Parola del Giorno #4 – ino
And now onto the fun suffixes that have proven to be crucial for the expansion of my Italian vocabulary:
Parola del Giorno #4: the little “-ino” or “-etto”
Think about the English use of “-y” or “-ie” to make something small, young or cute…as in “it was an itsy-bitsy-teenie-weenie yellow polka dot bikini.” But imagine a situation where you could add that “-y” suffix to any word and not sound like a mother blubbering over her child in that affectionate, yet somewhat gag-worthy, “wuvey-dovey” way.
Enter the Italian -ino or -etto. Two diminutive suffixes that serve as perfectly rational, grammatically correct ways to make an object smaller in size or age. And best of all, you don’t sound like a fool when you use them!
- My roommates pay much more for their rooms as I have the cameretta – the small room – in our apartment.
- Despite the fact that my mammina – little mamma – is 5’1″ on a good day, I am 5’9″ and tower over most Romans (the height comes from my father’s side).
- When going to my boyfriend’s house, I take the trenino – the little train – which is used by commuters to get from the city center to the surrounding suburbs. (and yes, it’s official. Despite my best efforts, I’ve fallen victim to the classic story of an Italian stealing my heart)
Parola del Giorno #3 – the un- “s”
I am definitely not a linguist, but I must admit that I have developed quite an enthusiasm for prefixes and suffixes. I never considered what an impact they could have on someone who’s learning a language. My Italian vocabulary is growing at a fairly steady rate these days, but with the simple addition of 4 new prefixes or suffixes it has quadrupled in size. I’ve struck language gold, and I thought I’d share the wealth:
Parola del Giorno #3: the un- “s”
The “s-” prefix is similar to the English “un-” or “dis-” in that it basically turns any word into its opposite.
- When gambling or playing sports, it is always better to be fortunato (lucky) than sfortunato (unlucky).
- Don’t forget to blocca (lock) the door on your way out. If you forget your 4-digit code, it’ll be impossible to sblocca (unlock) your iPhone.
- In the morning, si trucca (we put on makeup). At night, si strucca (we remove makeup).
And finally, a personal favorite: sgrassatore. The root “grasso” means fat, and the suffix “-ore” turns it into an action done by someone or something. Add that “s-” to the mix and you have something that un-greases. So when your attempt at Spaghetti alla Carbonara goes all wrong, you’ll need a sgrassatore (a degreaser) to help you clean the oil splatter off the counter.
In an effort to de-fragment my brain, I have started applying the “s” prefix to English words. As in “A.S. Roma has had a slucky season” or “My hands are full. Could you slock the door for me?”
Try it out at home, I promise it’ll make your conversation a little more sboring.
Parola del Giorno #2 – post-menapausa
Can you still call it a Parola del Giorno – word of the day – if you don’t post #2 until four months after #1 posted? I vote yes. Therefore, I bring you…
Parola del Giorno #2: post-menopausa
While the literal translation is obvious, I have been informed that the term “post-menopausal” has more comical alternate use. I discovered its meaning during a lesson with my 60+ year old, cigar-smoking, Orthopedic Surgeon, pre-intermediate student. Yesterday we were talking about the Spice Girls (don’t ask) and their various Spice names. He was not familiar with the word ‘ginger,’ so I had to explain that while it is actually a spice, Ginger Spice was so-named for the fact that she’s a redhead.
The doctor proceeded to tell me that redheads are called ‘post-menopausal’ in Italian. Random, I know. But bear with me.
Have you ever seen a redheaded Italian? Not likely. Along with freckles, fair skin, and the ability to talk without gesturing, the red hair gene was weeded out of the Italian gene pool long ago. It can only be accomplished by chemical means, which presents another problem for the Italian Ginger-Wannabe: any red dye would be masked by the typical dark brown-to-black Italian hair color tones. Therefore, the only ‘true’ redheads are the women who’ve allowed their hair to turn grey or white before attempting the red dye. Or in the words of the doctor, “The only Italian women with red hair are those who have gone through menopause.”
Post-Menopausa: Italian slang for ‘ginger’
Disclaimer: I did absolutely no research or fact-checking on this and I have no idea if this is a well-known or commonly-used term. It could just be the doctor’s quirky sense of humor. Regardless, it was too good not to share.
