Questions for Amara Lakhous

Questions/Discussion

1. Are any of these stories based on true events? Did Amedeo really exist? What happened to him?
2. Who is your favorite character and why?
3. What do you believe it means to “be” Italian? To “be” any nationality?
4. Do you think the racism problems in Italy are getting better or worse?

Main question I have: At one point in the book, it says that Amedeo is not crying in sadness but rather in happiness. Is this true? Was he being sarcastic or ironic? Was Amedeo somebody we should feel sorry for or was the happiest character in the book?

Writing Assignment #3: Market Places

Market places are the foundations of society. Marketplace is synonymous with survival. It's a place where people sell the things we need to survive in order to be able to buy the things they need in turn.

A market place.
A place where smells and sights and sounds come together and intertwine.
A place where cultures clash.
A place where things like merit, value, and worth trump qualities like skin color, intelligence, and social class.
Loud. Colorful. Musical. Chaotic. Messy. And very organized.

The Esquilino Market was like disneyland for us hungry, eager Americans. It was a place where we could stare in awe at produce we've never seen before and imagine all the dishes they could combine to create. It was a place filled with beautiful and incomprehensible languages. And it was a place that welcomed us.

At a marketplace, the only thing required to find acceptance is the ability to consume. At a marketplace, the consumer is not only accepted, but he is sought after.
As soon as we walked in, the vendors waived us to them and showed us foods so bright and beautiful that our mouths began to water. All kinds of food. There were Indian vendors, Chinese vendors, Italian, Romanian, and unrecognizable vendors. I met a young man from Bangladesh, a couple from Rome, and three men and one woman from Romania.

Here are their stories:

The cheerful man from Bangladesh:

A man with beautiful red tomatoes smiled at me and said buon giorno. All the vendors say buon giorno, but not like him. He didn't follow up with a gesture towards his produce, nor with an attempt at a seductive nod. He just smiled. Pleasantly surprised, I said buon giorno back in my confused romanian/american accent. He smiled a little more at my attempt. He asked "Di dove sei?" ...where are you from? And thus began our conversation. I found out he is from Bangladesh and has been living in Rome for six years. He likes it but he misses home. He is twenty three years old. He is alone.

We didn't talk about much...there wasn't much to say. I didn't even get his name. But he took the time to talk to me and let me practice my Italian. In turn, I talked to him and asked about his home. It was one of the best conversations I've ever had in my entire life. I will probably never see him again. But I hope I never forget him. Our conversation was insignifcantly significant. The simple ability to communicate was an incredibly satisfying feeling.

There is something innately refreshing in talking to a stranger and finding out his story. It reminds us we are all connected in some way. It reminds us to live in the moment. It reminds us to be happy and thankful for what we have. And yet, it happens so rare.

The Roman Couple:

From across the market, I spotted these gorgeous, exotic-looking red oranges. I love oranges. I love grapefruit. The red orange is a cross between an orange and a grapefruit. The sign had something "Sicilian" written on it. Sicilia has been following me on this trip. Ever since I met the young Sicilian boy and heard his legend of the Mafia, Sicilia turns up wherever I go. I hope to visit some day. Perhaps they'll have these beautiful red oranges everywhere in Sicilia!

I had to taste one. I went up to a middle-aged jolly man to ask him for an orange. I did my best to speak Italian; "vorrai una aranciata per favore." I thought he would be angry that I only wanted one... but he wasn't. Instead, he laughed and corrected my grammar, "un arancio," or something like that. I asked again the correct way and he gave me an orange for 13 cents. I peeled it right away and tasted it. He and his wife laughed at my eagerness. I shared the news of the amazing oranges with everyone around me and they all ended up buying some. The couple was nice, grateful, and patient with us all. They told us they are native Romans. However, they were so eager to learn about us that they found out infinitely more about me than I did about them. Before I left, they made me promise to come back, gave me three oranges, and allowed me to take a picture. I've been dreaming about those red oranges ever since. I will remember the Roman couple and their kindness whenever I eat a red orange from now on.

