arrived in huge terra-cotta urns. However, it is most well known for being Rome’s former meat packing district. In 1890, Mattatoio, a slaughterhouse, opened on Monte Testaccio. Animals were not only butchered, but also quartered there. Good meat was sold and the leftover “5th quarter” was given to workers as wages. The “5th quarter” is what they called the unwanted odds and ends. Eventually, these offal, hooves, tails, and snouts would turn up in a distinctive new cuisine born in Testaccio and still alive today in more modest trattorias. Common dishes included sauces made with pajata, baby veal intestines with mothers milk still inside, though today veal is often replaced with lamb for fear of mad cow disease.

When mattatoio closed in 1970s, the Scuola Popolare di Musica moved into abandoned spaces and grottoes of Monte Testaccio. Thus, Testaccio made a move towards becoming a more contemporary neighborhood.

Currently
Today, Testaccio has a flea market look and working class feel in the day time. The residents are the working class –the modest, average Roman. At night, a “new breed of young Roman, obsessed with la bella figura and in search of la dolce vita takes over the streets.” These are the visitors. Young Romans gather from all over Rome to visit Testaccio and enjoy the edgy clubs, galleries, and theaters with alternative music, art, and ideas. Testaccio also houses MACRO future, one of the vey few contemporary museums in Rome.

Coat of arms: Testaccio is the 20th rione of Rome, deriving its name form Monte Testaccio. The rione coat of arms depicts an amphora (type of ceramic vase with two handles and a long neck used mostly to store olive oil).


Route:

1. Park de la resistenza (+ memorial)
-Park of the Resistance of 8 September
-designed by garden architect Raffaele de Vico in 1939
-in the middle, there is fountain with an African Motif that represented the nearby Italian Ministry of African Affairs (today occupied by FAO). FAO stands for “Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations”.
-as you walk out of the park, you can see a memorial dedicated to those who fought to unify Italy.

2. Pyramid + Cat sanctuary + Protestant Cemetery
-Pyramid of Caius Cestius: Built around 12 BC as a mausoleum for a wealthy Roman magistrate. It also serves as a cat sanctuary. (It’s near the Porta San Paolo and the Protestant Cemetery. Porta San Paolo: one of the southern gates in the 3rd century to enter through the walls of Rome. The Ostiense Museum is housed within the gatehouse.)
-Protestant Cemetery. In the 1700s, the Pope allocated this stretch of unused land for burial of non-Catholics. Before the Catholic Church prohibited the burial of non-Catholics in Catholic cemeteries in Rome—non-Catholics visitors that were mostly British. Often referred to as the “Englishmen’s Cemetery.” It is the final resting place of non-Catholics (not only Protestants or English people). One of the most famous graves is that of the English poet John Keats (died of tuberculosis in Rome). It also serves as a cat sanctuary. It is best to go there in the morning due to the confusing afternoon closing hours that changes seasonally.

3. Memorial
(for soldiers of all nations who died in battles of the Italian Campaign)
-First special service force association June 1984.
-Started with United States-Canadian Force.

4. Testaccio Market
-Located in the Piazza Testaccio, it is unlike many Roman markets since the stalls are housed in a more permanent structure. Market is filled with fruit, vegetables, meats, fish, dairy, and even shoes. It has a more distinctly working class Italians as buyers. Open from 6:30 to 1:30 everyday except Sunday.


5. MACRO Future
-an annex to citys Museo d’Arte Contemporanea Roma took over 2 newly restored pavilions in slaughterhouse
-notice that the outside of the building is not contemporary at all. Contradiction!

6. Monte Testaccio
-In ancient times, much of the Tiber River trade took place here, and the remains of broken clay vessels (amphorae) were stacked creating this artificial Testaccio hill (called Monte Testaccio), which today is a source of much archeological evidence as the history of ancient everyday Roman life. The countless numbers of broken amphorae shows the enormous amount of food required to sustain ancient Rome—hill estimated to contain the remains of 1.6 billion US gallons of imported oil (amphora=18 gallons)

7. Clubs

-hottest clubs took over caves long ago dug into the side of Monte Testaccio.
-Writers, artists, young professionals embraced this area, even moving into the housing projects that once accommodated workers
-Specific clubs include Alibi (gay club with a great dance floor upstairs and a diverse crowd), Akab (underground cave, hip hop music), Charro Cafe (one of our favorites, different DJ inside and outside, free entry, very diverse music including everything from 70s to modern day music from all over the world).
Riones (neighborhoods) of Rome

Thursday, February 18, 2010

Madonnelle: Ordinary Art with Extraordinary Power

My favorite Madonella

Introduction:

In order to observe culture, one needs only to observe people. True culture is most evident in the subconscious and instinctive habits of native peoples. However, in order to even begin to understand a culture, one must understand its history – namely the motivations, traditions, and morals that underlie those habits we witness today. Roman Street Shrines are representations of a Roman tradition that began as early as ancient Rome, changed throughout the centuries, and still exists today. The street shrines were (and still are) located directly on the streets where all who pass by can see them –believers and non-believers, Romans and non-Romans, rich and poor, past and current visitors.

Picture yourself walking home after a long day of work on the dark, dirty streets of Rome. You look up to your only light source. It is an oil-lamp illuminating a glowing Madonna. She is looking down at you –comforting you. She is adorned with beautiful sculptures of angels and is carrying baby Jesus on her lap. She is radiant, otherworldly, and ethereal. She will protect you. Throughout Rome, Madonnelle such as this one, provided comfort and reassurance. They played a huge part in the daily lives of all Romans: men and women, young and old, rich and poor. Unlike other Catholics inside and outside of Italy, Romans had an extremely personal way of expressing their love for the Madonna: Madonnelle were not only found in churches and private homes, but also in street shops, modern taverns, and all over the streets. In Rome, the Madonna was not only admired, but Madonnelle were included in daily activities, special rituals, and even accredited with performing miracles.