Mi dispiace – I’m sorry
Today is March 15th, the Ides of March, and it has been well over a month since my last post. The hiatus this time around is not due to writer’s block, it’s simply that there are not enough hours in the day. I’ve been dividing my time between teaching (score update…Miss Katie: 12, Italian 3rd Graders: 4), showing my sister around (yay for visitors!!!), keeping my New Year’s Resolution (read 1 book in English & 1 in Italian every month), and trying to speak more Italian than English every day.
However, the biggest culprit for my lack of updates is the fact that spring has sprung in Rome. Trees are blossoming, the snow has melted, the markets have strawberries on sale, roof-tanning has commenced, the flea market vendors have started selling pastel-colored clothing, and this Wanderer is twitterpated (editor’s note: if you don’t know what that means, it’s time to watch “Bambi” again). Long story short, I’ve been distracted.
However, I am still a list-maker; I have a mile-long list of topics I want to write about. They include:
- the origin of the words “cappuccino” and “graffiti”
- the Italian Grandmother
- a Carbonara recipe, courtesy of one of my students
- creative ways to make money in a down economy
- dreaming and sleep-talking in a foreign language
- the benefits of living with Art Historians
- la bella/brutta figura
- the derby
- Ostia Antica, Viterbo, Cesano, and Spoleto day trips
- International Women’s Day – Italian style
- Roman pollution control
- traffic violations & fines
- heating & gas bills
- ………….and the list grows every day
I’m not lacking in inspiration, I’m simply lacking in time. I live in one of the most spectacular cities in the world, rich with art, history, architecture, mythology…and it’s sunny and 72 degrees outside. Can you blame me for not writing? Anyway, I’ll try to be better about writing more frequently. But for now, take a look at one of the best-preserved bathrooms of ancient Rome (in Ostia Antica):
Roman Snow Photos!!
I just finished editing and uploading my favorite photos of last week’s Roman snowstorm. Check out my photo gallery: https://wanderingbychoice.com/photos/roman-snow/
Foto del Giorno #2 – Ancient Bricks
I’ve taken my fair share of history courses and at this point I’ve walked through the Roman Forum and Colosseum more times than I can count. Yet I find that as I wander throughout this city, I regularly learn something fascinating about the ways of the Ancient Empire:
While walking through one of the oldest churches in Rome, we stumbled upon a wall displaying some interesting bricks from the 2nd century A.D. My roommate (an expert on all things Rome) informed me that these bricks were “stamped” for taxation purposes and were placed every 10-15 bricks in a wall. The stamp would typically indicate the name of the Brick Maker, the brickyard where it was produced, and the name of the current Roman Consul. Since the Roman Consul changed every year, these stamps have given archaeologists the ability to precisely know the date a particular structure was erected. Brilliant.
La Befana
The 26th of December is often a bit of a let down in America, all this excitement and energy building up to Christmas and then in the blink of an eye it’s finished. Over the following week, lights and decorations are taken down, store displays are back to normal, and the Noble Fir is removed from the Endangered Species list.
Not in Italy, oh no. Christmas lights, markets, nativity scenes, and trees are left exactly as they were on December 25th. There really are 12 days of Christmas you see, and Italians remain in the Christmas spirit for all 12 days until January 6th, the Epiphany – the arrival of the Three Kings (of Orient are, bearing gifts, they’ve traversed afar) in Bethlehem.
And what Catholic holiday is complete without a middle-of-the-night-down-the-chimney visit from an imaginary figure?
Enter La Befana, an old woman with a crooked smile. For many Italian children, including my 24-year old Roman roommate, the excitement and anticipation of La Befana’s visit greatly exceeds that of Babo Natale – Santa Claus.
On the eve of the Epiphany, she arrives barefoot via broomstick and she enters every child’s house through the chimney, seeking the newborn Son of God. While Babo Natale places gifts under the tree, he leaves the task of stuffing the stockings to La Befana: a lump of coal for naughty children and candy for good children.
This morning, I woke up to find my very first stocking from La Befana, even she recognizes that I am becoming more a part of this culture every day.
And yes, I’ve been good this year.
Day Trip to Frascati
December 29th marked the 9-month anniversary of the day I left America in search of something new, something better, something a little more “me.” And 9 months later, I still have absolutely no idea what any of that actually means. But being my father’s daughter, I am a stubborn ass; I refuse to step foot back on American soil until I figure “it” out.
I’ve been in Rome now for over 4 months, and in those months I have accomplished quite a bit. I’ve mastered the public transportation system (metro, bus, tram and train), and I firmly stand behind my boss’s statement, “it’s impossible to get anywhere in less than 30 min, but you can pretty much go everywhere in an hour and a half.” I’ve scouted out the best pizza, gelato and aperitivo joints. I’ve learned the English language (and how to teach it). I’ve discovered that old Roman women have very strong opinions about wearing scarves and socks once the weather turns cold (more on this later). And most importantly, I’ve become a local – I am part of a community in this crazy city.
