The blog that isn't actually: take two!

More of me rambling! Still no time for reasonable typing. And I'm lazy. So, check me out on youtube!

LINK: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lD8tlBa5-z4&feature=player_embedded

Look! It's me!

So...I'm lazy. And busy. And obviously really bad at this whole thing. SO! Here is me, live and speaking, attempting to make up for some of it! I've uploaded a video to youtube, no tags so just people I know should be able to get to it. Sorry it's rambly, I wish I was better about doing the writing thing...I am just trying this out to see how it goes.

Contents: Thanksgiving! I actually have more thoughts, but this is the basic action and plots. Other thoughts include that it's the only truly American holiday...weird. And really, whoever you are with on Thanksgiving becomes your family. It has that much power. Something I never imagined could be true.
Also: Turkey is not easy to find in France. We didn't make it on the Sunday dinner, but I still ended up utterly stuffed on potatoes, pasta, beans, rice, salad, and other sundry goodness. Not counting desert and a really sweet white wine.

Feel free to comment here, on the movie on youtube, or not at all.

LINK (cut and paste me to see video!): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LqxVXngunHg&feature=player_embedded#

Four Weekends of Adventure and Travel!

So...Poitiers, yeah. Life is good and busy busy busy.

The last month straight I've been traveling on the weekends. One weekend I went to the Dordogne in the countryside with my host family. That was a blast and really awkward all in one. A massive dinner party for something like 80 people as it was the 18th birthday of some relation of my host dads'...

Then the next weekend I booked it up to Paris to meet Alicia for the weekend. Which was GREAT. The TGV got me up there in 2 hours, through a metro system, getting a bit lost, and finally a shrieky giggly reunion in the courtyard of the Centre Pompidou...yes we did make a bit of a spectacle of ourselves. But so it goes. We had a hotel waaaay out in a suburb to the SW of Paris, sort of a long way on the metro. However, it was quite a nice hotel, and we totally had two bakeries on the street within a block of each other. Which we sampled and reviewed.
Also on the agenda and list of fun: The Eiffel Tower (which was freaking enormous, caused us to crane our necks backwards, use some adjectives that might not be appropriate for polite society, and was very definitly climbed all the way to the top. Kissing couples were actively ignored.) Versailles (pretty and fun, and we did a bit of a waltz in one of the rooms.), the Grand Trianon at Versailles (which was a very happy accident and got Alicia her first fix of fall in three years), and the Louvre! (which was much more fun with two. We wandered around looking at nifty artifacts and pottery and lovely good things.)
We also got laughed at like crazy by some little boys on the metro. We can't figure out why they were...but it was quite a good time.

The NEXT weekend we went to the Loire Valley as a group from the Centre Oregon. A weekend out with a passel of Americans. Oh good times. The only downer was that it was really flippin' cold all weekend. Other than that we had a blast. We all met up, piled in two mini-vans and rolled out of Poitiers by a little after 9 in the morning. By 10am we had pulled into Tours the first city on our stop. And what was the purpose of this stop you may ask? Well, a wine cellar, of course! Drinking before 10 on a Saturday. Oh yes. We had a lovely tour, then played some games that were supposed to help us start to understand the fine craft of wine making. We also sampled about five different wines in this process. So by the end of the game Lucy was nice and tipsy for the first time. Did the wine stop? Nonononono...silly non-French people. Of course it didn't. Then they brought out the good stuff. Champagne, really old well aged white wines, and something called Nectar (and you now understand the phrase "nectar of the gods"). So...yes. A great number were quite quite drunk, including Sylvie (our program leader). I managed to remain within land of tipsy...but that was good wine.
We next rolled on to Amboise and lunch. Lunch first, to sober us all up. Then the tour of Amboise, great Chateau, Gothic and Rennaissance, DaVinci is entoumbed there, and most importantly a really attractive tour guide. I mean...whooa. And then, end tour, and he comes and gets in our mini-van with us. Confusion? Yes. We were apparently giving him, and his bike (oh yes...definilty fits his image) a ride somewhere. Well, turns out he lives or is associated with the rennovated Chateau thing that we are spending the night in. Fun times.
The next day we all get up, bundle up, pile in the vans and go to Chenanceau (not correct spelling there, but I'm too lazy to search for the correct one at the moment), lovely chateau. We then went to a donjon (not to be confused with dungeon... it means Keep). Ancient and gorgeous and soooo cooooool. It was a fortified castle, and then after the 14oos it was a prison. They kept a bisop in a cage there! O.o

The NEXT weekend is the first weekend of a week off. I had a 5 day trip planned with Alex and Aleisha, two girls from the Oregon program. We booked in Saturday morning for Bordeaux, spent two nights there, a day trip to St. Emilion (which was wonderful and I did some wrapping up of an adventure from the first time I was there in high school), booked it down to Bayonne (said: Bai-yun), stayed in Bearriez, and day tripped to St. Jean de Luz (where we beach bummed in the highly unseasonal sunshine!). It was a fantastic trip! I also stole plastic cup from a bar...yes I am now a klepto. Did some dancing in the cobbled streets of St. Emilion with Alex. She and I are both dancing fiends, and they were piping music all over the city. They put on some sort of latin thing, and we both just went for it. I can totally lead made up dance steps! Whee! Bought the french version of "Where's Waldo" called "Où est Charlie" here, and searched while drinking Bordeaux wine. Alex and Aleisha were perfect traveling buddies, and I couldn't have asked for a better vacation. Spending four hours on an evening train to Toulouse, in a compartment like something out of Harry Potter or Agatha Christie, we talked, chatted, laughed, and surfed the corners of the tracks. It was bliss. Thank you ladies!

So yeah, those are the adventures of the last few weekends. Other than that it's been classes, and stress, and life in general. French is fun, and highly challenging. Midterms next week...eeeeps!

whoops.

whoops. I fail. At...updating? At all. Even a bit.

France is keeping me hopping. Still alive, behind on emails, blogs, photos, and homework.

I hope the state of "alive" sticks around. "Sanity" state has departed. Wheeee!

Things I Learned Today:

I learned:

> It is in fact possible to make it to campus, back home, change and sort of eat, and make it back to campus in under one and a half hours.

>I am, in fact, very out of shape.

>I am all in favor of learning jazz if it means I get to dance.

>My dance teacher does not believe in easing us back in after the summer hiatus.

>The people in charge of the history discussion section registration are very nice and helpful, even if they are telling me that I can't register for what/when I want.

>The guys in the history department here seem to be much more attractive than all the ones back home. (No offense intended...just most of us history majors tend to be fairly thrown together and harried looking)

>Getting a package from home (even if it was expected and full of necessary things like rain coats, sweaters, and warm socks) is awesome!

>If I borrow a pair of dance pants mine will show up the second I return from class. In the expected box.

>I love having a library card.

>The French really like comic books. (Bandes Dessines or BDs)

> I am really sadly out of shape.

Biking on an island! (and a bit of a history lesson in nerding)

So, I should probably just stop apologizing for the utter lack of updates...but most of you know me...and will realize that this sporadic-ness will probably be the mainstay. I'm trying to be good...but it doesn't always work. Sorry.
ANYWAY.

We last left our "heroine" in Poitiers! (Or perhaps..."wanderer," or "bemused person of small stature," or "Lucy-beast," whichever you prefer. It all boils down to me.) Well, I'm still there. I survived the week intensive, and then had a week off...and some of my classes started today. Yes, I said some. Things do not work the same here...all of the different departments start at different times...and as such put out their timetables at different times. I start one batch of classes today, but won't actually know my final schedule for another...week...at minimum. I kid you not. History classes start next week, and they are still working on their time tables. One of my friends, the lovely Caroline, wants to take Philosophy classes, which also still have no times, but they may have actually started today. Confused? Frustrated? No. Just leave it all at the door. Because even if you are, they don't care.