Unfortunately, there is also a dark side to the story of the street shrines. Creating sacred street imagery (like the Madonnelle) was a tradition initially centered on faith, love, and relationships, and in later periods was inversely used for propaganda and hidden agendas. Street shrines have always meant different things to different observers throughout the history of Rome –in large part because they have not always contained the same images or meanings. In fact, sacred street shrines went through three phases before they morphed into the Madonelle we see today. On the one hand, the changing treatment of street shrines by power-hungry leaders tells a story of a restless, manipulative, greedy Rome. On the other, the Roman peoples’ unfaltering devotion for the ever-changing street shrines depicts a flexible, loving, accepting Rome. However, not all Roman leaders caught on to the power of sacred street imagery right away. While some rulers like Augustus rapidly embraced the shrines and used them to his advantage (more on this later), not all Roman rulers did the same. For example, the Church refused to even acknowledge the value of street shrines for over a century –until they discovered the immense power that lied behind the faces on the shrines. Ultimately, the street shrines helped to facilitate transitions between rulers, to create trust and foster social capital, and to re-legitimize the church.


Description of Madonelle:

A very beautiful, mosaic Madonella.

A Madonella is a street shrine that portrays the Madonna, sometimes holding Baby Jesus and often surrounded by heavenly angels. The Madonna, with her big, sympathetic eyes, looks out directly at the worshipper (and no longer only at Christ). She engages the viewer, promising protection and safety. Her main purpose is to watch over the viewer and relay his prayers to God. Thus, the shrines deliberately radiate a personal, loving aura.

Madonnelle typically combine elements from various earlier ages and styles. They can be seen in the form of sculptures, canvas paintings, paper prints, frescoes, terra cottas, and even mosaics. About six hundred in total were painted on canvas (often as frescoes) but many more were on simple printed paper. Some are still bright, while others are almost completely faded. In the 17th century, the development and spreading of stucco techniques made framing the images in little stucco reliefs possible. The very sophisticated street shrines often mixed the painting with elaborate sculptures of angels and beautiful architecture for the awnings (A Baroque tendency). However, sometimes the stucco around the images is so large and elaborate that the actual painting seems suffocated. Contrarily, other shrines were made with images of enormous paintings of a very complex, spot-lighted Madonna (Renaissance tendency).

Efforts were made to protect the Madonnelle from outside damage. To protect against damage caused by carriages, most of the images were placed high up from the ground, on the line that separates the ground floor from the first floor. To prevent damage from the rain, little baldaquins (permanent, ornamental canopies) could be placed above the shrines. However, there are a surpising amount of Madonnelle currently in decent condition considering they had no protection from theft or harassment.

Both the wealthy and the poor contributed to the creation of the Madonnelle. On one hand, it was considered common for everybody to worship the Madonnelle since they were visible to all –most Madonnelle were located on street corners, lit by oil-lamps, and served as the only public lighting for Rome. However, the materials used to make Madonnelle ordered by the rich were very different from the materials used to make those ordered by the poor. The rich often ordered their Madonnelle from professional artists, whereas the poor made the shrines themselves. Still, it was a comforting and uniting thought for the Romans to know that all people –men, women, children, adults, and the elderly –treated the niches as sacred spaces.

According to Alessandro Rufini, an art historian that took an interest in the Madonnelle, the shrines were visited and adorned daily with flowers and candles. These ex-voto, or votive offerings, were given in fulfillment of a vow, in gratitude, or in devotion. Oftentimes, they were metal ornaments shaped to represent answered prayers. For example, a metal heart might mean the Madonna helped with matters of the heart. Some people even decorated the street shrines with valuable coral or pearl necklaces. Other common offerings included everything from flowers to written texts and pictures depicting healed body parts and other miracles attributed to the helper. Furthermore, Roman oral traditions tell of loud Christmas concerts performed by countryside pipers in front of Madonnelle and include descriptions of children decorating the shrines on September 8th, the birthday of the Virgin Mary, and on August 15th, the day of the Virgin Mary. Sometimes, the connection worshippers formed with a specific Madonnella grew so strong that families would take it with them when they moved! Unfortunately for us, this is one of the reasons so little is known about most Madonna shrines.

Due to over three hundred years of bad weather, movement, anonymous artisans, and constant renovation, it is nearly impossible to date the Madonnelle or name their creators. Even the Romans simply deem Madonnelle “ancient.” Not even the theological genre of most images is known –the largest category of Madonnelle consists of unrecognizable images. Furthermore, some of these images are so faded that the face of the Madonna is not even visible. However, the purpose of the Madonnelle was not lost. In fact, the reason so little effort was expended on remembering dates, names, and other facts was because Romans did not think it important to do so. The meanings behind the paintings and the spiritual relationships created in front of them, were more important than the paintings themselves. Madonnelle were not intended to be criticized as artwork, but rather to be meditated upon as a connection to God. Thus, we can console ourselves with the idea that what was most important has been preserved.


History:

The veneration and proliferation of sacred street imagery has pagan origins dating back as early as the 6th century BC, during the reign of Servius Tullus. They would originally have been sculptures or paintings of one or more domestic deities associated with spirits of the deceased, or lares, placed at the intersections of farms. There is some debate on the actual origins of the lares. Some myths say the lares were ghosts of destructive spirits that needed to be appeased. Others believe lares were farm deities with fertility powers. However, the most common myth holds that lares were guardian spirits that provided protection at the crossroads between neighborhoods, “where the known met the unknown.”

However, it was not until the 1st century BC, when Augustus redefined Rome’s internal boundaries and placed street shrines at the corners of large intersections that sacred street imagery took on full importance. In order to create a more organized city, Augustus split Rome into 265 neighborhoods and organized each around a street shrine. Practically, the shrines served as identification of the new neighborhoods. Spiritually, they were considered protective spirits. Traditionally, they were to be honored and worshipped. Praying to street shrines for comfort, aid, and giving thanks became daily events for most Romans. They even became sites for public auctions, popular rest areas for travelers, and places of pilgrimage. Furthermore, Rome was successfully split up into organized neighborhoods and still unified by a common thread. Romans from different neighborhoods were connected to one another through their veneration of the street shrines.