While I love the culture, cuisine, and chaos of urban life, after a while it sucks the energy out of me. I am the sort of person who can’t walk for too long on pavement before it wears me down; and apparently cobblestones are no exception. I have always been connected to nature; in order to recharge and maintain clarity, I need open space, fresh air, the smell of pine, and the sound of silence. During the past few months, I’ve been so preoccupied with getting myself set up that I forgot to seek out my retreat, and that lack of “me time” was really starting to weigh heavily.
So with that in mind, I decided to celebrate my 9-month anniversary with a day trip to one of the small towns outside of Rome. As I am officially in the business of not making plans, my approach to a “non-plan” for a day trip went something like this:
The Strategy:
- Look at a map.
- Find small towns around Rome, preferably on the regional train line.
- Pick one that looks familiar (or throw a dart, whichever is least likely to result in injury)
- Wake up earlier than 9am and go to the train station.
No plan, no research, no agenda. Wandering at its finest.
The Choice: Frascati.
Things I Knew about Frascati:
- Most vini della casa – house wines – in Roman restaurants are from this area
- There is apparently a local obsession with Porchetta, no idea why.
Wine and Pork? Okay, twist my arm.
A 30-minute train ride and 1.90 euro later, I found myself in a quiet town perched high in the hills southeast of Rome. Frascati is darling – local artisans sell their goods along the main street, alleyways wind into small piazzas, locals take an afternoon stroll at what seems to be a snail’s pace. And best of all, waiters & restaurant owners don’t hassle you claiming that theirs is the “best pasta/panino/pizza/gelato… in town.”
Life in Frascati appears to be a bit more mellow and peaceful, not unlike what I experienced in Lucca over the summer. It’s the way of life that we Americans always have in our mind when we think of Italy: la Dolce Vita e Dolce Far Niente – the sweet life and the sweetness of doing nothing. Frascati was precisely the breath of fresh mountain air that I’ve been craving; I can now say that I’ve found my retreat from Rome.
Nine months and still going strong: Onward!
Oh, the wine and porchetta were both phenomenal = Happy Katie.
Ciao 2011 – it’s been an adventure
It’s 5pm on New Year’s Eve, and I am relaxing, just trying to conserve energy in preparation for tonight’s antics: multi-course dinner at home with my moglie – wife – and her boyfriend (yes, you read that right), followed by drinks with friends and wandering to the ancient Imperial Forum for the Negramaro – italian rock band – concert and fireworks. I hope I survive, something tells me that Romans, alcohol, and fireworks don’t mix.
Anyway, I am laying in my roman bed, in my roman apartment, texting in Italian on my ghetto roman phone, and thinking about how much my world has changed. This time last year, my world was Portland – a gorgeous city with my incredible family and amazing friends. My world was NCAA and NFL football games, summer barbecues, road trips, workout buddies, and line dancing. It was a world of comfort, support, and unconditional love. It was a life that I adored.
Portland is amazing. But as one of my best friends said, “For you, Portland is a cage. And no matter how beautiful the cage, at some point every bird needs to fly.” This time last year, I found my wings. I flew from Portland to Istanbul to Olympos to London to Lucca to Dubrovnik to Mostar to Rome on a one way journey. I allowed myself to dream beyond the beauty of Portland, beyond the comfort of home. As a result, my world is larger than it has ever been.
It now consists of Islamic mosques and Renaissance cathedrals, of paragliding and cliff jumping, of Olympos and Butterfly Valley, of ethnic cleansing in the Balkans and riots in San Giovanni, of Lucchese dialect and Roman slang, of stargazing and kaifing. In my world, I am now a foreigner, a wanderer, a bartender, a nanny, and an English teacher. In my world, I drink Turkish tea in the afternoon and Grappa or Limoncello after dinner, I eat menemen and carbonara, I dream in two languages. In my world, I am an aunt or a sister in the Gelli and Pierallini families.
Without a doubt, my world has grown and will continue to grow at an exponential rate. It has truly been an extraordinary year and I’m excited to see what curveballs 2012 decides to throw.
Buon Anno – Happy New Year!