So, something cheerful? Maybe?
Yesterday! (Sunday) I went to an island called l'Isle de Ré, it's about an hour drive from Poitiers, and oh my goodness cute as can be. My host dad (Patrick) and mom (Sabine) took me. We arrived, drove to one of the little towns on this small island and wandered around for a bit. It was really nice. The big thing to do is to rent bikes. So we did. I biked 20 plus kilometers. Yes, be impressed. It was a gorgeous day, sunny and slightly breezy especially when biking along the water. The island is famous for a special kind of salt that it makes, and we biked along past several of the salt fields (picture a rice paddy, slightly smaller, dingier water, sort of reddish plants sporadically along some of it...and piles of raked salt on the other). They also use the salt to make caramels. Which we had some of. -insert blissful smile here-

We biked to the beach and ate lunch on the sand, then to a famous church on the island. It is a fairly standard church aside from a notably two-toned spire...black and white. It was used as a sort of lighthouse for ships trying to find the little island.

Then we biked back to town...13 kilometers on an already very sore rear-end...bit rough. But on arrive back in St. Martine we had local made ice cream. More flavors than you can shake a stick at, and it is damn good ice cream! Even by west coast I-was-brought-up-on-Tillamook-and-Umpqua standards. I had Caramel (specialty! Think of the salt!), Chantilly violette (cream and violets: yummy!), and, as they were out of melon, a mix of guava, grapefruit*, and ylangylang. Was it really awesome? YES.

But, just to prove how nerdy I am, the second best thing about the day (aside from the wind!) was...*drum roll*...A TINTIN STORE. I nearly died.

Tintin, for the tragic and poorly brought up few who don't know, is a comic book character. The author was Belgian, Hergé, but his adventures originated in a French newspaper in the end of the 1920s. 60 years and 24 full adventures later, Tintin had become very much a part of the French literary and cultural world. I've been a fan since accidentally discovering his books in 4th grade. His adventures are still read by children everywhere...and he's big enough to have stores dedicated to him! I didn't buy the sweatshirt...though I was really really really tempted. But, in flipping through a rack of postcards (book covers and particularly hilarious panels) I had a moment of utter joy! They had a card of the cover of "Tintin au Pays des Soviets"!

History of Tintin lesson part two: There are something like 24 full Tintin adventures. I have not read 2 of them...but one doesn't count. There are 3 that are impossible to find in English. Tintin in the Congo (problems with majorly racist themes, nowadays it's hard to find even in French), Tintin in the Land of the Patriots (which shouldn't really count. Hergé was in the planning process of this one when he died. There isn't even a full plot, just some sketches and maybe the first page or two), and Tintin in the Land of the Soviets. NOBODY can find this one. It was Tintins very first adventure, published in the newspaper, I don't even know if he was officially called Tintin at this time...it was later slightly re-worked by Hergé and published in a limited book form...after Tintin had established himself, but before big fame. It is nearly impossible to find unless you are a collector and willing to shell out big bucks. (Did I know all this years ago? Yes. Was it because I read a book on the history of Tintin? Yes. I never pretended I wasn't the biggest nerd of the century. If you are surprised at this...silly you.)

So! I see the postcard with the cover on it. Don't even think twice, but go in and buy it promptly. Sadly I didn't get to explore much inside the shop and Patrick and Sabine were waiting and wanting to move on (sadness! But I will find another one! Or go back...), but! BUT! After paying for my postcard, I turn to leave...and there is a real, live, actually, honest to goodness, copy of the book! It was safely in a display case next to the register. I don't even think it was for sale, there was just a name of someone or some business under it...so maybe I could have bought it, but they weren't sayin' for how much!... but it was there! I've seen one! They exist! It definitly looked collectible, slightly frayed bindings, the works! I was so thrilled!

Will I read this book before I die? Yes. Yes, I will.

Sorry about the nerdy segue. I didn't mean to be rambly or to lecture you on details of which you do not care...but...it's my adventure! I promise there are other wonderful things: I saw a movie, "Le Temps Qu'il Reste" in theatres here (in arabic I think, with French subtitles. Whoo. We all pooled information at the end to make sure we had got the plot right), ate some awesome crêpes, remain awed by the variety of amazing cheeses, am seriously contemplating cutting all my hair off again, still get fizzy feelings of joy when I successfully navigate a conversation in French, went to a jazz club (which was AMAZING), listened to jazz music sung in English by the most adorable French woman ever known to man (short, pudgy, impish smile, big orange flower over one ear, and a green fan that she waved about in an adorable manner), and ate some local specialties that included coagulated blood sausage, something that was described as "pig", some other thing that was green and of an odd consistency, and the French version of Cheesecake, which is not like ours at all...it's fluffy!

Oh yes. I hope this is somewhat interesting? Post with comments will make me more able to go the right direction. Or just comments...(not begging shamelessly at all)

Hugs to you all!



*The word in French is pomplemousse and I really had to work just now to translate it back into English...

Paris and flirting

Disclaimer:

This was written my third day in Paris. I came in from a long day out doing site seeing, having just eaten dinner, and ready to crash. The guy behind the hotel counter and I got chatting...then sort of flirting. I came back up to my room and wrote this. I am not very coherent when both tired and surprised. But thought I'd share.

The French, I think, flirt more as a way to make conversation, or tease you...but it still put me all a flutter.

End disclaimer begin the blurb.

Officially REALLY distracted…

Damn. French men. They can flirt! And if I notice it…it’s flirting. What starts out as a normal conversation with the guy behind the desk of my hotel…turns into “you are too young, and too cute” and I “make his heart flutter when I look at him sideways”. I mean. And…yeah. He puts his hand on the counter and gives mine a squeeze, and I just take my hand back, because I still think he’s just teasing, but he leaves his hand out there…thankfully the other guy comes in and I can ask for my key and fleeeeeeeee.

I don’t deal well with being flirted with. Obviously.

But man, they know how to make you feel pretty. Whoa.

And now I’m all flustered. How do you go to sleeeeeep after that? I can’t even go down and get a water, I’d have to go through the lobby. Yipes. I do not deal well with this. Okay. Bed.

Paris to Poitiers

Wow…so I’m behind again.

The rest of my time in Paris was lots of fun, but rather tiring. Being a tourist is HARD. Oy. But I did some fun things. I didn’t make it to the Monet Museum, I went Monday thinking, and believing I had checked properly, that it was closed TUESDAYS. No. Lies. Closed Mondays. So in a fit of pique I took the metro back to the center of town and wandered around looking at shops and things.
I ended up near the Hotel de Ville and the Centre Pompidou. There was a great little band playing under some stairs at the Centre…it was drizzling at that point, so everyone was all crowded around underneath listening to the French hippie music. It was great! Fun and energetic, the boys were all sort of scraggly looking and very entertaining. There was a clarinet, an accordion, a banjo, and base cello. Epic.
Being at the Hotel de Ville was amazing. I didn’t go in, the line for the exhibit was way too long, but they were prepping for a big veterans ceremony out front. Life in Paris is very interestingly centered around the Hotel, it is were the revolutionary governments would protest, meet, and the people would rally. Really neat to be there.
Then…it started to thunderstorm and bucket down rain. Lightning, thunder, the whole works. I nipped into a bookstore called Mona Lisait (Mona reads) and looked at odd postcards and French Sandman until it let up enough to run to the metro.

The next day I took a train out to Versailles. Versailles was the only place I went that I couldn’t talk my way into the student rate. Sigh. But it was beautiful and sunny. I finally go to see the hall of mirrors, NOT under reconstruction…and man. Louis XIV definitely had some stuff worked out. That hall is amazing. Absolutely incredible…light and gold everywhere you look. Awesome.
I also took the chance to see La Petite Trianon, the little farmhouse and farm that Marie Antoinette had built for her entertainment and relaxation. It must have been nice to be queen of France. It was almost sickeningly beautiful. But when you are queen and you say you want Perfectly Pastorally Picturesque…you get it. Right down to the mill pond with fish, ducks, swans, and even a heron. Oh yes. I took a break and sat down on a little stone bridge crossing a stream with a little waterfall just behind. I sat there and pretended it was all made for me. Very peaceful.
The gardens of Versailles are massive. They just go on and on and getting lost is pretty much easy as pie. I was a little grumpy and a little tired by the end, so I didn’t see as much as I might’ve wanted to. But still, awesome.