The Romanians:

If I'd happened to run into Romanians a week prior, I would have been ecstatic. I wanted badly to find somebody I could talk to and connect with, and to find my place in this city . I would have jumped at the opportunity to meet Romanian speaking Italians! As it stood, I had finally started to find my place in Rome without them. I learned a little more of the language and the culture. I no longer felt quite as alone or out of place. Still, I was very excited and curious when I discovered Romanian vendors in the market. Their signs were written in Romanian: one banner read 'Romanian Bread' and the other advertised all kind of meat. It would be nice to know what I was buying, but I refused to purchase food from them and take the easy way out. Instead, I stood back and listened to them speak for a while. Eventually, I said hello in Italian and asked about their lives. I would have tried to speak Italian the entire time if one of them hadn't asked me if I spoke Romanian. Reluctantly, I switched languages.

I told them I was a student from the USA studying immigration and social issues. I asked about their lives in Italy and how they feel about the immigration problem. They answered in jest, like most Romanians do, saying "what immigration problems?" I laughed and tried again. I asked them about racism and how it is in Rome compared to other places. One winked at me and answered, "my dear, to answer that question, one must have first been other places." It was a joke but it is very true. He was reminding me not to stereotype and make uninformed judgements. He may have been hinting that my question was innapropriate and too bold. He was also avoiding the question.

I was getting annoyed at this vagueness. But I got little more out of them. It was so strange that what I thought would be the answer to my problems, turned out to be no help at all. I was sure that if I could just find someone able to talk to me, that they would be willing to do so. I thought I could find out something meaningful and deep if I could just communicate well. But the conversation I had with the Romanians (the largest migrant population in Italy by far) about immigration was definitely the least stimulating and most unsatisfying conversation I've had in Rome thus far. It's interesting how sometimes those with the most to say, who are able to communicate the best, can be the most unwilling to speak. The only thing they said was that "Italians have always been racist." That statement, vague and without any kind of proof, is not even worth discussing. Disappointed, I walked away.

On my way out of the market, the Roman couple waived goodbye. I waived also. The man from Bangladesh smiled and waived goodbye. I smiled and waived to him as well. He had such an infectious smile. I left the market beaming, filled with confidence and hope, and with a desire to meet as many people as I can and learn their stories.

Until next time,
Ciao!

Journal Writing: Jewish Ghetto

The Colosseum of Life

No matter how hard we try, we cannot escape suffering. Whether you are a spectator watching or a slave fighting in the colosseum of life, you still play your part. However, it is your choice how you let this affect you. Some learn nothing, others become the better for it, and still some (hopefully few) become worse. From what I’ve noticed, Jewish people have definitely become the better for it. There is some kind of noticeable, electric bond between them. They stick together and they help each other. They create Jewish communities and they grow up together. I’ve never met a Jew who wasn’t excited to meet another Jew. It’s an incredible and enviable phenomenon. I wonder, could this bond have been created without the terrible suffering their ancestors endured?

I believe the strongest human bonds are the ones that come from joint suffering. Humans that have suffered together tend to connect in ways that others simply cannot. To feel terrible pain and know that you are not alone in feeling it is comforting and moving. I’ve always noticed that oppressed peoples tend to preserve their culture and relationships in ways others do not. Perhaps it is because they experienced terrible ordeals and not in spite of them. Negative events always have greater impacts than positive ones.