The street shrines did not depict lares for long. Augustus, observing the value of the shrines, cleverly renovated them with depictions of himself and of his family. In doing so, Augustus was able to emphasize his own piety, ensure daily veneration, and broaden his authority. Romans, believing the shrines protected them from harm, would now look to Augustus as their protector and savior. Interestingly, it was his use of the shrines as propaganda for creating, perpetuating, and spreading authority that caused street shrines to take a political meaning early on.

Much later, a new emperor and a new religion would again change the significance and the face of the shrines. In 312, Constantine converted to Christianity and made it the religion of the state. All of a sudden, Christians had a legitimate religion but none of the grandeur and lavishness that a state religion commands. The only Christian art in existence at that time was located in Catacombs –hidden underground and extremely basic. In order to quickly (and efficiently) depict Christianity as the state religion, the Church copied previous leaders and began a huge process of recycling –converting pagan art to Christian art. They transformed motifs, compositions, and art previously used for imperial propaganda into propaganda for Christ and icons of Christianity. Furthermore, the Christian religion stripped the emperor of his innate divineness, so most of the art once dedicated to the emperor was also changed to have Christian meaning. “To put it crudely, one might imagine the early Christians running around Rome with magic markers defacing government posters by sketching in a bearded Christ over the emperor’s face” (Edward Muir). Even previously pagan altars were taken over and made into Christian churches so the public could easily attend religious ceremonies even after the religion changed. The conversion was smart and economical, facilitating an incredibly speedy and grandiose transition to Christianity.

The street shrines were obviously affected, though not directly by the church. Instead, individual pilgrims, most likely members of the Marian Cult, replaced the pagan shrines with images of the Virgin Mary. The Marian cult, or the cult of the Madonna, is a name given to Christians for whom a central object of worship is the Virgin Mary, mother of Jesus Christ. By this time, the cult was widespread and generally well-received. However, the Church was not a fan. The Papacy wanted to keep the power as tightly in their hands as they could. They claimed that one must go through the Church to get salvation and to connect with God. It was the only way. The Madonna, believed to be an intermediary between man and God, was a challenge to the Church’s power. However, the Church, still in its early beginnings, was not in a position to completely deny worship of the Madonna, and so the street shrines continued to morph to show the face of the Madonna.

At first, the Pilgrims were neither encouraged nor dissuaded from creating the street shrines we see today. Hundreds sprung up all over Rome; each was created for a different reason from commemorating a happy event to protecting the neighborhood. With time however, the power and meaning behind the street shrines would once again prove to be immense. What happened during the reign of Augustus would happen again –the act of daily veneration would now be directed towards the new face on the shrines, the Madonna. As a result, the cult of the Madonna and the Madonna took on increasing importance in the Christian faith.

After about 400 AD, the Eternal City was hit by one disaster after another. Deforestation, erosion, overconsumption of resources (like fuel for the public baths), overpopulation, overgrazing, and early urbanization were starting to take their toll. Human overconsumption coupled with an unstable environment made the arrival of disasters inevitable. Erosion caused unstable marshlands, which lead to the spread of diseases like malaria. Rains altered coastlines and eventually flooded the lower parts of Rome and backed up the sewers. Ultimately, the plagues, sacks of the city, and crises within the Church (the Great Schism, the reformation) led to an even stronger proliferation of the holy, protective Madonnelle.

The power of the Madonnelle peaked when they started performing miracles. This would be the breaking point for the Church’s stand against them. The crises within the Church, combined with the performance of miracles by the Madonnelle, made it a wise and perhaps predictable decision for the Church to finally recognize and honor the Madonna. Whereas once the Madonnelle were ignored, they would now be treated royally. Interestingly, the Madonnelle started performing miracles around the same time the Church was having problems legitimizing their power.

As a side note, it should be known that the Church was not the only force that did not appreciate the street shrines. In fact, many foreign visitors to Rome believed that worshipping the Madonna was wrong and sinful. They labeled the Madonnelles “earthly images made by men with base and impure thoughts,” and claimed that praying in front of them was idolatrous. Some of them even reacted with force against the shrines. One such example was reported in August 1873 in La Voce della Verità, an aggressively pro-papal newspaper, stating that the Madonna image below the Arch of Biscione “had been desecrated by people throwing pieces of watermelon at it.” Another report claimed that “two recently arrived newcomers smashed the glass of the image of Holy Mary in Via dei Chiavari, and damaged it, saying: ‘If the Romans will not remove these dolls, we will smash them all’” (Taina Syrjämaa). Regardless of whether the newspaper is credible or not, one can naturally conclude that at least some animosity existed towards the street shrines. Fortunately for us, the Madonnelle were not destroyed and instead were protected and venerated over the years.

The cult of the Madonna began to be promoted by the Church in the early modern period. After having been ignored for years, the Madonnelle would now be accepted. The Madonna is a motherly figure that embodies love and protection. People can relate to her and believe she will act as an intermediary between them and God. She is loved, as is evident in the people’s fervent and spontaneous adoration of Madonnelle. However, she is not considered divine. Mary is venerated and honored for her connection to Christ and the Immaculate Conception, but she is not to be worshipped like a Goddess. The Church made this very clear. Still, the adoration of the Madonna and of the Madonnelle could not be stemmed. Ultimately, the Church gave in and commemorated the Marian Cult with a monument in the city centre, an endorsement of the tenets of the Immaculate Conception, and encouragement of the populace to venerate the shrines daily. Furthermore, Madonnelle that proved to be miraculous were brought inside churches and hung on consecrated walls. The more important figures would preside over enormous churches, and some had entire churches built for them, as will be explained later.