The last day: LOUVRE DAY! And time fore me to some exploring too. I got up early and went to a bakery on the same street as my hotel: 2 pain au chocolate for breakfast. Bliss. Then I took the metro to a little children’s library: I had seen a poster for a CLAMP exhibit there (if you don’t know what CLAMP is, it’s a group of 4 Japanese women who create manga series. I adore their work, some series more than others, but they are funny or moving stories and have awesome artwork. Yes, I am a nerd.). And I wanted to see. While I was there they told me at a bigger exhibit of CLAMP’s work not far away. So I hoofed it over there only to find that it didn’t open till 2. So, off to the Louvre I went.
I talked my way into the free student pass to enter the museum and spent 5 hours wandering around. I walked into the statues first, and then into Mesopotamian artifacts next door…which were huge and epic and awesome. I also stumbled, utterly by accident on Hammurabi’s Code. I nearly cried! Because…yeah…Hammurabi, codified laws, center of town, big deal. It’s not as tall as I imagined, but no less intense to be so close to something so old and amazing.
Did La Joconde (Mona Lisa), which remains haunting. I don’t really have anything to say about it that hasn’t been said before, but I’m going to say some stuff anyway. So ha! I think what draws us is her mystery. Her ambiguity…she projects the idea on us that “I am such a small painting, so very quiet and unobtrusive, but look my way, be interested in my, and I will distain to provide you answers.” She sees you, watches you, but tells you nothing.
I passed on to see my favorite painting: Liberté Guidant les Peuples, and happily stumbled on a portrait of Napoleon crossing the Alps.
I did hella Egypt, obviously. Embarrassed myself by asking a guard where the Rosetta Stone was…it’s in London. Since early 1900s. Duh. But he did compliment my French…actually he thought I was Irish, because my accent was too good to be American. (Something similar happened with one of the guys behind the counter at my hotel. He went out of his way to ask me where I was from, because he didn’t believe it when my hotel registry said USA. I guess the Irish have good accents. Bit of a boost to my ego though!)
Yeah…didn’t see it all, but did see a lot. Didn’t read lots of signs. I decided early on to avoid signs unless truly truly interested. I didn’t do an audio guide either. Just let myself be swept up and carried away by the ancient and the beautiful.
I was out of there early enough to go and see the CLAMP exhibit (which was gorgeous) and then back to the hotel. Where I went and shamelessly used the MacDonald’s wifi to Skype Alicia. Oh yes, looking like an idiot gesturing at a computer screen in public. Good times.

The next day I took a taxi and the TGV (really fast train) down to Poitiers where I moved in with my host family. They are super nice. Sabine and Patrick are the mom and dad, both are divorced and remarried, all the kids coming from first marriages. Éle is the daughter, 15, and then there are two boys. One is 18, just starting University, he is currently around but leaves in a week or so. The other lives with his father and I only just met him today. He is 19 and also at the University of Poitiers…I think. He is really tall…and quite cute. Hee.
But I have a really nice room, solid internet, and a bus stop into town or to the university only 15 minutes walk away. It’s awesome and the family is very friendly!

Tomorrow I start the week of hell intensive grammar and culture orientation that all the study abroad kids do. And then my classes start the week after I think. All the different departments of a University here are much more segregated than in the states. They all start, and end, at different times. Weird. So if I take classes in the history department, they will start on a different day from those in the literature department, all of which start on a different day than the CFLE classes (classes taught just for study abroad kids, there are different levels of CFLE depending on your level of French). It’s a bit intimidating to try and think about…but I’m sure I can make it work.

And there are salsa classes offered! I just have to figure out how to sign up for them…as it’s different from all the others. Most classes are not registred for online, I think only the PE/dance classes are online. New systems make my head spin.

Anyway! Things progress, I remain stubbornly positive, and I make sure to try cheese anytime it is offered!

Paris: day ONE

Two updates in two days…who is amazed? I am! So remember to read and comment, because I like knowing I’m doing this for a purpose!

Day one in Paris. Lork it took me forever to get motivated and out the door today. But I did, with two maps of Paris in tow. I had a goal, make it to the particular train station I needed, to buy the ticket that I will use on the TGV (lit. translation: Really Fast Train) to get down to Poitiers. This station, or “gare” in French, was pretty much on the other side of the city. And Paris has something like 14 metro lines. But I worked it out! And I got the ticket!

And then I went to L’Hôtel National des Invalides, aka the tomb of Napoleon! Yeah! So, for those of you who don’t know, I’m a big fan of Napoleon, I find him a fascinating historical character who did some very interesting and innovating things. And man did he make an impression on France. They followed him, they loved him, and they still do. His memory lives on. You walk in, and it’s no standard tomb, its in the huge domed cathedral, you walk in and can stand above and look down onto his coffin thing…which is massive! Then you pass behind this huge golden altar, and walk down the set of stairs…the doorway into the circle around the tomb…eagles. On the floor, and eagle rampant, a crown on its head. Napoleon was the eagle, it was his symbol, and it is everywhere. Also, the return to “civility” is shown by his representations as a Roman emperor. His tomb has an inlaid marble olive wreath all the way around it. It’s incredible.

Also, this museum has a huge collection of medieval weapons and armor. Yeah, I spent an hour oogling swords, crossbows, and full plate armor. And really vicious looking spear weapons…yup. It was great. And you will have to go see it yourselves, because I forgot my camera. Which was actually very liberating.

Yeah, not much to say really. The Paris metro is much less intimidating than I remember from four years ago, but it helps knowing how metros work and how to read the map…hmmm. Things progress decently well. I know that no matter what I get to be on a train to Poitiers soon! Where I have set myself up for a very intimidating time… actually being in France has definitely made me see the gaps in my knowledge. Sigh.

Though I am good enough to talk my way into l’Invalides without having to pay or my ticket…! It was supposed to have a discount for students, and free if you were a student under 25. Well, I am both, but I don’t have my French student i.d. card yet…and the deal is only for EU student. Of course.

So I go up to the desk, hoping I can talk my way into the discount…on the “but I am a STUDENT” argument, waving my UO i.d. card…which worked at the Vatican. So I get up there, smile at the guy behind the desk and ask for a student ticket. He asks for identification. Frick…there goes my chance. So, in minor desperation, I just start talking; “I am a student, but I’m here from the US and my University hasn’t started yet, so I don’t have id…” and I pass the ball to him. He looks pensive, I smile and make the “baih…” French noise/motion that means, something like “that’s all I’ve got.” He still looks pensive, but smiles a bit and asks for my passport. I pull it out, and he looks at my visa…my STUDENT visa…and lets me in for free! Damn. I was amazed I pulled this off. A nice smile and better French than I knew I could pull out of nowhere saved me 7 euros!

A brief shout-out here to advice from the best sibling a girl could want! You give me courage to wander around with a map in my hand! Thank you kiddo, I love you muchly.

Still on the list: Louvre, Versailles, and the Monet museum if I can figure out how to get to it. Or if I get sick of museums (very possible in this city) I will do Notre Dame and a day in café instead.

Arrival in Poitiers: 4 days!

Longest Post...covers 3 weeks or so...

Yep, I’m bad at this….

So my last entry was done online, and this is being written offline…so I honestly have not the foggiest idea where I left you all. I think I had just discovered that the Naples Archaeology Museum was closed on Tuesdays…unless I did that bit already…? Hm. Oh well, small recap, hopefully we keep the redundancy to a minimum.