Today, we took a tour of the Jewish Ghetto. We were told about the forming of the Ghetto and the horrid conditions inside it. We were shown pictures of how it once looked. One picture in particular stuck with me. It was taken in the 16th century and was a picture of the same place I was staring at in that moment. But it looked completely different. It looked dirty and unsanitary. The walls were broken and crumbling –one particular wall to my right looked as if it had a bite taken out of it. There was cluttered hubris everywhere. It did not look livable. Having been told about the market that was once located in the Ghetto, I could almost smell the rotting fish in the street and hear the yellers of merchants. I could imagine the crowds of Jews walking in and out of their homes, up and down many flights of stairs since the only way they could expand their homes was up. Then, I tore my eyes away from the picture and turned to look at the Jewish woman who was giving us the tour. She was telling us these stories without asking us for pity or even understanding. She was telling us because she knew it. And thus, she seemed to become a part of the history. She became another piece in the puzzle of Judaism. I saw it in the way she spoke of the history and the religion, calling it “my” history and “my” religion. She prided herself on knowing about her past. It was as if she had been there to experience it herself. She owned it. You could see it in the way that she walked –the way that she seemed to know every corner and every brick of the Jewish Ghetto. It was in the look she got in her eyes when she spoke of Israel and the holy land. At the risk of sounding too judgmental, it was even in her physical appearance –her height, her clothing, her beautiful, messy, red hair, the curve of her nose, her accent, her teeth, and her mannerisms. To me, she was the most interesting part of that tour. Because in a way, she is the Jewish Ghetto.


Humans are so strange. The same two people who love each other one day can become mortal enemies the next. Not even family is sacred, as is evidenced in Roman history. How can an entire empire pride itself on having a creation myth that involves a man killing his brother because he is power-hungry and incapable of compromise? The story of Romulus and Remus should be something Romans are embarrassed about and not something that is proudly displayed all over the city. What about the colosseum? Just like Jews remember the holocaust when they remember Jewish history, so too Romans remember the colosseum when they think of Roman history –both are symbols of human suffering and pain. The colosseum is probably the most well-known and admired monument in all of Italy and yet it was an arena for killing –where slaves, men, women, cripples, and animals were forced to kill each other for the entertainment of others. It was disgusting, brutal, and shameful. Yet people love to hear about it. Books, songs, art, and movies have been made to recreate the horrid events that took place within its walls. The one movie the entire class enthusiastically agreed to watch was Gladiator. Few people were as enthusiastic for the movie about the Jewish holocaust. It appears humans love to watch movies about those that caused the suffering and not so much movies about those that did the suffering. Regardless, hundreds of movies have been made about both.

How do we justify this fascination with hatred, evil, and death? Are we intrigued simply by the idea of death or is the suffering that we admire? I’d like to believe humans are fascinated with suffering because it leads to an appreciation of life. One cannot experience true happiness without having experienced pain. In the case of the holocaust, I believe suffering has also lead to incredible friendships and bonds across the world. I believe that good can come from bad. However, it is often hard to separate the two… hard to separate true friends from false friends. My grandfather, while giving me advice for potentially the last time, told me that there is no such thing as a true friend. My grandfather is one of the happiest, nicest, most honest people I know. He is not a pessimist. If even he has lost his faith in the goodness of mankind…

What is a friendship? I have seen friends made and lost and made again. I do not know what friendship is. What is family? I have seen families torn apart. I see little reason for a man to love his lying, cheating, murdering brother above all else simply because they are connected by blood. There are no prerequisite for loving certain people. People should earn love –families and friends alike.

What is love?
I do not know. I only know that I see it all around me and that I believe it exists.

Ciao

Independent Research Project

Youth Culture: ages 16-26

Split into different topics
Giulia: Youth education
Tim: Sports/sports clubs
Nick: Affiliations/Opinions on politics, religion, etc
Teo: Social life/nightlife

How to move forward with my topic:
--be aware at all times of youth since they are everywhere
--talk to young Italian people
--talk to Fede and to Rae to get ideas for places to go to experience and observe Roman youth socializing
--look in magazines and weekly events to find places to go and meet youth
--find universities to look around in

Questions:
For our presentation, do we have the option of bringing in some Italian youth to talk to the class and tell us their opinions?

Writing Assignment #2

Talking to Strangers

Experience #1

I stood at the top of the “Wedding Cake,” one of the most beautiful buildings I've ever stepped foot on and watched one of the most beautiful sunsets I've ever seen. Both were majestic and awe-inspring. However, they were beautiful for very different reasons; the building because it was a depiction of the artistic talent, capablities, and power of man and the sunset (on the contrary) because of it's complete separation from man. Unlike man who harbors biases and prejudice, the sun has no such thoughts. It rises and sets the same everywhere --in Seattle, Rome, and in every country in between.