Buon Natale
Buon Natale from the heart of the Catholic Church (photo above: Jesus & his posse on the roof of St. Peter’s Basilica)
Natale on Via dei Condotti
Via dei Condotti is by far the most expensive street in Rome. It is where the Armani, Gucci, Fendi and Prada mannequins face off, looking as if they’ve just stepped off the runway (and yes, they are judging you for your knock-off jeans/purse/boots/whatever).
However, on the first Saturday of December, it welcomes visitors of all brands and sizes to participate in the festivities as it kicks off the holiday shopping season, complete with the Carabinieri (military police) marching band. The shops collectively choose a particular company as their “theme” for decorations; Mercedes-Benz has that honor this year.
Over 400 stores around the historic center have chosen to participate in “Roma in Luce” – Rome in Lights – and the city simply spectacular. With chestnuts roasting on every corner, Christmas trees in every piazza, and mulled wine offered at aperitivo, it’s hard not to be in the Christmas spirit.
Foto del Giorno #1
Wandering Photo of the Day: a commuter’s sunset
I suppose a work commute to the suburbs isn’t so bad when you have a beautiful sunset like this welcoming you on your way back home…
Monte Mario. A quartiere – neighborhood – in the northern part of Rome. Its train station is along the regional line connecting the Centro Storico – historic center – to the surrounding neighborhoods of Rome. It also serves to transport this Wanderer to the houses of her students.
Parola del Giorno #1 – Montone
Learning a language can be very dull and extremely tedious at times. Verb conjugations, vocab flashcards, ordinal numbers, tense agreement, intonation, pronunciation, definite and indefinite articles…I’m actually falling asleep right now as I type. But every once in a while you have an “ah ha” moment where you piece something together and it makes perfect sense. I adore the Italian language for this reason – my “ah ha” moments are regular. The grammar is more complicated than English, but it also makes more sense.
Today I learned something new and proceeded to have a “ha ha” moment instead of an “ah ha” moment. I would like to share the Italian word of the day (hopefully more to come):
Montone: ram, a male sheep
On the surface, a seemingly simple and uninteresting vocabulary word. But my 60+ year old student (a doctor) informed me of the origin of the word today and I just about lost it.
Montone comes from the verb “montare” which means “to mount.” So what is the word for a male sheep? A montone – one who mounts a lot of female sheep. Classic.
Autunno
Rome is intoxicating in any season, but it truly pulls out all the stops in autunno – autumn. Crisp mornings give way to gorgeous sunny afternoons. Sleek sandals are upgraded to sexy leather boots. Necks of women and men are decorated with scarves – Italians are convinced that a bare neck (or sock-less feet) in cold weather will cause illness. And let’s not forget the fruits of the harvest – wine, olive oil, and veggie galore – pumpkin ravioli, eggplant parmesan, spinach gnocchi, and carciofi alla romana (artichoke stuffed with mint, parsley, and garlic). It’s too easy for me to get carried away, but one stroll along the Tiber River and you’ll understand why autumn is my favorite season in Rome.
il Giorno di Ringraziamento – Thanksgiving
Gluttony and sloth are my preferred deadly sins, so it would make sense that Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. A four-day weekend and nothing to do except eat and watch football? Yes, please.
The problem: I’m in Italy, and no American holiday is more difficult to pull off than Thanksgiving. Think about it; have you ever seen an Italian eat turkey? Have you ever seen a Macellaio (butcher) with a whole turkey in the display case? Italy eats pig. Salami, prosciutto, pancetta, pork pork pork. And the occasional cow and fish. And my Roman roommate has just informed me that even horse meat is consumed more frequently than turkey. Yes, you heard that right. They eat horse here too. Italian poultry dishes are few and far between.
Problem #1 – If you are lucky enough to realize that you have to special order your tacchina femmina intera – whole female turkey – from a butcher several days (if not a week) in advance, you’re on your way to a great T-day. However, you must also realize that you have to specifically request the turkey to be “pulito” – clean. Otherwise you’ll have to gut the damn thing yourself – not something I ever plan on doing.
Problem #2 – Getting it home. Ordering the “clean” turkey from the butcher, and estimating the size you need (in kilos) is just the tip of the iceberg. You will then need to walk home with the beast (or take the bus) and haul it up to the 5th floor (no elevator). I should have started training for this months ago.
Problem #3 – il Forno – the oven. Have you ever seen the size of an Italian kitchen, and more specifically the size of an Italian oven? Getting the bird in the oven will be a feat accomplished only by a master of geometrical rearranging – luckily I’ve played my fair share of tetris, we just might make it work. However, we might need to sever some limbs. Hope you like white meat!