Naples. Went to Pompeii and loved it. Tried to go to the archaeology museum the next day…which involved a train and the very confusing underground. Then its bloody flippin’ closed! I was about falling to bits, and the very nice man in the booth (who had told me that the museum was closed) I think could tell I was falling to bits. I think it became very obvious when I tried to ask him directions to a place that wasn’t even IN Naples. So. He goes: try the Campigdolio museum, very beautiful, run catch that bus there! So I did. Stupid really. I got on a realized I hadn’t a clue where I was going or where the bus was taking me.

A friendly pair of elderly people got me through it; an older woman who mind-waved me instructions to stay with an elderly gentleman…who walked me off the bus, through a creepy residential area, and to this lovely park with a museum in it. Lovely. Then I went to Herculaneum, a mini-Pompeii basically, but closer to the source of the eruption. Where I stood in line behind some very angry French people, and was quiet and timid. As a result one of the guards gave me a little personal guided tour, and he knew hella stuff about it, amazing details and little facts. So cool.

He also kinda gave me the creeps…didn’t know if I’d roped myself into a tour or something. But no, it was very nice and quite low-key. And man that place was gorgeous…the baths were great. There were separate ones for men and women…and did I totally i.d. all the rooms correctly? Yes, yes I did!

So. Problem: the next day I’m supposed to get on a train and leave to head to Rome, then up further north to Assisi. Um, my train is at 10, and the museum doesn’t open until 9. Meaning I couldn’t make it. So not okay with me. So, I get up suuuuper early the next day, check out of my hostel, haul all my bags (duffel and small shoulder bag) to the train station, stand in a longish line, and learn how to change my ticket. Pull it off so that I get a few more hours in Naples and can still catch a train to Assisi that night. Whoo!

So, new tickets in hand I book it back down to the confusing metro, into the museum, and stuff my bags in the cloakroom lockers and spend a very happy hour and a half in the museum. Which was awesome. By the way. HUGE colossuses, colossi, plural thingy? And then there were the most amazing mosaics from Pompeii and Herculaneum…pieces so fine they looked painted. It was incredible. And there was the “room of secrets,” things pulled from Pompeii and Herculaneum ages ago, but weren’t publicly displayed until sometime in the 1900s, because they were a bit…well, quite extremely…scandalous! The Romans were quite…open about sex. So it’s basically a sex room. Good times. The only bummer of the afternoon was that the Gladiator exhibit was closed.

Also…once again proving the world is a very small place, I met the same Brit couple that I had met on my way to Herculaneum the day before. They had also tried to go to the museum on a Tuesday and had been thwarted. We met on the metro, chatted on the platform, and once again…ran into them at the museum the next day. Wowza.

So, anyway, loved the museum and booked it back to the train station.

Easy train ride to Rome. Sat in Termini (the main Rome station) for two hours waiting for my train to Assisi. Got on the train. I had an interesting ride up, I sat in the first class, it had been only about an extra euro…so I thought “what the hell”…and you met some interesting people. The first class wasn’t actually a separate car, but a blocked off portion of a second-class car, meaning that people kept popping in and out. There was a girl that got on with a gaggle of young boys hassling her…in the obnoxious pre-teen way…and fled again. A man and woman got on and I had quite the interesting conversation in a mix of English, Italian, and Spanish with them. The woman was very friendly, and kept telling me to BE CAREFUL on my own. This actually made me more nervous, but I thanked her. Then they got off.

I had to switch trains partway through, and the car I got on also had the girl who had briefly been in my car. We chatted; she was going to Assisi as well. She had something to do with the Franciscan chapter I think. We parted at the Assisi station.

I went to my hotel, perfectly located directly across from the train station. With one full day in Assisi, I relaxed. Chilled in a public park and read, then went to a medieval castle, which was bliss. Windy, cool, and really neat with narrow windy staircases, guard towers, and a tunnel through a wall. Just my height! Yay for generations of short people.

Then back to Rome for two more nights. I had to pick up my luggage from Lynda the wonderful (seriously, fabulous woman) who had taken care of my huuuge blue suitcase, my steel-toed boots, and the laptop. So, get to Rome (which was HOT), take the metro to her apartment, haul everything down stairs, and back onto the metro to the station I had just come from. Walk six blocks, get very slightly lost, and find the hostel. Which…I had booked for the wrong days, thus had missed when I had reserved a room for. Good times. Oh yes. Luckily they still had plenty of space. So I booked into a 6-person dorm, with air-conditioning, got in a tinsy elevator, and entered my room.

Quite nice, lots of open space. It was just me and one other guy in the room at the moment. We got chatting, he was Irish and quite nice. We ended up walking around together a bit, I did some basic tour guiding…yeah, I’ve been here. A lot. A second guy came in, turned out he had been on an archaeology dig as well. We compared chops. He had found jewelry at his site…but oh I topped him. (Still can’t talk about it…sorry)

Actually for the two nights I was there…I was the only girl in a room of six. It was a bit odd…and amazingly enough I never had to put the toilet seat down.

Quirky event of the century: I’m standing at the desk of the hostel waiting for a password for the wifi, and some guy walks in for some reason or other. I ignore him, all I want is to check my email, I notice him looking at me and then he goes… “Were you in my Samurai and Film class?”
What. The. Hell. He’s from Eugene, he was in my massive 200-person Film class, occasionally went to dancing on Fridays, and remembered me. Sorry Jeremy…I didn’t remember you at all…but if I ever make it back to Eugene, I will.
So we are being all amazed about this, and the Brit girl working behind the desk asks where we are from…Eugene, Oregon…she won’t have heard of it (nobody knows where Oregon is here), and she goes “OH, I had two kids from Eugene sleeping on my floor last week. Weird kids.” Yeah…creepy small world.

Saturday night, my last night in Italy, I met up with Julia. And it was fantastic. We went to goodbye gelato, sat outside Largo Argentina talking, and went to Scholars for a bit. Relaxing, girl chatter; it was the perfect way to leave Rome.

Then, Sunday, I got up early and headed for Termini again, with all my crap in tow. The Irish kid, who’s name I can’t for the life of me remember, helped me get all my huge amounts of stuff to the station. At Termini I had to get on a train for the airport…it was very very full…and I have a tough time managing everything myself…luckily there are some very nice people in this world who helped me get everything on and stuffed in the isle (the walkway…the train was very full), and off we went.

I arrived WAY early for my train…so early I didn’t even know which terminal to go into and they hadn’t posted my flight on the massive number of monitors. So, I parked in front of these monitors. It was me and another kid just sort of chilling in the middle of this intersection of terminals and mini-train station. We got chatting in the hour I sat there…he had been there longer than I had, and was waiting for his flight back to Argentina. He was still waiting for his flight number to come up when mine came up.

So, I go into the right terminal, and find the Lufthansa check in. (Lufthansa makes the world go round. Remember this) I was so early the woman at the desk said I couldn’t check my luggage yet. I had to wait. So I waited. Nervously…my luggage was crazy overweight. But they didn’t charge me! Yay Lufthansa ladies!

So I get to my gate… nearly two hours early…and sit. Get on plane. Fly to Munich, almost-but-not-quite sprint through the airport to my next flight. I show up just in time to board my next flight. To Stockholm. In Sweden. Oh yeah!

I was in Sweden for two weeks. Two weeks of bliss. It was beautiful, and wonderful, and I was happy there. I stayed with a family there, just outside the town called Uppsala. The father was an old friend of my moms; his wife and his two sons and he were all incredibly welcoming. And it was fantastic.