Miraculous Madonnelle and the Church went hand in hand as the Madonnelle were once again used as propaganda: for gaining legitimacy, power, and for spreading authority. The Madonnelle accredited with performing miracles were taken off the streets and placed inside churches. Thus, the Church cleverly succeeded in both recognizing the power of the Madonnelle and simultaneously moving that power back inside the Church. In an interesting twist of fate, the Madonnelle had moved from the dark streets to high altars.


Miracles

One very famous, recorded miracle, arguably the first ever recorded happened in 1577. The Madonna of the Lantern, located at the base of a church on the Tiber Island stayed lit during a flood and continued to burn underwater. This is one of the first miracles to attract the attention of the Church.

The Madonna Annunciata, miraculous Madonnella.

Other famous, recorded miracles include movements of the eyes. The Madonna Annunciata is known to have moved her eyes for three weeks staring July 4th, 1976. In order to be sure this miracle was real, the glass was removed from the Madonnella and the change in the eyes was measured with a compass. The Church eventually recognized five Madonnelle for having moved their eyes. However, not all were convinced by this miracle and we will hear from one doubter later on.

Otherwise, the most common miracles performed by Madonnelle included weeping, bleeding, and healing. Both weeping and bleeding were actions that served to give the Madonna human-like characteristics and to make her more relatable to the public. For example, the Madonna della Pace, after being struck by a gambler, started to bleed. This miracle led to the renaming and rebuilding of the Church of Aquarenariis by Pope Sixtus IV for the relocation of the Madonella. Whereas once the Church ignored the Madonnelle, they would now rebuild entire churches for them. Furthermore, this Madonella garnered even more attention as she became accredited with another miracle –bringing peace to Rome. In her honor, the church containing the Madonella was again renamed Santa Maria della Pace. However, honoring the Madonnella was not the only reason for the renaming of the church –a more political reason was to associate the Roman Church with peace and miracles.

The Vengeful Madonna served as protector of the Roman populace. Though it may sound contradictory to the tenets of the Church, it actually fits perfectly with beliefs in the Holy Bible –the Bible holds that those who sin will suffer, those who repent will be forgiven, and that believers will be protected from harm. One example of a Vengeful Madonna is the Madonnella della Miesericorida. This Madonnella was hit with a rock thrown by an angry gambler. Instantly, his arm was paralyzed. The miracle ends with the gambler repenting forty days later and accordingly regaining the use of his arm. Thus, the Madonella is both protector (of Christianity) and forgiver. This is similar to the way the Church portrayed itself –having the powers to both punish and forgive.

Other miracles include two children who fell seven meters into a ditch without injury because of their proximity to a Madonnella; a Roman woman whose breast was healed by the oil of a lamp burning in front of the Madonna; a woman who was saved at the last moment from committing suicide; and a man who was saved from unjust accusations because of his commitment to the Madonna.

Throughout it all, one has to wonder, as I did, whether anybody caught on to, or was angered by, the Church’s manipulation of the Madonnelle. The answer, somewhat difficult to find, was that some did catch on and were in fact angered. Some people even accused the Church of having staged the miracles. Here is the promised story of a miracle that took place in June 1871, retold by a doubter.

“Two ciociari, or country people, stopped in front of the Madonna image near Porta Cavalleggeri, in the proximity of Saint Peter’s: ‘[T]hey look in amazement, they fall on their knees, they start to cry out: “the eyes are moving, the eyes are moving!” Customs officers, country men and country women stop, argue, some shout “a miracle, a miracle!” A large crowd assembles; the presumed ciociari go away without leaving a trace: the traffic is interrupted; the carters curse the blocked passage. As
after an agreed signal, all of Borgo sets off towards the gate to venerate the miraculous image; flowers and torches are brought, litanies are sung. All that in less than one hour, [which] is evident proof that the coup was prepared. The fascination spreads: all see the eyes of the sacred image moving to the right, then to the left; whoever does not see this is a misbeliever, an excommunicated buzzurro.’”

Still, most people appreciated and respected the Madonnelle, whether they actually believed in the miracles or not. Even years later, visitors to Rome were moved by the general public’s adoration of the Madonnelle. For example, American sculptor William Story, who lived in Rome for decades, was impressed with the Roman treatment of the Madonnelle. In December 1856, he spoke of a spontaneous adoration of a Madonella that moved him. It began with two young boys playing music in front of the shrine and ended with the participation of the entire neighborhood. He explained that “as they stood there playing, a little group gathered round. A scamp of a boy left his sport to come and beat time with a stick on the stone step before them; several children clustered near; and two or three women, with black-eyed infants in their arms, also paused to listen and sympathize.” There is something about these little Madonnas that inspire and intrigue all who see them.


Contemporary Views

“The images of the Virgin Mary are there to protect the house and the town, but also to awaken devotion in those who pass by, as they say a short prayer, a greeting, or at least by making the sign of the cross upon themselves. The sculptures are public displays of religion, keeping it constantly present, provoking devotional acts.”

In 1944, even after public lighting in Rome had improved so that Madonnelle were no longer the only means of lighting, there were still over 637 wall shrines in Rome. Today, Romans can be spotted making the sign of the cross or whispering a prayer as they walk past Madonnelle on the streets. Furthermore, it is not uncommon to see candles, flowers, and other offerings left for the Madonnelle. They have not been forgotten. In fact, they are actively remembered. In 2000, Madonnelle all over Rome were restored for the jubilee. Photographs were and are placed in spots were Madonnelle once existed but were stolen or moved. This is yet another reminder to us that the Madonnas are adored for what they represent and not their physical characteristics.