I wasn't the only one admiring this beautiful, impartial sun. There were a few scattered tourists and some Italians standing alongside me. I wondered what was going through their minds --whether either of them worried about the fickleness of man and the unfairness of life (too often caused by the unfairness of man). I knew this would be the time for me to find out. I decided then and there that I would ask somebody on that building how they felt about the immigration problems in the south. Sunsets have a tendency to be inspirational!

However, the move from planning to step out of your comfort zone to actually doing it is tends to be filled with unforeseen obstacles and doubts. Even standing close enough to people to hear what language they were speaking was nerve-wracking. My goal was to find someone who spoke a little French, English, or maybe even Italian. Fortunately, I can understand Italian pretty well when spoken slowly –but unfortunately, I still can’t really speak it myself. Luckily, I found a French-speaking couple and slowly moved toward them nonchalantly. I moseyed around next to them for a while… And by the time I got my nerve up to actually talk to them, they moved on.

This was discouraging. It also had the opposite effect of making me determined to approach someone else quickly. Now I was definitely ready to ask my question. I walked up next to another couple and tried to figure out what language they were speaking. It wasn’t one I recognized. However, as I started to walk away, I heard the woman speak to the man in perfect English and listened to him reply in broken English. This time, I decided to take the plunge without wasting any more time. I walked right up to them, told them I was a student from America studying immigration and I was curious if they were aware of the immigration problems happening in the south of Italy. There was the slightest pause before they answered but I swear I could feel my heart beating through my chest in that split second. My entire body was hyper aware and I was praying that they understood me and were willing to answer.

They had and they were. In fact, both had answers on the subject and spewed out information pretty quickly! The woman seemed happy to have someone to discuss her opinions with and was very heated on the subject. The man seemed more unsure. The woman was from England and did most of the talking. The man generally agreed with her –although he seemed less passionate on the topic. I never found out where he was from but the language they were speaking to each other seemed Slavic.

Here is a general summary of what they told me:

Illegal iImmigration is a huge problem. It is not only a problem in the south of Italy, but rather all over Europe. And it is ridiculous. These people are migrating mainly from North Africa and Eastern Europe (the Balkans) and are becoming more than just a nuisance. Instead of fixing problems in their own country and raising the standard of living there, they are coming to our countries to lower our standard of living. Of course this is going to lead to social unrest! And these riots are only the start of it. Eventually, all of Europe is going to become fed up. There should be stricter immigration laws and enforcement of those laws to prevent these sorts of problems.

When asked about the humanitarian aspect of it, she simply repeated that she thinks they should go back to their own countries and fix things up there instead.

The man, on the other hand, was calmer and more reserved. I got the impression that he was more sympathetic to the immigrants. I also think he may be an immigrant himself (though one that found much success wherever he emigrated to). I wish I could have talked to him more but he seemed embarassed to contradict the woman, and she was content to direct most of the conversation. Regardless, it was a fascinating experience.

Not only was it the whole experience an adrenaline rush, but it was also a very interesting conversation. I didn’t realize how passionate people were about this topic. They seemed much more informed than American citizens are about such things (even things happening in their own country). And I was surprised how willing they were to talk to me. It was a very fulfilling experience. It started out with my heart beating fast and my mind yelling at me to turn back and ended with success and relief. They talked to me! They were nice, friendly, and seemed to genuinely care that I understood what they had to say.


Experience #2 (not chronological)

On our walk to the Jewish Ghetto last week, we passed a huge demonstration on the street. Julie went to ask what was going on, but the man she asked spoke only Italian and French. I speak French. Well, by that I mean I've taken over four years of French in school so theoretically, I speak French. I mumbled out loud that I could talk to him but I didn't think anyone had heard me and wasn't all that excited about making it known. But someone did hear me. Derek pushed me forward and urged me to go help. I was to be a translator. I told the man I spoke French and he said he was willing to speak with me. Julie had me ask him what was going on, why the police was there, who was involved, and whether this had anything to do with the riots in the South.