Some major events: I went to an amusement park in Stockholm with the boys, their mom, and their 5 cousins…all Swedes. Blonde, blue eyes, really tall. It was quite fun until it started to POUR. Downpour. Open skies. It was cold, wet, and sopping. Good times. I’d already been soaked once while out walking the neighbors’ dog. And believe it or not, I loved it! Weather…oh I had missed it! Rome was just hot…having weather was GREAT! I also went on a boat trip to some islands on the edge of Finland. It was beautiful on the sea, grey and blue, and stormy and sunny, layers of weather just next to each other. It was incredible to see. I also went into Stockholm with Anna, a girl from the dig who happens to live in Uppsala- yes small world, to see a dance show in a park. The dance show turned out to be an opening act for a film for international film month…not quite what expected…6 minutes of dancing…so we went and walked around Stockholm for a while. I know so little about Swedish history…and now I want to know more! Also, it was a great city! In one city block I kid you not, there were THREE concerts. One techno on a smallish stage, on small out-door bar party playing YMCA, and one HUGE concert outside the opera house with full lights and smoke and screamy noise music. Yup. Go Stockholm.
My third run into Stockholm was to take a barre class with the Royal Swedish Ballet Company as part of a public promotion for their opening season. Yup. If you can’t picture how thrilled I was…you are a very very silly person. That was with Anna again. Then we booked it back to Uppsala (by the train, runs regularly between the two as a commuter route, clean, fast and easy!) onto a bus out to Old Uppsala, where I saw Viking Burial Mounds! My Scandinavian roots were moved. It was awesome.
Other events, a massive family dinner of Swedes, some fantastic walks, the boys attempting to teach me soccer, my ability to put them in their place with my body waves, realizing I’m in Sweden because everything is too tall for me, massive ice cream cones, secondhand sweaters, gardening, toads, and a cheesecake.

I honestly liked Sweden the best of anywhere I’ve been this summer. I was so honestly happy there, I could see myself living there. I am also really really not a city person. I don’t do well in cities, I need green and quiet and peace. I can’t do cities. I didn’t want to leave. And now I’ve left.

Today (22nd August)…I had to get up early and leave paradise.

I am currently in Paris and I’ll be here for 5 nights until I get on the train for my year in Poitiers. I know…it’s Paris. I should be thrilled. I should be out and about and excited. I’m not. I’m going to do things and be entertained and whatnot…Louvre, Versailles (if I can work out how to get there), Monet museum, and I have to work out how to get to the train station I need to get down to Poitiers. I’m a bit terrified actually. Really…

Coming into Paris on the bus today…everything seemed almost surreal. I don’t know if I can make it a year. I’m going to do my damndest. I’ve been here all summer, speaking English (though I did learn a bit of Swedish), and now all of a sudden it’s all French. I don’t have the confidence for this, nor the vocabulary. Sigh. Naw, I’ll be fine, I just need food and whatnot.

Sorry about the massive failure of updatings. I will try to be better. Things should be better once I’m settled in Poitiers…I need a host family still, but once I’m settled internet should be stable and life ought to settle down into some routine…like, school.

And oh my god I’m thrilled to start dancing again!

Eternity has passed...

hiya...

so...I'm a bit behind now. Like, by quite a lot. The Rome program has finished, and I have much to say, be excited about, review, grump...etc. But no the energy at the moment. Suffice it to say that we went out with QUITE the bang, and as soon as I am allowed to go into details...I will! It's really really cool.

But that ended Friday. Sunday was our last day in our appartment. I woke up super early to help two of my roommates take their suitcases down our four flights of stairs, up a cobblestoned street, and down two more flights of stairs to the metro. I am really good at getting suitcases down stairs now. Oh yeah.
Then I showered, finished cleaning the appartment, foisted some of our leftover stuff, food, clothes, books, on Julia the intern. And booked it out by 11 to catch a train down to Napoli. Or Naples in American. I had a hostel down there for 3 nights, to see Pompei, Herulaneum, and the archaeological meuseum.

Found the hostel...only got a bit lost, and an elderly Italian couple were kind enough to shout down from the second story of their home to me, and pointed me in the right direction. I stayed at the Fabric Hostel. Nice, clean, 9-person dorm room. Actually it was really nice. Decent breakfasts, cheap dinners, nice beds. One of my lockers was broken, but I don't currently have much stuff (left lots of it with Lynda the amazing...another story there), so it all fit in the one that worked.

I rocked the public transport in Naples. Whoa yeah. And kudos to Amanda for the tip about the Art Card. Worked like a dream, definitly saved me money, even with my little...fiasco...that was tuesday.

Anyway. Sunday was a bust for tourism. I was tired and just wanted to chill. But Monday morning saw me and Ivar, a Norwegian kid I met at my hostel...picture: tall, blond, blue-eyed, realllly skinny scandinavian, heading for Pompei.

Pompei...I could rave and rave and rave about it. I was there for basically 7 hours and loved every second. I did regularly have the urge to drop to my knees to brush dust of stuff, and went into RAPTURE over the tile floors...you have NO idea. Gorgeous. The archaeology history bug has bitten me bad. And the level of preservation...oh. wow. So cool. Just walking around the streets, with the narrow roads, ruts of carts still there, tall sidewalks. And being able to just wander into random peoples houses, look in their rooms. AND I got to go into one of the recently rennovated bath complexes. Which was wild. Seeing some of what we've been finding and looking for in my site was quite cool.

End Monday.

Enter Tuesday...a bit of a fiasco, but quite the adventure...

enter also hunger. It is now Wednesday evening for me. I am in Assisi, another adventure getting here, and quite quite hungry. So a brief break while I eat. to be continued. This is mostly to let people know I am alive, and do intend to update you all when I can.

Cheers.

This n' that

So...long weekend. The dig gave us the day off, and no ranting until the end of the program. Yes, bureaucracy rules, even over the pond. I don't want to get anybody in trouble, so suffice to say we hit some red tape. A week's worth of it. Yeah. A week. But they caved and gave us Friday off.

I went to the Vatican. It can be summed up as: Epic.

Then we stopped for lunch at a little pizzeria. I ordered a desert whose only title/description was "torta delle nonna" or "the cake of your grandmother." I didn't have a clue what it was, but ordered it anyway. And it was amazing.

Saturday I went to Assisi, hometown of St. Francis. I loved it there. Expect a long, rambling, overly thoughtful, and pointlessly insightful post sometime soon. But I loved it. Including the uphill 4 KM hike I chose to do. Because it ended in a monastery and a beautiful forest. Fantastic.

Also: trains. The only way to travel. Very civilized.

Weekend of the Empty and Ancient and the Full and Bustling

July 12th 2009 (Sunday)

Much to say…it has been a busy busy weekend.

Yesterday we took an “optional fieldtrip” out to the Villa dei Quintili and the Appian Road towards the edge of Rome. I think about half the people from our program ended up going, and I have to admit I was a bit apprehensive that we would be repeating one of the hellishly fast and hot tours of the first week. I was pleased to find I was wrong!

The trip was headed up by the trench leaders Chris and Jeff, and one of the interns Matt (who had dug on a site off the Appian road so knew the area pretty well). They gave us interesting bits of information and plenty of time and space to wander around the Villa.

Little history here: the Quintili brothers were very wealthy, popular, and favored under Marcus Aurelius. They built this HUUUUGE villa on the Appian Way, a major road leading to Rome on which many grand villas were located. They had a massive bath complex as well as an extensive residential area. The villa has been an amazing thing for archaeologists, parts are breathtakingly well preserved, there has been some serious restoration done on other parts, and most of it has yet to be uncovered. Amazing. The main heated pool of the baths is almost fully intact, the arched windows go up well over two stories, and while the arched ceiling is gone, you can see it must have been immense.

We exited out the modern back of the complex, but it was probably the front in ancient times. We had to pass through the Nymphaeum (spelling is probably wrong, sorry), which was an open feature that most grand villas had. All it was was to display waterfalls, massive cascades of water, splashing fountains, spouts and streams, all open to display for anyone passing or entering the villa. It was a way to display culture, art, and keep an area cool.

Side note: the Quintili brothers were known for hosting some badass parties. Enter through a waterfall courtyard, up a long series of rooms and banquet chambers, one dining hall for winter, one for summer, and into the baths. The last pool, described above, was basically like the biggest hot-tub ever. Picture a tubbing part with enough room for nearly 100 tipsy people. “Wine, women, and ancient drugs” kind of party, as described by Matt.