Painting of Madonna where a Madonella once stood

Like William Story, I have been continuously awed and surprised to discover how strongly people felt (and feel) about the street shrines. At first, I was most surprised by the miracles they are credited with performing. The stories are incredible! However, as my research continued, I grew more and more fascinated with their complex, convoluted history. The street shrines completely changed three times: from displaying the faces of household deities to depictions of Augustus and his family to the beautiful portrayals of the Madonna we see today. Against all odds -terrible weather, extreme opposition, continous reconstruction, movement, theft -the street shrines have survived. This, I think, is their most extraordinary miracle of all.


Bibliography

Abbey, Molly. Miraculous Public Imagery of the Virgin in Renaissance Rome
(University of Wahsington Master's Thesis, 2004).

Delano Smith, Catherine. (1996). The "wilderness" in Roman Times. In Shipley, Graham
& Salmon, John. Human Landscapes in Classical Antiquities. New York: Routledge, 159.

Lavatelli, Ginerva. Secret Rome. Tours: Presses de Mame, France. Print.

"Little Madonnas." Abridged History of Rome. Ed. Rosamie Moore. Roberto Piperno.
Web. 17 Feb. 2010. .

"Madonnelle di Roma." ROMA SPQR. Web. 17 Feb. 2010.

Muir, Edward, ‘The Virgin on the Street Corner: The Place of the Sacred in Italian
Cities”, chapter 6 in The Italian Renaissance: The Essential Readings, edited by Paula Findlen, 2002.

Pardue, Candice. "The Medieval Times of Rome, Italy." Brief History of Medeival Rome.
Web. 17 Feb. 2010. .

Syrjämaa, Taina, and Rodney Dean. Ed. Pieter Francois and Henri Terho. Power and
culture : new perspectives on spatiality in european history. Edizioni Plus – Pisa University Press, 2008. Web. 17 Feb. 2010. .

"Why is August 15th - Ferragosto - a national holiday in Italy." The Florence Newspaper.
Web. 17 Feb. 2010. .

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Writing Assignment #6: Testaccio

Testaccio: The Two-Faced Neighborhood


Daytime
Testaccio has a working class, proletarian feel. Instead of cobblestone, we walk on pavement. Testaccio feels real. Livable. Unlike most neighborhoods in Rome, Testaccio is not a disneyland. I feel like I could meet hard-working, honest, interesting people there. On the streets, one can hear a constant stream of angry drivers honking at one another. In fact, I witnessed my first angry Italian gesticulation here. I won’t go into detail on that.

Testaccio has one of the finest markets in Rome. A very loud market. It smells of meat and cheese and healthy vegetables. I love it. One of my favorite things about it is the fact that people are rarely unhappy when surrounded by food. Everyone was friendly. I purchased 6 beautiful eggs for 1 euro, potatoes for .60 euro/kg, oranges .90 euro/kg, and tomatoes for 1.20 euro/kg. It was one of the most exciting purchases I’ve made so far, excepting my purchases at Esquilino Market. I haven’t made too many friends at the Testaccio market yet, but I plan to do so on Saturday.


Nighttime

At night, Testaccio is a completely different place. The middle aged workers that crowded the streets in the daytime are replaced by young, hip party-goers. Instead of people dressed in conservative, modest work clothes, these teens are dressed in very chic, expensive, modern attire.


The bars are full. Music can be heard from the clubbing district. The streets come alive with colors, music, and conversations. Some of the clubs are very elite and exclusive. I was shocked and hurt when they wouldn’t let me in. Some of the bouncers will not even speak to you if you are not on a V.I.P list. I’m always nervous walking to the entrances that are roped off to speak to the bodyguards. They look me up and down and if I’m lucky, they ask how many we are. I tell them how many girls and how many boys, hoping that we will be allowed in since we have more girls than boys. I’m still not sure if that even makes a difference here. I plan to find out.

Once we make it in, dancing is fun. Loud. Crowded. Sweaty. Awkward at times. The music is surprisingly Americanized. We sing along to the songs. One time, we heard Y.M.C.A. Other times, I've heard hear songs by Michael Jackson or Chubby Checker. However, even this is uncomfortable. I don’t want to give myself away by singing along in perfect English. I wonder if everybody already knows I’m not Italian anyways.


The contradictions between day and night:


Working class middle-aged walkers vs elite youth
Making money vs spending money
Cars honking vs music blaring
Modest clothes vs risqué outfits
Smell of meat vs smell of perfume
Purchasing necessities like food from the market vs taxi charges, club covers, kebabs
Noise coming from honking cars going places vs honking cars going nowhere
Logical vs chaotic

Looking forward to learning more,
Teo

Reading Notes

“Return” by Fatima Ahmed
4am
Ms Bopha 60 yr old guide
thin as a young girl
took narrator to bus station
rickety bus
narrow seats
contaminated air –cigarette smoke
lots of children
drowsy
hungry
stingy uncles
Vietnamese Country Side
Stopped at Cambodian Border
To continue, one had to rent a car. Hold on tight. Lots potholes
“Here we dance” –young driver
Fear of rejected travel documents. Broken Khmer. Pray they won’t ask questions
Relief.
On foot, crossed the border. Tears. Fistful of earth. Mekong River
New car. New journey. Towards Neak Loeung to take a ferry. Another journey.
Lots of questions. Stories. Histories.
Narrator was in Cambodia until age 21 when political crisis began and she moved to Somalia. Born in Phnom-Penh. Had polio since she was a child. Bad leg. Now lives in Italy. Married with 3 children
More questions. Excitement
Another car ride and then, finally, home.
Disappointment, less beauty. More beauty. Traveling. Seeing historical sites and towns inhabited by people who had survived massacres.
“Impossible to go to sleep”
last line: “I hadn’t seen it the night before; it had been too dark”
Moral of the story? Things change. Sometimes you must leave your city to really understand it. You cannot see everything in the dark. Things are revealed in time.