Problem #4 – all that planning and effort is just for the turkey. What about the pumpkin pies, mashed potatoes, the candied yams, the gravy, and veggies?!?! We have one oven (with one rack), and a teeny tiny toaster oven. It will be absolute chaos, and quite an adventure. Photos to come.
Happy Turkey Day everyone! And don’t forget to be thankful for your American kitchens and Foster Farms – you have no idea how much easier Thanksgiving is to pull off with both of them.
Know Thyself
I envy people who know exactly what they want in life. You know the type. They said at age 10, “I want to be a ________”, and 20 years later they’re doing just that. It may be a Grass is Greener syndrome, but I feel like life must be so much easier that way. At least one of the major questions in life is sorted out, reliable, consistent, stable.
Everything in my life is a question these days. Everything. And I have very few answers. It’s really irritating to be 28 years old and know so little about what you want. I set out on this journey 8 months ago to figure everything (anything) out. I’ve found that the longer I stay away from home, the less I know.
Where do you want to settle down? I don’t know.
Do you even want to settle down? I don’t know.
What do you want to do as a career? I don’t know.
Do you want a family? In theory, yes.
When do you want to start a family? I don’t know.
When will you go home? I don’t know. Not any time soon.
Do you miss home? Nope. Everyone I love has found a way to still be part of my life abroad.
How long will you stay in Rome? I don’t know.
Where will you go next? East. But I don’t know where.
Do you like teaching English? I don’t know (yet). It’s difficult to determine when it’s simply a means to an end right now.
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Despite the constant aggravation of not having any answers, there is at least one thing I know to be true: I am following my heart, pursuing my passions, and living my dream. It is what I am most proud of, and I’m frequently told that it’s more than most people have the courage to do. I wish that weren’t the case.
I stumbled across this poster and re-read it for the umpteenth time. Though today, it moved me more than it normally does. It’s a simple message: Do what makes you happy. Whatever that may be, wherever it may take you, regardless of how much “sense” it makes, do it. Life is too short and too precious to be spent following someone else’s dream. Live YOUR dream, share your passion, and love each other.
Miss Katie vs. Italian 3rd Graders – Rounds 2-3
After the chaos that ensued in Week 1, I was dreading Week 2 with my class of third graders. The optimist in me said, “Yes, week 1 was hell, but surely it can only get better from here.” The pessimist in me said, “You have got to be out of your freaking mind to step back in that classroom.” The realist in me said, “It doesn’t matter how the lesson goes, it’s 50 euro for an hour of your time. You have to do it.”
I am not a quitter; I’m too stubborn and too competitive to admit defeat. After an appropriate amount of sulking, whining, and procrastination (approx. 5.5 days), I dragged myself to my desk to start planning the lesson for Week 2: Animals.
While the memory of that first day is a bit of a blur, I did make two mental notes that would assist with planning future lessons. First is that the kids had a ridiculous amount of energy. Therefore any activity which involved getting them out of their seats was teacher suicide; they’d be too wound up to sit back down. The second is that they LOVED anything that had to do with markers.
So I made worksheets, lots and lots of worksheets. Crossword puzzles, word searches, matching games, coloring activities. Anything to distract them and keep them in their seats. Better yet, they could take these worksheets home to Pappa and Mamma to show them how much they “learned” in English.
Also important was the fact that I adjusted my expectations of myself. One hour once a week is not enough time to really teach much of anything. The kids study english with their normal Italian teacher, so my job is simply to work on their pronunciation and get them accustomed to the American accent. So as long as I hear a few English words spoken throughout the hour, it’s a job well done.
So despite every self-preservation instinct telling me not to go back to that school, I walked into that classroom for Round 2 of Miss Katie vs. Italian 3rd Graders…
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…
…
And I am proud to say I won. The kids were enthusiastic about learning new words, entertained by the silly animal flashcards, and excited to show their parents the drawings they made of their favorite animals. The hour flew by and I didn’t even need my Plan B!
As for Week 3, the topic was Halloween – which is known but not celebrated in Italy. But what 8-year old doesn’t like ghosts, witches, and vampires?!?! I had the kids draw their own Haunted Houses and write a few spooky sentences to go with it. Again, they were on task and well-behaved.
After 3 weeks it’s Miss Katie: 2, Italian 3rd Graders: 1. I am cautiously optimistic and hopeful my winning trend continues throughout the year.