We exited on to the Roman Road, Via Appia. We walked down in for about 45 minutes, following it towards Rome, and a little Café where Matt knew the owners. On the way you pass all sorts of tombs to important ancient Romans, walk on some of the original stones of the road that have grooves from carts and chariots still embedded in them, and some of the fanciest villas anywhere in the world. Only the VERY rich live along here, but walking past the perfectly manicured entryways, lined in flowers or statues, peeking through the majorly intense security gates…hardcore. With my first billion I’ll buy a house there.

We also passed an adorable group of small children selling fresh vegetables outside a field. They were none of them above about eight years old, had adorable British accents, and were running our equivalent of a lemonade stand. So. Friggin. Cute. They patiently explained that two of them lived there, and the rest were there “on holiday,” that they had been selling for two days and would be back tomorrow, that they had to go home Tuesday, and that carrots were three cents each. Then they allowed us to take pictures. I bought some carrots that still had dirt on them, was assured they were picked yesterday, and, may I say, were very good carrots.

Wandering down the road continues. We stopped for lunch at Matt’s café, which was quite good, and the owner was very friendly.

Then! I got to go to my catacombs! The Catacombs of San Sebastian were maybe another 10 minute walk, so most of us figured “why not?” We got to go in, but you have to go with a guide, who leads you through the lighted pathways under the ground. We went only a bit over 12 meters under, the lowest was 24 meters down. We didn’t see any remains and very few funerary remnants, but some sarcophagi were still down there, and just walking through the small tunnels was intense. Probably another post in and of itself…the rooms are tiny, the burial shelves smaller, everything is damp and dripping. But the maze that it is didn’t quite scare me…maybe because I knew there was light and a guide…but there was an ambiance. Not quite sad, not haunted, just that there was much life in here, so much emotion, all packed into these small halls and low doorways.

Another walk and a crowded bus ride and we were back at our apartment. Some confusion and continuing social dramas later, we didn’t go out as had been a possible plan. But the day was long, relaxing, and lots and lots of fun!

Today (Sunday, the day after the above) my roommate Cindy and I had decided to use as a shopping day. Sundays there is a huge flea market that I had instructions how to find, and there is a massive sale on in all of Rome this weekend that I wanted to take advantage of. I have done no shopping…and thought maybe I could do some indulging…

Well…after waiting for other roommates, finally getting out the door, finding our tram, realizing that the other two roommates that had come along had thought we were doing something totally else, finding the tents as the tram drove past them (something we later found, we shouldn’t have worried about), getting off the tram, and walking back to the tents, I was entering “grumpy Lucy land”. But the flea market totally turned me around.

Picture tents and booths as far as you can see, people loudly busking their wares and the deal of the moment, people haggling, digging through mounds of clothes piled on fold-out tables, booths of jewelry, used clothes, outlet clothes, socks, hats, bags, tee-shirts, CD-s, DVDs, converters, computer drives, kitchen wares (from butcher knives, to pans, aprons, towels, whisks, cutting boards, whatever), food, shoes, kids clothes, a pet shop, bras and underwear, toys, antiques, postcards, paintings, and people, people, people, and you might start to get the picture. It was crowded, bustling, and fantastic!

I didn’t feel like a tourist, just like a girl shopping for deals. Haggling is permitted, nobody cares if you paw through a pile of clothes for 30 minutes, there is nothing like a place to try on clothes, so you either pull it on over what you are wearing or take pot-luck. The people in charge of the booths still mostly had a smattering of English, but didn’t feel that anyone was trying to give me “tourist prices.” If a booth proprietor didn’t speak English, everyone was so cheerful and friendly and willing to make it work that it didn’t matter at all. I had SUCH a good time. I love second hand shopping, and my mom would have been proud at my digging through tables like a pro. She taught me well. (Added bonus of some clothes, light shirts to combat the heat! Yay. Plus two that will be interesting, a striped one with no back, and an orange one that doesn’t fit right, but I may be able to alter so that it does.)

By the time Cindy and I found our way out again…we just kept walking trying to find the end….honestly it just kept going…we decided just to walk for home and skip the normal shopping. My internal bargain hunter is conflicted: Rapture over getting a deal of 3 shirts for 10 euro, and tragedy over missing the sales in the stores I oogle on the way to the grocery store every day. But tired feet won out.

We walked home along the Tiber, crossed a busy street in search of a landmark, found a miniature park between two branches of a major road, came across a Hindi wedding in a church, had to detour around the square with the Trevi fountain (it was cordoned off…apparently some guy had been climbing on it with what may or may not have been blood all over his chest. The brit we got the scoop from seemed skeptical), got cheap pizza from the kebab shop on our street (where we were briefly annoyed by a tourist lady who was pursuing the stereotype of “I didn’t get what I ordered (even though I ordered wrong) but it can be fixed by simple saying the same words over and over in a louder voice”), and came home.

Marvelous!

For those who care: the dig this week was full of dirt, rocks, and some minor scholastic disappointment. I did get to work finds, cleaning and measuring marble with our finds expert Sara (pronounce Sal-ah, very soft letters) who is FREAKING ADORABLE and taught me oodles about marble and the things we find on site. I also used my knowledge of the periodic table of elements to help her translate a word from Italian to English, points to someone who gets the word. More on all that as the week goes on I’m sure.

Expect also a rant on air-conditioning + evil apartment managers, dig organization, and why people can’t all get along.
Oh! And: Guess who might be going to Sweden!?!?

The Arrival (Rome)

You ask and I deliver!

Arriving in Rome. I flew out of PDX, via Lufhansa to Frankfurt. A long flight, on which I sat, watched Bolt and Transporter 3, failed to sleep, and ate airplane food. I sat next to an elderly Indian man who seemed nice, but not chatty. The view was quite incredible. Flying over the glaciers everthing was so blue, that the few clouds that I could see looked like perfect cotton balls that someone had simple dropped from above.

I arrived in Frankfurt…managed to find the right terminal for my flight to Rome. Yay go me. They did take the waterbottle I had bought in PDX…no water containers over 3oz, never mind if you got them in a bloody airport, AFTER the security check. But other than that it was easy.

The flight to Rome was short, and uneventful. I didn’t have anyone in the seat next to me so I actually dozed a bit. But arriving in Rome…whoa…

I didn’t actually have to go through customs or anything…which was odd. I did wait for literally 45 minutes to get my luggage. I was definitely freaked, thinking it was lost, I was at the wrong terminal, AND that I was going to miss the taxi that had been arranged to meet me and the 4 other people in my program that were arriving at similar times.

Well my things finally came through. My huge suitcase was one of the last things to come out. So that was a relief. Then it got worse.

I walked out of the baggage claim area, through the customs area and into chaos. I was told that there would be someone holding a sign with my program name on it, and that would be my taxi that would take me to my apartment. Well. There were MASSES of people with signs, more masses of people milling about, and the most incredible din. There was no space anywhere, I had two checked bags and two carry-ons. Nervs went through the roof.

I wandered around, made about 8 circuts of the entry area looking for the man with the AIRC sign. Didn’t find him. So I hauled out my Italian cell phone (orderd in advance as per the suggestion of my program), figured out how to turn it on and unlock it, and called our “emergency number.” The guy who answered offered the singularly unhelpful suggestion of “keep looking” and “try by the information booth” (which I was standing about 10 feet from). He said he’d call back in ten minutes to see if I found it.

Curbing utter panic and dispair I did another circuit. To my shock, relief, and utter amazement there it was! It was a short man in a striped shirt, chatting aimiably to another man in a suit with a sign for a hotel shuttle. He was very helpfully holding the AIRC sign in the “highly visible” area that was his navel. If I hadn’t been at the right angle, or standing straight in front of him I never would have found it.