“Vendettas” by Carmelo Quijada
Summary: Mulano boy wins literary award and believes it is because of a good luck amulet he keeps near while he writes the story. He even covers the envelopes with the amulet. On the day he is to receive his award, he irons his shirt (something he hates doing) and makes himself look clean and nice. He has worked hard for this. Unfortunately, a pigeon poops on him as soon as he steps outside. On his newly ironed, clean shirt. He is furious. Angry at the pigeons and blaming them for his troubles, he covers popcorn with poison and sets it out for them. After successfully killing one, he makes a trail of poisoned popcorn. The next day, he walks outside and sees a line of cadavers.
“They’re even uglier when they’re dead”

Some Italian thugs see him and trick him into thinking they are tourists asking for directions. When he pokes his head into their window to talk to them, one puts out his cigarette on the boys arm.
He “receive(s) a a machine-gun fire of insults and spits”

In order to save himself, he tells them to meet him at his home the next day and promises to explain everything. However, he is not there when they show up. They demolish everything. He sits in his neighbors’ house across the street and films it excitedly.
“From my position of security, I encourage them to smash everything”

In the end, the boy receives a new home for thirty years (with lower rent) and is reassured by the police that they will protect him. Later, he brings the videocassettes to the police and promises to go with them to bust the hoodlums
Last line: “It won’t be hard”

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Individual Research Project

Youth Culture: Ethnographic Approach
Diary of a Young Girl

Due dates:
1) Final copy of written part due Monday March 1st. The rest of the week will be for editing and combining the work to make sure it flows well.
2) Final presentation for each person due by the following weekend when the presentation will be combined and practiced. Saturday March 6th and Sunday 7th.

Paper

Introduction: “This is the story of a young American girl named Gabrielle Woods, age 20, who went to high school in America and is now attending University in Rome. She is currently in her first year, end of first quarter, in college.” (more description of her to follow including basic info about where she lives, what she looks like, her likes and dislikes, etc”

Story Line:

1. Giulia: education

Gabrielle awaits results from her college exams. When they are posted, hers are mysteriously not among the rest. She struggles to find out what the problem is and eventually succeeds in finding her scores. She did well on all but one and will have to retake it next quarter.
In the process, Gabrielle reveals facts, times, data about the Italian education system in general and more specific details on the University she is attending. She will also touch on the differences between male and female education/opportunities in Rome

2. Teo: social life

Gabrielle, unhappy with her test scores but pleased with newfound friends she’s met at the University, decides to spend her vacation in between quarters experience Italian social life. This includes bars, clubs, music venues, dinner parties, and conversations with her newfound Italian friends.
In the process, Gabrielle teaches us about social life for Italians and the differences between them and surrounding immigrants in the same locations. She will also discover the difference in how men and women are treated in social situations.

3. Tim: sports

Spring soccer tryouts! Gabrielle is pursuing her passion for soccer. This section follows her through her trying to find a team to play for, gathering opinions (mostly negative) from people she asks, trying out, and eventually making the team.
In the process, Gabrielle tells us about the sport system in Rome and the differences between males and females involved in sports.

4. Nick: youth opinion on politics/religion

Coming home from a dinner party with friends, Gabrielle stumbles upon an anti-Vatican, pro-(separation between church and state) riot of made up mainly of young people between the ages of 15-30 in campo di fiori. She talks to some of the youth protesting and learns about their opinions on the Vatican and on current politics in Rome. She will include statistics and conversations she had with them. Her story will take an interesting twist here that will not be unveiled by Nick until the final paper is written.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Writing Assigment #5: How the Other becomes Home



I saw the Other yesterday. She had brown hair and big, brown eyes. She looked straight at me. In fact, every time I looked at her, she was looking at me. I didn’t recognize her at first. She had a type of smile I’d never seen before. Her facial expressions always seemed to reflect similar feelings to my own –almost identical but not quite. She even frowned when I frowned, though again not quite the same way I imagined I was frowning. I talked to her but she didn’t care to listen. Instead, her lips moved while I was talking. How rude! I tried again. Her lips moved again. I got upset. I motioned to her, only to see her mimic me. I reached out to grab her, to knock some sense into her, to make her listen. She reached towards me at the same time. We almost touched but someone walked up behind her just as I heard my name called from behind. I turned around and left. I still see her once in a while, staring right at me. I think she’s trying to tell me something. I think she’s trying to show me we’re the same. I think she’s trying to show me, me.

The me I was spent most of her life living in Bellevue and dreaming of everywhere else. I dreamt of the sun in California, the big-city bustle of New York, the open spaces and country-side of Texas, the vibrant culture of Spain, the art of Italy, the religion of India, the language of Paris, the food of Mexico –everywhere but home. I was and I am a dreamer.

Just like I need a mirror to see my own face, so must I look outside myself in order to see inside, and so did I have to leave my home in order to find it. Cliché as it may sound, “finding myself” was one of my biggest motives for coming to Rome: my travels are journeys of “inploration” caused by exploration. However, the recent discovery of “home” was wholly unexpected. Until now, I never really felt connected to a particular place.

In order to discover home, I had to leave it.

When my dreams of traveling became a reality, I visited the places I so yearned to see. Neither dreams nor words could explain the beautiful things I saw –beautiful in all senses of the word both external and internal. However, although I loved them initially, I soon discovered the best place of all was home. The more I saw, the more I missed my home. Things I once regarded as flaws became things I yearned for most. They are among the things I yearn for most.

I miss the way people venerate the sun on the rare autumn days it chooses to shine. I miss the endless open lakes and tall snowy mountains.
I miss the sunny month of August and the rainy month of March.
I even miss the craziness of Seattle –the horrid drivers and confusing streets.

In order to fall in love with home, I had to leave it.

When did Rome become my home?! After having been in Rome four weeks, I dreamt once again of other places. I looked forward to the shops and food in Florence and the romanticism of Venice. They became my greener grass. I looked forward to our class trip to Florence like I look forward to dinnertime after two hours of talking about Panini in Italian class. And when the time finally came, I stepped off the train smiling excitedly, prepared to feast on the city. I hoped that Florence would offer all that Rome did not.