Miss Katie vs. Italian 3rd Graders – Round 1
I have absolutely no background or experience as a teacher. What I do have is a TEFL Certificate (Teaching English as a Foreign Language) and a desperate need to earn some money before I can continue my wandering. So when I arrived in Rome in August, I was determined to learn how to play the role of English Teacher. I’ve devoted the majority of my days (and nights) to studying English Grammar and watching YouTube videos of ESL teachers around the world; I picked up tips and techniques for classes of all sizes and students of all ages. Being the obsessive organizer that I am, I created my own library of lesson plans, vocabulary flashcards and worksheets on my computer, sorted by level (beginner, intermediate, advanced, etc).
Work was not difficult to find; the demand for “Mother Tongue” English teachers is ridiculous. I started three weeks ago as an English tutor, working 1 on 1 with kids (ages 6-18). The downside is that I spend an incredible amount of time on the bus getting to/from the lessons; but the pay is good enough that with only 11 lessons each week, I earn enough to pay my bills and survive in Rome. Though it should be noted that “surviving” in Rome is hardly what I was hoping to accomplish; but hey, it’s a start.
Anyway, when my company told me about the opportunity to earn 50 euro teaching a class of 3rd graders once a week for an hour this year, I couldn’t say no.
My first lesson was last Friday, October 14th. I did not know how many students were in the class, nor did I know their English level. I was advised to assume that the kids knew nothing and simply start at square one. My first lesson plan was to go over basic introductions. By the end of the class, I wanted them to say “Hello, my name is ____,” “I am _____ years old,” and “Nice to meet you.” Pretty standard for ESL Day 1. I also wanted to assess their knowledge of the ABC’s and numbers; I had prepared a number of activities, games, and songs to keep them engaged. I was armed with a backup plan in case they were more advanced than I assumed.
I walked into that classroom with my head high, determined not to make the same mistakes other ESL teachers make and confident in my ability to manage the classroom.
That all lasted for about 10 minutes.
What happened over the next 50 minutes is a bit of a blur. I distinctly remember looking at the clock and thinking, “dear god, I have gone through everything and I still have 25 minutes left. What on earth am I going to do?!?!?” It was a nightmare. There were paper airplanes and aluminum balls flying across the room. The girls were fighting over markers and the boys were erasing what I had written on the chalkboard. I was outnumbered 17 to 1; by the time I got the attention of one half of the class, the other half was wreaking havoc.
I had lost complete control of the classroom and I had NO idea how to go about getting it back. At that point I abandoned any hope of teaching anything. My goal was simply to make sure nobody got hurt; I am happy to say I could at least accomplish that much.
When the bell rang, I walked the kids out to the playground to meet their parents. I left the school in a state of shock. I was just eaten alive by 17 third graders and I had no idea where I went wrong.
Think back to Elementary School and think about how you treated a substitute teacher. It’s a “Play Day,” right? Now imagine it is Friday afternoon and you are tired from a long week. Your teacher has gone home for the weekend. Half your class has also left; but your parents signed you up for a “supplemental” lesson in a foreign language and you’re stuck for an extra hour. Under these conditions, no child would have the least bit of interest in listening to some American girl teach them how to say “My name is _____.” I was basically set up for failure from the get go.
I went home, not sure how to even start planning for Week 2. I cooked myself a steak and drowned my sorrows in a bottle of Italian red. This is going to be a ridiculously long year.
Third Graders: 1 Miss Katie: 0
Writer’s Block
When a city defines itself as “eternal”…where does one begin?
I have been living in Rome for nearly two months, and I have fallen victim to what many call a writer’s block. I have had plenty of time to write, but when I actually sit down in front of my computer, my mind goes blank and nothing flows. Surely Rome is not lacking in inspiration. So what gives?
I initially thought my paralysis was due to the distraction of “setting up shop.” I arrived in mid-August and had countless items to attend to: networking, setting up my room, finding work, determining my “budget,” scouting out the best gelateria, etc. But true to Katie Wax form, I had all the aforementioned items completed by the first week of September.
So nearly a month has passed since I “settled” into Rome, and I still can’t write. At least this week I think I finally figured out why: I am simply too overwhelmed by the immensity of this city, I don’t know where to begin. Rome is unlike any other – layers upon layers of history, art, architecture, religion, and culture – it is baffling.
Ancient Rome alone covers nearly 1,000 years of history – this is the age of Caesar & the Senate, business in the Forum, and triumphal arches. This is the age of unfathomable perfection in architecture and the incredible power of aqueducts to alleviate the city’s thirsty people. This is the age of gladiators and the Colosseum. This is the age of temples to the Pagan gods and the persecution (and later acceptance) of Christianity.