His very rushed (and sometimes difficult to understand) responses were that this was a big demonstration by Romans, other Italians, and complete immigrants alike. They had been kicked out of their homes and fired from their jobs. They had nowhere else to go. He said there just wasn't any place for them. Furthermore, he said the police was there in case the group became violent, mirroring the riots of the south. He believes something needs to change to give these people a chance....to give them a better life....to at least give them the opportunity to make a better life for themselves. He also gave us a flyer that had further explanations.

FYI: words like "riot" are extremely difficult to translate into a language you have only learned in school and never truly practiced. However, I was extremely proud of my ability to communicate! Although I did not know how to say all the things Julie told me to say directly in French, I was able to explain what I meant and make him understand my questions relatively efficiently. It was one of the most exciting things that has ever happened to me. I've always wondered if I actually know enough French to communicate with somebody and this was a perfect test of my speaking ability. The situation was high-stress, loud, crowded, and I felt pressured to succeed. It was exhilarating. Even now, I still feel accomplished and more determind than ever to learn Italian.

My opinions:

I've been back to the place where the demonstration was being held multiple times. I hoped to see the French-speaking man again but I did not find him. However, everyone else was still there. It appears to be like he said it is --they have nowhere else to go. I never feel quite settled walking there. I don't know what to think. I don't feel that I know enough about immigration laws in Italy and the rest of Europe to have a valid opinion about them. I also don't know what popular opinion really is and whether that can even be changed by the laws. I feel helpless when I walk by there and see them. As I'm writing, I feel helpless. I believe the only way to get rid of this feeling is to become more informed, read the newspapers, and talk to people with different opinions. At the end of the day, that's all any of us can do.


Ciao for now

Adventures #3: Ostia!

Friday in Ostia: A Roman Port Town

The view from the balcony of an old Roman home

Public Bathrooms in the Baths of Ostia

It was incredible... I could actually imagine ancient Romans walking on these streets, cooking food in these kitchens, and bathing in the Ostia baths. I wish I could go back in time and see what their daily life was really like.

The sun came out! And with it, our happy moods :)

After we got back from Ostia, Tim, Giulia and I ran to up to the Wedding Cake to watch the sunset. It was beautiful.

Borders: Reading Response

"The relationship between nomads or 'gypsies' and the Italian citizenry is an extremely negative one...there are about 80,000 in the whole of Italy, some of Italian but most of Balkan origin. They live in appointed caravan sites on the edges of the cities, sometimes deprived even of running water and electricity, let alone the normal city services such as rubbish collection"
--Immigration and Social Identities

To be perfectly honest, I don't know how I feel about this quote. On one hand, I feel it can and should be compared to racism in the United States before Abraham Lincoln, something we are much more familiar with and that seems more real to us. And if it is a similar situation, it is a terrible thing that should be eradicated. On the other hand, I grew up in Romania where the exact same thing is happening, and am thus somehow numb to the concept. The few times I questioned the morality of it out loud, I was soothed with explanations that gypsies are happy where they are, proud of who they are, and undesiring of change. Furthermore, I was told that they are dirty, deceitful, and unfit to be treated as equals --and that although this does sound like a stereotype, most of them fit the stereotype. Unwilling to think about such sad things any longer, I accepted the justifications and went on with my life. Now, looking back on it, are either of those justifications possible or even realistic? Who would want to be forever treated as an outsider? Are humans born with a certain human nature that we cannot change and that we inherit from our parents? ...or is human nature developed in time and based on our surroundings as much as our genes?