At first, it did. If Rome is beautiful, Firenze is resplendent. The people seemed younger, vibrant. The river was endless and sparkly. I could walk everywhere and I could read the names of streets! I hardly ever got lost. People were friendlier, it seemed. Everywhere I went, I was surrounded by gold and leather and water and light reflecting off gold and leather and water and light. But I was only looking for the good.

Within a couple days of being gone, I realized Florence is small and filled with tourists. I became annoyed with the gold and leather and water and light. I was angry with the pushy vendors that I could not escape no matter how hard I tried. I disliked the way stores and restaurants and clubs catered to International (ie. American) students. I disliked the Disneyland of ridiculously overpriced everything. I was even unhappy with the fact that I had learned my way around the town so well that I could no longer get lost. I predicted that a longer stay would eventually leave me little to explore. I missed my Rome. I missed even those things I once regarded as flaws.

In order to discover home, I had to leave it.

I missed my Campo, the contemporary concert it put on everyday, and the way it kept me awake at night.
I missed the mixture of colors of oranges, apples, tomatoes, lettuce, meat outside my window and the temptation it provided.
The taste and the feel of fresh produce. The awkwardness at buying from a new vendor from the first time.
The different rione. Getting lost in them. Getting lost with them.
Trying to find the shortest path to the Pantheon and getting lost every single time.
Trattoria Moderna. Gioletto
The sunlight –the warmth.
Speaking Italian and having people respond in Italian. Being laughed at for my mistakes.
Adventure. Adventure in the rain.
Feeling comfortable. Feeling uncomfortable.
The joy of finally getting where I wanted to go after the anger at taking so long.

In order to fall in love with home, I had to leave it.

Is this unfair to Florence? Why do I feel this bias for Rome? Both Rome and Florence are filled with tourists flocking to see the historical sites and precious ruins. In both, I’ve been so angered by this blockade to my Italian experience that I almost wished the ruins did not exist, or at least that only our class knew of them.


Soon though, I fell in love even with those things I once considered flaws. Going to Prato, I learned the value of the ruins. Prato was…gray. The inhabitants were indifferent. When I think of Prato, I think of industrialization, tall buildings, and boredom. Prato lacks all the beauty of the ruins of Rome and Florence. So Prato taught me to love even those things I so dis-loved before. When I went to Prato, I discovered I had a bias for Florence as well. I wonder where I would have to go to learn to love Prato?

Venice. The labyrinth that Is Venice is an incredibly quaint, confusing city with boats but no cars, street music but no nightclubs, Italian food but no Romanian restaurants, grocery stores but no refrigerators. At least for me, this is what Venice means. In reality, these things that I feel Venice lacks are not in fact things Venice lacks. In fact, no city lacks refrigerators! It is only my accessibility to them that these cities that are not my home, lack.


Venice did not make me miss Prato, but it did teach me what "home" means to me. It was in Venice that I discovered what a home is. Having missed Seattle when I was in Rome, Rome when I was Florence, and Florence while I was in Prato, I was very eager to see what would happen in Venice. I missed home.

In order to discover what home is, I had to discover what home "isn't."
Home is not a city.

A city is people. People are language, actions, mannerisms, habits, facial expressions. Romans speak Italian and English. They walk with intention –except on weekends when they strut fashionably up and down the streets, in and out of cafés. Men shake hands and women kiss cheek to cheek. Everyone gestures. They drink café every day, and eat Panini and kebabs. They smile sometimes (when I make mistakes speaking Italian) and they frown sometimes (when I go places I’m not supposed to go). Rome is Italians, Romanians, Chinese, Africans, Bulgarians, Americans, and more.

A city is landscape. Rome is ancient, artsy, and expensive. Rome is beautiful. It is lit up at night by candles, and lights, and beautiful monuments. It is lit in the day by the sunshine. Rome is open spaces and crowded streets. Rome has few trees and parks, but a beautiful Tiber river –at least it is beautiful in the night when the color of it can’t be seen. Rome is busy streets, fast drivers, inconsiderate pedestrians, and strange parking jobs.

A city is climate. Rome is sunny, but cold. I’ve heard it is almost unbearably hot in the summer. I do not know that Rome.

A city is Art. Rome is Art.

A city is food. Rome is gelato, pizza, spaghetti. Four euro kebabs from the Indian man who has lived her five years. Red Sicilian oranges from the Roman man at the Vittorio Market. Pizza from the man from Senegal. Rome is cheap wine and red champagne. It is Trattoria Moderna, Giolitti, and Magnolia.

A city is not a home. Material things do not create a home. The existence of these things in Rome is not why I can now call Rome, home. In order to discover home, I had to first leave, and then return.

A home is somewhere you can find without a map. A place becomes home when you can find our way to it, to the homes of friends around it, to your favorite restaurants and nightclubs, to the best grocery store around the corner, and to your special, secret place. It takes time for a place to become home. It takes trial and error to find delicious places to eat. For me, it takes lots of trial and error to learn how to get to the places I love to go.

Home is an experience. It is an ease, a comfortability, a feeling of fit. Home is a place where you feel as though you play a part in the drama that unfolds. Home is also a place where you no longer feel as though you are the Other; a place where you have become one with the Other. Rome is no longer the Other for me. Neither is the Other I saw yesterday. I've seen her so much now that I've become accustomed to her. Time made me accustomed to her. I’ve learned her mannerisms, her face. I feel as though I know her now. She doesn’t seem strange anymore. In fact, I think I quite like her.


Time makes the Other, home.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Questions for Caritas

Are there any particular immigrant groups that seem to struggle the most in Italy? Why do you think this is?

We keep hearing that Italy is one of the biggest emigrant countries of all... why did so many Italians leave in the past?