Fast forward to Renaissance & Baroque Rome in the 15th-17thcenturies and you find an age where humans are beautiful, intelligent, sensual beings. This is the Rome of Michelangelo, Bernini, da Vinci, and Caravaggio. This is the Rome of curiosity, of dreams, of exploration and of the discovery of human potential. This is the Rome of the Trevi Fountain, St. Peter’s Dome, the Sistine Chapel and Villa Borghese. This is the Rome that inspired me to appreciate art and whose treasures continue to take my breath away.
And all that is just the city’s history. I haven’t even touched upon the smell of pizza in a wood-burning oven, the feeling of cobblestones under your feet, or the sound of Stadio Olimpico after A.S. Roma has scored a goal. I haven’t introduced the concept of “Monument Drinking,” a favorite past time which was created while studying here 5 years ago. I haven’t attempted to describe my own day-to-day experiences, like the old woman next door who scolds us regularly, or the incredible warmth of the man who works at the bar at the bottom of our building.
This is Rome – all these pieces existing simultaneously – I could write for years and not do this city justice. I simply have no idea where to begin.
Quinto Piano, 106 Scalini
The good news: I have a furnished room in an awesome apartment with dear friends in the oldest neighborhood in Rome. Better yet, I have found work to pay for it.
The bad news: it’s on the quinto piano (fifth floor), no elevator. Stair count: 106.
Goodbye love handles. Hello quadriceps, glutes and calves.
Sixty Six Hours in Croatia & Bosnia
For many reasons, and I won’t bore you with the details, my original plan to have a 14-day Croatian adventure turned into only three days. I was in Dubrovnik five years ago, so my original thought was to spend my time sunbathing, reading, swimming and cliff diving. Good, old fashioned, rest and relaxation. But anyone who knows me well knows that I am incapable of relaxing. Katie Farrar put it best: “the only time you actually relax is when you sleep,” an observation made after living with me for a full year in San Francisco.
True to form, instead of working on my tan, I filled my days with two day trips: one to the gorgeous Mljet Island National Park and the other to the war-torn city of Mostar in Bosnia. My evenings were spent wandering around Dubrovnik, which turned out to be the perfect time since the cruise ships take thousands of tourists back to sea around 5pm. At the end of each day, I found myself mentally, physically and emotionally exhausted.
- Downtown Dubrovnik
Dubrovnik and Mostar were both devastated in the early 90’s by the war following a declaration of independence from Yugoslavia. The stark contrast between these two cities post-war is mind-boggling and I have spent two weeks trying to make sense of it.
Considered to be the “Pearl of the Adriatic,” Dubrovnik rises proudly from the sparkling sea. It is the largest city on the Dalmatian Coast and boasts a spectacular late-medieval wall which you can walk in its entirety. The old town is anything but old; it’s like the entire city was cleaned with a pressure washer. It is pristine, shiny and new with its white marble streets and gray stone buildings. There are souvenir shops on every corner, and street performers who dazzle you with their tricks, in exchange for a few Kuna coins of course. Small alleyways lined with cute hanging lanterns and signs advertising today’s lunch specials, it feels like Disneyland, the Happiest Place on Earth. It is only after a conversation with any of Dubrovnik’s residents, that you realize this is a superficial band-aid covering a gaping wound. At first glance, it is hard to believe that this city was torn apart by war.
- Downtown Mostar
On the opposite end of this spectrum is Mostar in which very little has been repaired, rebuilt, or covered up. I would argue that Mostar rivals Dubrovnik in natural beauty with gorgeous mountains serving as a backdrop. The shockingly cold, emerald-green Neretva River cuts through the town, providing a geographic and symbolic divide between East and West. But the city itself still screams the echoes of the war, as if it were just yesterday; shrapnel and bullet holes scar the walls, over half the buildings on the main street are still bombed out. A downtown park was converted into a cemetery during the war because it was only here, under the protective shade of the trees, that people were able to bury their loved ones without being shot by a sniper. I have never seen war that up-close and personal, and it utterly silenced me.
Since my return, I have tried again and again to sit down and put words to the roller coaster of emotions I felt during those sixty six hours. I failed. I simply cannot do it justice. What I will say is that I was ashamed at my ignorance. To be so blatantly unaware of such terrible ethnic genocide that occurred less than 20 years ago, to have no knowledge that this war was fought not between armies, but between neighbors in the same community and of the same ancestry…it made me sick.