I go rushing up in relief, point to my name on his list and am told to stand and wait…by the information booth…ha. Apparently I was first to arrive. But shortly after I was joined by a girl from New York, two guys from Ohio, and a boy from London. The brit had had just as much trouble as I had, and been told the same thing by the man at the other end of the emergency number (who I later worked out might have been our program directior Dar…). He had gone to a different information booth.

So. We all pick all our stuff back up, and tote it off to the taxi. It was about a half-hour, forty minute drive into the city. We dropped all the boys off first, then us two girls got dropped on our street. She lives in an apartment building right next to mine. We were met there by our program coordinator Lynda. She let us in, gave us keys, maps, and was generally amazing. The other apartment, the other girls were all in, so we left my taxi-friend with her new roommates.

I was the last to arrive for my apartment, so I go the last bed. A double yes, but it’s a fold out couch…in the dining/living room. Sigh. All of my roomies were out and about, so Lynda took me to a bank-o-mat (atm), showed me how to get to the institute where we were all meeting for dinner in a few hours, and headed off. I went and bought a sandwich, tried not to fall asleep, and started to unpack.

The roomies came back, we all got acquainted (there are four of ‘em, two from Oregon…quite shocking actually…one from Maryland, and one from Milan), and headed off to the welcome dinner. Which was nice, but went on too long for a poor jet-lagged Lucy. Thus endeth the arrival.

I don’t know how my other arrival will go. The study abroad in France one, we are supposed to be met at the station by a program leader, who will take us to wherever we will be staying for the week of orientation. It will be a train station rather than an international airport, it will be a smaller city, and I will speak some of the language, so I’m hoping for slightly less trauma. But…we shall see.

…is this what you were looking for? Or shall I have another go?



OH: and if you want to read about the dig, another new post is just below. Two in one day. Will wonders never cease?

Reflections on "the dig: week one"

July 5th 2009

Tomorrow begins week two of digging. My week last week was full of moving rocks and dirt. Lots of rock and dirt. We have to clean everything out of our trench before the actual excavation can be. Unlike traditional digs my trench was first cleaned out, down to the floor level, using a backhoe. They did this, rather than the usual careful removing of each stratigraphic layer of dirt, because the area was greatly compromised as it was used as a dump heap in the 1960s. Also there are massive collapses from the baths themselves making things difficult. Thus we actually have quite a lot that you can see…but that also means lots of things like rooms that are still FILLED with debris. The backhoe couldn’t excavate everything, as some of the rooms have delicate arches, or unstable collapses that have to be cleaned and excavated by hand. So we move lots of dirt. Goody.

I spent a day clearing out a room that is filled with collapse debris. By filled I mean…to the TOP of a tall arched ceiling filled. Probably several meters. In the course of one day 4 of us managed to remove a full 1.10 meters of a room measuring 2.75 meters in length! Yes we are that good. And this was dirt, small rocks, and small boulders as well. Debris from the collapsed ceiling, plaster, etc. We exposed the tops of two archways that lead into other rooms, one that is blocked by a collapse, but the second arch you can actually see the other side of it in another room. We also found tiling and marbling to indicate the ceiling and walls were heavily decorated and mosaic-ed. But they won’t let us dig to floor level. Very sad. It would be to time-consuming and labor-intensive apparently, even though we would probably find a decorated floor and some interesting things in-situ. Tragedy abounds.

We also had to stop working there because one of the arched columns wasn’t stable enough. They will be putting in metal support beams tomorrow, so we can go back in the hole to take measurements, clean, and draw, but not to dig out further. It’s a bit sad. Ah well.

Beyond that, I didn’t do much of great interest. I moved more rock and dirt. Spent a full day cleaning a wall…meaning I used an excavators trowel and a small brush to remove lots of dirt, dust, and small grit from a wall. Oh yes. Then I had to use my trowel to scrape plaster (that had been used to hold marble paneling on the wall, but the marble was all plundered during the gothic invasions, so not much is left) off the bricks and mortar to see what color they were. Keep in mind that this plaster has been in place for…about 1600 years…so it is well and truly set. That stuff does NOT want to come off. The noise you make scraping metal on brick is quite quite quite horrific. And I ate more plaster and brick dust in an hour than you ever should in your entire life. Oh. My.

Actually the physical labor of moving dirt is much better than the standing still in the blazing sun and brushing dust off of one brick. The dust mostly goes onto another brick or into the air where it simply settles back onto the original brick. Or goes in your face. Sometimes both at once. At least bucket-hauling you can think about how heavy the damn buckets are, shoveling you can think about how many enormous rocks you keep slamming into, brushing a wall all you think about is the heat and the dust.

Though it was quite nice as all last week we had thunderstorms, and RAIN. Rain in Rome. In summer. Very odd, but really really nice. It meant we had a bit of a breeze, and the rain on Thursday and Friday helped to keep the dust down. Yay! But I think it’s all over now, next week will be a marathon of heat, dust, and rocks in buckets! Bring it on!

Dirt, digging, and more dirt.

July 2nd 2009

I have started digging. Just finished day three. I have never been so completely and utterly covered in dirt and dust. It’s hard core. I am way tired every evening by about 8:00…understandable as I do have to get up at 5:15.

I remain in love with the metro, even with a 20-minute commute twice a day. It’s easy, clean, and fast. I am now the proud owner of a student month-long metro pass. Go team!

I am now very very very good at moving dust around. And putting rocks in buckets, and lifting bucks, and dumping buckets, and filling more buckets. And brushing off walls…which is NOT FUN. As the slightest breeze blows the dust right back onto the wall, and if there is no breeze you are brushing dust into your eyes, mouth, and down your shirt. Doing the hard labor of filling buckets is much better. Though I have discovered that wheelbarrows and I do not get on.

Today I worked on emptying an entryway that is filled with collapsed vaulting, brick, mortar, and dirt. There is an intact door arch that was barely visible over the top. We took the level down 1.10 meters in ONE DAY. That is awesome…we did so much work. I was on a team with another girl, an Aussie woman, and the Brit (a guy, but we only have one...so he's "the brit"). Rachel, the aussie, is amazing. She is a machine with a pickaxe! It’s impressive to watch. Hauling rock has never been more fun. AND we found tesserae (small tiles used in mosaics) and marble that were used to decorate the vaulting. Jeff, our trench leader/supervisor, thinks that the entire ceiling might have been covered in patterns. So cool.

Good times abound. But mostly fatigue… Not really fun…just lots of work, lots of heat, and crazy amounts of dirt. I mean…geez. Also, I’ve never been so sweaty. Ever. Not even during barley harvest last summer. Yes, it’s true.

More details and interesting things to come at a time when I am not super tired. Probably this weekend.


PS: I love comments, sorry I haven’t figured out how to set up the feature where you can reply to specific comments. I am working on it. Rest assured, I read and love them all. Alicia: arrival story is going to get writ! Soon. Promise!

Churches and Things

Sunday the 28th June (these are the days I wrote the post...internet gets sketch, so I write things up in advance, and post them when I can.)

We went to the Vatican today. Sunday is “free day” so you can get in places for free. I don’t know if they usually cost or not, but we didn’t have anything else to do. So off we trundled.

We took the metro, and a brief note here on the metro: it rocks. I love it. Admittedly, Rome only has 2 lines, so if you want to get anywhere that isn’t on one of the lines things get tricky…also they get packed. Small metro trams and lots and lots of tourists, locals, and anything else you can imagine (including once a man playing the accordion. No joke). At times there is nothing even remotely resembling space between you and the person next to you. Cozy might be a “nice” word for it.
But. It’s fairly inexpensive (and I bought my student month pass today! Thrilling!) and fairly easy to work out.
I suppose it’s a good thing that I enjoy the metro because it’s how we are going to get to our dig site every day. By 7am. So I have a 30-minute metro ride to look forward to at 6:15 in the morning… sigh.