Do you see any solutions to the immigration problems in Italy? Is Italy on the right track to fixing the problems?

What is the best way to overcome racism problems in Italy?

Why did you choose to work here? What are your views on immigration?

Writing Assigment #4

"Make it thy business to know thyself, which is the most difficult lesson in the world." ~ Miquel de Cervantes



I saw the Other yesterday. She had brown hair and big, brown eyes. She looked straight at me. In fact, every time I looked at her, she was looking at me. I didn’t recognize her at first. She had a type of smile I’d never seen before. Her facial expressions always seemed to almost reflect my own feelings and thoughts –but not quite. She even frowned when I frowned, though again not quite the same way I imagined I was frowning. I talked to her but she didn’t care to listen. Instead, her lips moved while I was talking. How rude! I tried again. Her lips moved again. I got upset. I motioned to her, only to see her mimic me. I reached out to grab her, to knock some sense into her, to make her listen. She reached towards me at the same time. We almost touched but someone walked up behind her just as I heard my name called from behind. I turned around and left. I still see her once in a while, staring right at me. I think she’s trying to tell me something. I think she’s trying to show me we’re the same. I think she’s trying to show me, me. Perhaps grass is still grass no matter what side of the fence it’s on.

“The grass is always greener on the other side”

I have spent most of my life living in Bellevue and dreaming of everywhere else. I dreamt of the sun in California, the big-city bustle of New York, the open spaces and country-side of Texas, the vibrant culture of Spain, the food of Italy, the religion of India, the language of Paris –everywhere but home.

Be careful what you wish for. Eventually, my dreams became reality. I visited the places I yearned to see, only to find the best place of all was home. The longer I stayed away, the more I started to miss Bellevue. Things I once regarded as flaws became what I yearned for most. I missed the way people venerated the sun on the rare autumn days it chose to shine. I missed the open lakes and tall snowy mountains. I missed the sunny month of August and the rainy month of March. I even missed Seattle –a city filled with crazy drivers and confusing streets. Most of all, I missed the friendly people and the ease with which I discovered eternal friendships. To fall in love with Washington, I had to leave.



Unfortunately, the human mind forgets as much as it remembers.

How many times must I learn that grass is grass no matter where you are?

I made the same mistake again. After having been in Rome four weeks, Florence became my greener grass. I looked forward to it like I look forward to dinnertime after two hours of talking about Panini in Italian class. When the time came, I stepped off the train in Florence smiling excitedly, prepared to feast on the city. I hoped that Florence would offer all that Rome did not.

At first, it did. If Rome is beautiful, then Firenze is resplendent. The people seemed younger, vibrant. The river was endless and sparkly. I could walk everywhere and I could read the names of streets! I hardly ever got lost. People were friendlier, it seemed. Everywhere I went, I was surrounded by gold and leather and water and light reflecting off gold and leather and water. But I was only looking for the good.

Within a couple days of being gone, I realized Florence is small and filled with tourists. I became annoyed with the gold and leather and water –with the pushy vendors that I could not escape no matter how hard I tried. I disliked the way stores and restaurants and clubs catered to International (ie. American) students. I disliked the Disneyland of ridiculously overpriced everything. I was even unhappy with the fact that I had learned my way around the town so well that I could no longer get lost. I predicted that a longer stay would eventually leave me little to explore. I missed my Rome.

I missed my Campo and the contemporary concert it put on everyday.
I missed the mixture of colors of oranges, apples, tomatoes, lettuce, meat outside my window.
The taste of fresh produce.
The different rione. Getting lost in them. Getting lost with them.
Trying to find the shortest path to the Pantheon and getting lost every single time.
Trattoria Moderna. Gioletto
The sunlight –the warmth.
Speaking Italian and having people respond in Italian. Being laughed at for my mistakes.
Adventure.
Feeling uncomfortable.
The joy of finally getting where I wanted to go.

But Rome has flaws as well. Both Rome and Florence are filled with tourists flocking to see the historical sites and precious ruins. At times, I’ve been so angered by this blockade to my Italian experience that I almost wished those ruins did not exist, or at least that only our class knew of them. However, going to Prato, I learned the value of the ruins. Prato was…gray. The inhabitants were indifferent. When I think of Prato, I think of industrialization, tall buildings, and boredom. Prato lacks all the beauty of the ruins of Rome and Florence. So Prato taught me to love even those things I so disloved before. I wonder where I would have to go to learn to love Prato?

So now I wonder –what is a city?

A city is people. People are language, actions, mannerisms, habits, facial expressions. Romans speak Italian and English. They walk with intention –except on weekends when they strut fashionably up and down the streets, in and out of cafés. Men shake hands and women kiss cheek to cheek. Everyone gestures. They drink café every day, and eat Panini and kebabs. They smile sometimes (when I make mistakes speaking Italian) and they frown sometimes (when I go places I’m not supposed to go). Rome is Italians, Romanians, Chinese, Africans, Bulgarians, Americans, and more.

A city is landscape. Rome is ancient, artsy, and expensive. Rome is beautiful. It is lit up at night by candles, and lights, and beautiful monuments. It is lit in the day by the sunshine. Rome is open spaces and crowded streets. Rome has few trees and parks, but a beautiful Tiber river –at least it is beautiful in the night when the color of it can’t be seen. Rome is busy streets, fast drivers, inconsiderate pedestrians, and strange parking jobs.

A city is climate. Rome is sunny, but cold. I’ve heard it is almost unbearably hot in the summer. I do not know that Rome.

A city is Art. Rome is Art.

A city is food. Rome is gelato, pizza, spaghetti. Four euro kebabs from the Indian man who has lived her five years. Red Sicilian oranges from the Roman man at the Vittorio Market. Pizza from the man from Senegal. Rome is cheap wine and red champagne. It is Trattoria Moderna, Giolitti, and Magnolia.


A city is not grass.