I will not attempt to write about the reasons for the war, nor will I choose a side. The history of the clashing cultures and religions is too complex to summarize, but I will continue to study this period in hopes of making some sense of it, if there is any to be made. I encourage you to do the same.
A Brief Hiatus
Be back soon, with stories from my Roman wanderings…
…Currently working on a resume, cover letter, preparation for interviews, and compiling demo English lessons so I don’t end up like this guy in Piazza Navona:
On The Road Again…
After a surprise send-off party, a boat trip to the island of Elba, and one final aperitivo in Lucca, it is time to hit the road. Time to say goodbye to Castelvecchio di Compito and to a beautiful family and life in Tuscany. But this is not goodbye, it is “ciao for now,” for I am not going far.
Vorrei un biglietto per Roma per favore. Solo andata. – I would like a ticket to Rome please. One Way.
Next up is Roma: La Citta Eterna – the Eternal City. Hoping to find work teaching English and continue my Italian love affair…stay tuned.
Mi Mancava Qualcosa
I traveled through Italy in 1996 with my family and saw Cinque Terre before it was a “must see.” I experienced the energy in Siena just days before the Palio. I marveled at the massive interior of St. Peter’s Basilica. I lounged lake-side in Como and Bracciano. It wasn’t enough.
In the fall of 2003 I spent 90 days backpacking through Europe. It was the typical shoestring adventure, staying in hostels and eating salami & cheese sandwiches. Of my 16-week tour, 5 weeks were in Italy. I hiked from town-to-town in Tuscany. I watched a volcano erupt at night in Stromboli, off the coast of Sicily. I read “The Agony and the Ecstasy,” a fictional biography of Michelangelo’s life, after being awestruck by the Sistine Chapel. It wasn’t enough.
In the fall of 2006 I went to Rome armed with knowledge of Italian and determined to have a richer, deeper experience. I lived and studied in Rome for a semester. I walked to and from school nearly every day, passing St. Peter’s, the Pantheon, Castel Sant’Angelo and Piazza Navona. I had lectures in the Roman Forum and debated Science vs. Religion in a course taught by a Catholic Priest. I was a member of a local Jazz Club and a regular at a bar in the historic center. I attended A.S. Roma matches at Stadio Olympico and cheered with the Tifosi in Curva Sud. It wasn’t enough.
Regardless of whether or not I throw a coin into the Trevi Fountain to ensure my return, I always seem to find my way back to Italy. I have always had a notion of what I wanted to get out of my time here, and it was never quite right.
Mi mancava qualcosa – I was missing something – but I didn’t know what. I doubt that my thirst for Italy will ever be quenched, and I will likely continue to find my way back here. However, I can now say with 100% certainty that I finally found what it was I was looking for: my Italian family.
What makes this culture so rich is the undying devotion to your loved ones. Relationships with family and friends are absolutely sacred in this culture, nothing else takes priority…ever. It is in the name of these relationships that Italians enjoy long meals, create piazzas, and have siestas. Knowing this, I was desperate to integrate into this part of the culture, to feel this unconditional and unwavering love, to become part of an Italian family.
Last night was my final night with the Gelli family and little did I know that there would be a festa in my honor. Tonja invited her brothers and sisters, and their kids over for a “send off.” They wrote “La Canzone di Katie Wax” and sang it to me while one of the cousins played the guitar. Each of the girls wrote me a card with a picture and said “ti voglio bene” – I love you. Simone hand-crafted a bracelet for me out of bronze in his workshop, a gift so I can take the love of this family with me as I travel. Tonja and her sister Federica cried as I stumbled through a “Discorso” in Italian, thanking everyone for such an incredible experience. I finally felt it last night…this Italian love. It is rich, pure, and one of the most beautiful gifts I have ever received.
Thank you to the Gelli Family, the Pierallini Family, and all the other friends & families who welcomed me into their homes and hearts this summer. This experience was more than I could have ever imagined, and I lack the words to express my gratitude. My home, wherever or whatever it may be, will always be open to you.
Grazie alla famiglia Gelli, ed alla Famiglia Pierallini, e tutti gli altri amici e famiglie che mi hanno invitato nelle loro case e nel loro cuore quest’estate. Questa esperienza è stata più di quanto potevo immaginare, e mi mancano le parole per esprimere la mia gratitudine. La mia casa sarà sempre aperta per voi.
WanderingByChoice 