While I was re-reading the quote above, a chilling feeling ran through my body and I started to feel slightly nauseous. Is it possible that I'm currently living in a place where the same mistakes that were made years ago before (and even after) the civil war are being made again? Am I standing by and doing nothing while people are suffering unjustly every single day? Am I perpetuating this unfair treatment by glaring at gypsy beggars on the street and refusing to speak to them? ...but then my body began to relax as I thought again that it must be a different situation or somebody would have done something by now. I can't be the first person to notice and to care, can I? My mind worked rapidly and continued to soothe my aforementioned worries with assurances that times have changed and that nothing that terrible could be happening in our world today...that there must be a reason behind it all and I just don't have enough information to know it yet. Isn't it funny how humans are able to console themselves through just about anything?

I still feel nauseous. The negative stereotype of gypsies and many immigrants is a self-fulfilling prophecy. How can they be clean if they are not given running water? How can they live without begging if they are not allowed jobs? How can they have self-respect if everybody around them treats them as less than human? How could I help? One thought that ran through my mind was to talk to one of them and find out how they really feel about what is going on and maybe get a better perspective on the subject. However, besides the obvious language barrier, there are numerous other problems with this idea --namely the fact that I would feel extremely uncomfortable doing it. Maybe I will do it purely for that reason: to step out of my comfort zone and at least learn something about myself, if not about them.

I feel better. In a few minutes, I will get dressed and leave for Italian class. In less than half an hour, I will have completely forgotten the horror and pity I felt at my realizations. However, I will try to revisit the thought every day for the rest of my time in Rome and create a clearer picture of what is actually going on.

Somewhat neutral for now,
Ciao

Borders Writing Assignment #1

North vs. South Italy: The Legend of the Sicilian Mafia

I had one of the most interesting conversations so far in Rome with a 21 year-old boy from Sicilia, named Vincete. He spoke fluent English, French, Italian, and Swedish, without ever having been to a French-speaking or English-speaking country. We sat with a group of friends in a café in the Campo de Fiori, drinking coffee and hot chocolate by candle light and talking about Italy and the rift between the North and the South. In almost flawless English and in quiet whispers, he told me the legend of the Sicilian Mafia, as was told to him by his grandfather.

In the 1600s and 1700s, the French invaded and wreaked havoc on a very catholic Sicilia. Legend has it that in order to prove French power and break the spirit of the Sicilians, one French commander raped a Sicilian girl in the middle of a street in broad daylight. French officers surrounded and protected him from angry Sicilian mobs. In the midst of all the noise and commotion, the voice of an elderly woman was heard crying out “Ma filla, Ma filla,” which means “My girl, my girl” in Italian. It is said that her cry led to the formation of the mafia, a group of Sicilian men that vowed to get revenge on the French and offer protection to all of Sicilia. Thus began their attempt to kill the French. In order to tell the French apart from Italians, they would hold up a certain nut, pronounced “chichiri” in Italian, and ask people what it was. Whoever could not pronounce the word, and the French could not pronounce chichiri, would be killed. According to Vincete, MAFIA stands for Morta A la Francesa Italia Aspeta, which means roughly “Italy Awaits the Death of France.”

The Sicilian mafia is only one of the many differences between North and South Italy. According to Vicente and to his Italian friends, those from North Italy look down upon those from the south and vice versa –even though they are part of the same country. South Italy is the antithesis of North Italy. It is a place that is much more traditional and less economically-developed than the north. It is more dangerous, poorer, and much less educated. There is a very thick border existing between North and South Italy. Reasons for the differences stem from the constant chaos and invasion of the South by surrounding powers –everybody wanted to control the south because of the central location of their trading port on the sea. Because of constant invasion, the south never developed the kind of social capital that was developed in the north. The north had many more times of peace in which they formed communities and sports clubs (soccer clubs), that fostered trust and reciprocity. When hard times came, the north was able to cling to this trust or at least to recreate it afterwards. The south didn’t have this luxury and is instead stuck in a downward spiral of crime, violence, and distrust. However, some cities in the South, like Sicily, are known for being extremely catholic cities.

So, how does one justify the conception and current existence of a very violent mafia in one of the most catholic cities in Italy? Vicente says that the existence of the mafia actually ensures there is little violence in the city. It is the fear of the mafia that forces people to behave. In addition, all citizens have to pay a sort of tax to the mafia in return for the promise of protection (and the guarantee that they won’t rob your store).