ANYWAY. Metro. To the Vatican. Right.

So, we get up from our stop and have to walk a few blocks. As we walk towards it we pass all sorts of stalls, restaurants, and buskers.

One of the men out on the corner had flyers and was advertising “big pizza, American traveler, big pizza!” He makes eye contact with me, I go “Non grazi” and keep walking…he pats me on the head with the flyer twice and goes “Chriing chriing” in a friendly sort of way. Yeah. I don’t even know. It did make me laugh though.

So we get to the Vatican and it’s packed. Apparently the Pope was going to be speaking, and I did hear his voice over some loudspeakers, but I was in line for the crypts and couldn’t figure out where he was speaking from. One of my friends says she saw his hand. From a window about 8 stories up, on the side of the plaza I couldn’t see…

I got to go into the Basilica and the crypt. We are going back another day for the museum and the cupola. The basilica…was…big. Really I think that is the best word for it. Really, really, big. Towering ceilings, massive columns, irrationally huge statues of angles and Popes. I felt like it should have been a really impressive place, awe-striking or some-such. Really, it has a fascinating history, grand constructions, and it’s a holy place right? Awe should have happened. Instead it just felt too BIG. It might have been imposing and impressive if it wasn’t so extensive…and if it weren’t for all the people. There were all sorts of tourists rushing around and shoving you out of the way so that they could take their pictures. A bit sad really.

The crypts were interesting. Popes are buried there. I was more interested in the older burials and some really nice mosaics. Pope John Paul II is there. Many people come to pray at his monument. One lady just stood there and cried. I felt so out of place. To me this is something I cannot comprehend. Many churches, old churches, mediaeval churches, I don’t feel out of place in. The hushed respect they demand, the history, the quiet they hold, I can understand this. But at the Vatican…I didn’t fit. I can’t understand, I can’t really sympathize with these people. I don’t understand their stories, their worries, why they kneel on hard marble to pray for, or maybe to, a departed pope they never knew.

Also…where is the respect? Shouldn’t a church this size impose if not silence then at least a respectful hush? But here, you come, you pay respects then talk loudly, and your voices bounce back, reflected by the golden ceiling, or the marble walls of a subterranean vault. I can’t understand the decadence, the opulence, the imposing faith that causes those who visit in its name to push, shove, talk loudly, and stop every so often to kneel, pray, or cry. This is not a place I understood at all.

It’s difficult for me to really express this right…I keep stumbling over what I mean. I can’t feel a presence here. I can’t even feel at peace. In many other places of faith I at least feel something like that. I suppose Catholicism is too alive here for me to be able to fit myself in. This faith is not something I can find even a spark of in myself, I am too alien, to unknowing of the stories on which it is based.

Don’t get me wrong. I am glad I went. I learned something about people, and very possibly something about religion. And while the basilica was arguably a bit overdone there were some very impressive statues. Really, being honest the whole thing was breathtaking, huge, imposing, and the amount of work that must have gone into it, and must still go into its upkeep is staggering. The gold ceiling is rather intense. And the Michelangelo “La Pietà” was lovely. Even behind feet of glass, the art and emotion speaks to you in a very powerful way.

Oh! And the Vatican Guard…dress a bit like court jesters! Lots of colors and stripes. I think I’m glad they never bothered to update the uniforms…they are quite entertaining to see.

Round 1: here goes

Well, I suppose I did say that I would try one of these. So. Here I am. Huh. Okay. Wow. Do I actually have anything to say?

No, that isn’t the question…the question is rather am I capable of saying anything interesting? That is a much trickier question. But I’m willing to give this a go if you all are.

So. Here goes. I am in Rome. (Not the most interesting beginning is it?) I have been here for nearly two weeks as of this writing. When this actually gets up online is anyone guess. I don’t have regular internet, so unless I can get the free one in the McDonalds to work…it could be a while.

As most of you know, the adventure begins with my interest in digging up old shit. Well, that was the goal of the summer. I have been on this program two weeks and have I dug up any old stuff? No. No I haven’t.

I have toured Rome, on foot, in blazing sun, led by an energetic maniac and fervent lover of all things ancient and Roman (we just call him Dar. He is the fearless leader of my program), who appears to never EVER tire. Which, if you stood in the blazing heat of Rome for 3 hours straight, you too would understand what a remarkable feat this is. Superhuman. There might be a full separate entry on this madness at a later date.

I have gotten sick. Yea. I come all the way to Rome for grand adventures, and thus far the grandest adventure has been catching plague. I will spare you the horrid details, just think the worst cold you’ve ever had, but add a fever and nearly splitting your sternum open. However! Because of this I have gotten to experience medicine in a socialist country, met a very very nice doctor who felt very bad that I had to pay the outrageous sum of $15 on my meds. Wow. Medical services are really different here. I need to learn enough Italian to write him a thank you note, since he fit me in somehow… which is a feat and mini-miracle in and of itself. If the adventures list is short and I’ve been uncommunicative towards emails/facebook blame this cough. I missed nearly a full week of class, which was quite a bummer, as it was the week of actual training…sigh.

I have begun my survey of gelato and the search for the best flavor and best combinations of flavor. Thus far I like melon the best. Though I had a nice watermelon, a very good chocolate/crème/nutella flavor. Cream is okay. Banana was less that satisfactory. Strawberry (fragola) is everywhere, and usually trustworthy. I can’t wait to try the one that translates to “melting chocolate.”

Thus far the favorite part of Rome: Colosseum. Hands down and no questions asked. Through a series of unfortunate, but actually very fortunate events, we didn’t end up going to the Colosseum as a group. We were handed our tickets, told we didn’t have time to go together (our fearless leader had somewhere to be. He is very popular…for some reason…), and that we had to go that afternoon on our own.
I showed up there around 4:00 that afternoon. Beat my roommates there, and just wandered on my own. Spent an hour going through an exhibit on the Flavian emperors and what they did, then spent two hours just oogling the structure itself. Absolutely incredible. It was massive. I mean…huge. The arches alone, even without the seats (all of which have crumbled away) you can imagine how many people fit in there. The halls echo with tourists, what must it have been like with excited people chattering as they looked for their seats, sellers hawking goods, bookies taking bets, and underneath it all, in the subterranean layer the gladiators coming over from the training barracks, the lions being moved in by the slaves, a hive of activity. I overheard one tourist guide telling the British couple he was taking around that the massive entryways were used to bring in the elephants. Imagine the majesty, huge elephants being led in, swaying and trumpeting in response to roars from the crowd and the fanfare of horns. The energy of the space was a tangible thing. I honestly had goosebumps.
My mom asked me if it felt sad there. Considering the bloody activities that went on there, but really, it just felt peaceful. Birds perch everywhere, and small vines and flowers grow through all the cracks. It’s like the Colosseum has decided to enjoy its retirement, and watches amused at the small females like myself who spend two hours wandering around with their mouths open.

I live in an apartment with four other girls in my program. Amazingly enough two of them are from Oregon…none of us expected any others from our state. Another is from the east coast and the last is a native, originally from Milan. Poor Isabella, we abuse her Italian skills to great extents. We live directly above two boys who are also in our program. The neighboring building holds six or seven more girls. The rest of us are scattered in various apartments through the city. More on this cast of characters at another time I suppose. Mostly I get along with everyone, and we play some good games of cards. Though they probably are the ones that gave me the plague…I just got it the worst. Sigh.
My area is very central. I walk by the Trevi Fountain in the mornings. Yeah. The Trevi fountain. They clean it out every morning. It’s rather cool. Exploration has been fairly minimal, and as of yet I have no truly thrilling plans to places far and exotic, but give me time. Blame the sickness and some serious homesickness as the cherry on top.

Hmm. Yeah. You appear to be fairly up for the moment. If you have specfic questions/desires for stories/whatever let me know. Having never done this before I don’t know what will be a) of interest b) even read. So. Feedback?

Cheers.