The existence of borders between Italians themselves imply that even stronger borders exist between Italians and outsiders, like me. The biggest border I feel in Rome is the almost impossibility of meeting Romans. Where are we supposed to meet them? Bars, nightclubs, and on the street are obviously not great places to make friends. Even if they were, I'm not sure I would be brave enough to try. It takes effort even asking a signora on the street directions back to Campo di Fiori or the nearest Alimentara. Instead of explaining that I really didn't want that big of a size at a cafe or pizza shop, I often accept what I am given because of my inabilty and discomfort with the language and culture. The worst part is the feeling of having been "ripped off." I haven't gone out to a meal yet that I feel has been a peaceful experience. I think I worry about money too much. Italians don't seem as concerned with it even though prices are higher and they likely have much less to spend. I don't understand how they do this...I'm not sure I ever will. As time progresses and I become more comfortable with the city, language, and prices, I hope some of these borders will fade away.

Other observations:

A few girls and I took a walk to St. Peters Basilica one night. It was magnificent. However, to the left of the church was this huge advertisement for cellular phones! It was blocking much of the architecture and even some of the statues. It definitely seemed out of place hanging down beside such an old, beautiful, sacred church. However, it made me realize that Rome is full of overlaps between the old and the new. Even seeing people walk around the ruins in Rome, eat and live in ancient buildings, and go about their daily lives amongst such beauty seems strange and out of place. Rome is definitely a city of contradictions.

Lastly, huge contradictions in Rome are the extremely high prices and the generally lower salaries. I realize this is the case in many places around the world but it never ceases to shock me. People seem to have less and spend more! And ever day, all day long from Friday to Sunday, the streets are filled with people talking, walking, or sitting at cafés watching the world go by around them. It is a very different, slower-paced lifestyle.

Until later,

Ciao!

Adventures #2

Nightime Sight-Seeing





St Peters Basilica is breathtaking. And it spawned one of the most interesting conversations I've ever had on catholicism and faith in general... Erika even convinced me to read A Mere Christianity.




The Pantheon inspired an entirely different emotion. At night, it looked ominous and eerie and there were homeless people sleeping in the shadows. I look forward to seeing it in the day.




Gelato! Definitely worthy of mention. It was amazing --just don't get the lemon flavor unless you want your entire mouth to pucker up !



Our Italian friends took us ice-skating between Castel Saint Angelo and the Tigris River. Minus the uncomfortable ice skates, it was very fun !


Daytime:

We saw a demonstration on the street near the Jewish Ghetto today. The man telling us about it only spoke French so I helped translate. I was surprised how well I understood him and was able to respond! Coming to Rome has revived my love of languages and my desire to learn as many as I can !

Ciao!

Adventures in Rome

Rome is beautiful. Unlike other renowned cites, Rome had not fallen short of my expectations. The language is as musical and alluring as I dreamed. The people are as friendly and outgoing as I hoped. the food is delicious, the wine is plenty, and the conversations are fascinating (even with those who barely speak English). So far, it has been one adventure after another.

The Hostel:

The hostel was crowded, but fun. The beds were alright and I met some interesting people from all around the world. We often gathered in the room late at night to talk about our flights, holiday, and daily experiences.

We discovered early on that we would not be able to afford to go out to eat every day. Baguettes, salumi, and cheese have become my staples.
Going Out:

We decided that we want to experience true Italian youth culture like the Romans do. So we set out as a group Testaccio, a horseshoe-shaped clubbing district in Rome. Observing and discussing the differences in Italian and American youth was very interesting, including differences in music, dance, conversation, and much more.



Staying In:

Our apartments in the Campo de Fiori are absolutely beautiful. They are spacious and clean and well furnished. And the view is stunning. It is definitely worth the climb up five flights of stairs to get to it. As a group, we decided to cook at least one big meal together once per week, This week, we had pasta and a special garlic chicken dish. Everyone contributed but the master chef was Conner. It was a Blast!!!


Until next time, Ciao!