It Really Leans

Italians definitely have some things right; not only teacher’s get long vacations in the summer…everyone does.

And so…last week Michelle and I enjoyed what we liked to call, “vacation on vacation."

But seriously, our mentor and no one else in our department were at work last week (and many won’t be back until mid August), which meant we didn’t have to go either!

To celebrate, Monday we spent lots of money! Well not too much, I just bought a “cheeky” European bathing suit that I cannot wait to try out in Barcelona. Then Michelle and I met up with an Australian girl she roomed with in Cinque Terre and her other Australian friend (who is actually Colombian but just living in Sydney). We introduced them to the delicious pears, pecorino, and honey specialty, showed them the good shoe stores, and the general vicinity of Siena. I felt like a proud parent showing off my baby.

After spending all day at the pool on Tuesday, we decided we should take it easy on Wednesday by going to our last market day in Siena and eating a lot of focaccia bread [which tastes a lot different (read: better) than in the States) dipped in a lot of nutella. After dinner we went back into the city for part of an on-going Jazz Festival. I still don’t know how I feel about Jazz; love or cringe depending on the song.


Thursday, Michelle and I decided to be true tourists and actually go to a museum in Siena. We chose the Museo Civico, which is right in the central Piazzo Pubblico. Because our fellow roommate Edie works there, and our own museum is part of what’s called the Comune di Siena, we were able to get in free! Woot. We love things that are free

It is a very beautiful and unique museum. Though what I cannot get over in Italy is how they let open windows and natural light and a measure of other things hit unprotected frescoes that are hundreds of years old. I really do not understand.

We also were hoping to walk the tower next door for free too. Little did we know that we would be given the VIP (very important princesses) treatment. Seriously. We were led to an elevator that let us skip the first 100 steps (although we still had 300 to go anyways), handed directly to another woman who led us to the entrance room, made a man move so that we could cut in line, had our bags taken for us, and led to tower entrance. The tower was really amazing. The staircase was incredibly narrow and short, but the view of the city at the end was definitely worth the claustrophobia.







To reward ourselves, we went to lunch at Il Gallo Nero (The Black Rooster), a medieval restaurant that is built in one of the old roman aqueducts. Therefore the restaurant was very cool, but it literally smelt like the middle ages. I ate some delicious rye and raisin bread, white cheese lasagna, and pears, pecorino, and honey (of course). Yummmmm.

Since the second summer Palio is next week, the Contradas are beginning to celebrate and commemorate their Palio Pride. So, all of us remaining BYU students finally made it to a Contrada party (Nicchio – the shell) to help them in their festivities. We were able to watch the hundred year old gambling game; not sure what it is called but they have a colored ball for every contrada, it goes down a twisting ramp, and whichever makes it first in the hole wins. The winning prize was some fresh prosciutto. Lols. There was also a dance floor where the played 80’s music for the first two hours, at least, we were there (both Italian and American). They did get to more popular music eventually, and it was always a pleasant surprise when I actually recognized the Italian tune. (Dad: you can now tell Mom and Chris how cultured you are, they love “The Shuffle” over here.)

Saturday, Edie and I ventured to Pisa. It is the smelliest and dirtiest city I have been to yet (second only to Grossetto); even the graffiti is angry – all “grrr…fascism” with hammer and sickle doodles. However, the Leaning Tower of Pisa is actually leaning (more so in real life, pictures do not do it justice). The baptistery and duomo are also beautiful, but I will not return to Pisa unless whomever I’m traveling is dying to go, and walking it is included. I also did not take a picture trying to keep the Pisa up. After my roommate Lauren sent me this picture:

and realizing the very true reality of this image when arriving, I could not lower my dignity and do the same.

That night after dinner, we went back to the city. We planned on going to another contrada party (liocorno – unicorn), but we were first distracted by an accordionist and harpsichordist playing in front of one of the oldest banks in the world (have a video, tried to upload here, refused to work). They were incredible talented.

(All of my roommates.)

Less 80’s music at Liocorno, but more American music, which was kind of sad (but they played “The Shuffle” again Dad). They also played Ricchi e Poveri’s “Sara Perche Ti Amo,” which is pretty much mine and Michelle’s favorite.

Sunday was our last day with the Siena branch. There were us regulars from America and Siena, as well as a man from the Dominican Republic, a woman from Nigeria, another from Finland, one of the missionaries is from Romania, and a large family from France (including the lead patriarch who is one of the Seventy). It is truly amazing how the church can bring so many different people to the same place for the same purpose

On Monday, Michelle and I still didn’t have to go to work. But instead of enjoying our last hours of watching Italian soap operas or dubbed over Sabrina the Teenage Witch, How I Met Your Mother, and Gossip Girl (which we have done in the past), we went in the city and walked around the areas of two different Contradas (Aquila – Eagle, and Tartuca – Turtle). In Tartuca, we went into a beautiful Italian cemetery. As I just went to a couple of cemeteries this past Memorial Day, it was truly incredible to see the differences between the two; mostly the care and attention payed to every single grave. Granted the oldest death we saw was about 1890, but there were still flowers and candles on that too.





Tuesday, we finally had the opportunity to go to our Nonna’s house in the compagnia (country). Besides being eaten alive by mosquitoes, it has been one of my favorite experiences here. The property was about an hour away, and when she bought it, about 35 years ago, it was empty wild land. She built the shacks around the property, made improvements to the house, planted all of the trees around, her huge garden, and made the walk and stairways – truly her life’s work. We also finally met her allusive grandson Valentino. And by met, I mean to say we were not prepared to handle the charm, humor, photography, cooking, poetry, music/song writing (also have a video, ask me when I’m home and I’ll show it to you), etc., and each fell in love a little bit. True story. With the both of them there we heard more stories about our Nonna, and Valentino was able to help us with anything we couldn't understand. My Nonna is about 77 which means she was alive during WWII and the fascist movement in Italy. She remembers being cold and hungry as a child. Valentino also told us a story that during the war, there was an American soldier camp set up near their small, agricultural village. Apparently, one of the captains offered money in exchange for my Nonna. He was obviously refused, but sometimes when times got hard my Nonna would then joke, "Oh why didn't I go with that American!" She is so spunky. I miss her already.

Wednesday night we had some of the best gelato, and our last from the favored Kopa Kobana, in order to help prepare us for our last day at work, in the incredible city, and our last dinner at home; all were incredibly depressing good-byes (though we refuse to say the final “arrivederci” and stick with “ci vediamo,” or we’ll be seeing you.)

(One of the best I have had: stracciatella (vanilla and chocolate chips), fondente (tastes like dark chocolate brownie batter), and riccotta e fichi (yes, riccotta cheese and figs. It is my new favorite).

(And finally a picture of Debora. She is wonderful and I will miss her dearly.)

You Better Work

I know that it seems as though all I do in Italy is eat (and yes, we do joke that sometimes we are not traveling our way through Italy, but eating our way through it), but the initial reason I came here was to work as an intern; which is what I do fours hours a day, five days a week (most of the time). I might be a little bias, but I definitely think that Michelle and I have the sweetest internship of anyone that has been here this summer.

We work in the Complesso museale di Santa Maria della Scala, built right across from the beautiful Siena Duomo (Cathedral).

The Santa Maria della Scala was mentioned in a deed as early as 1090, where it become a hospice, where pilgrims could be given care and shelter, and one of the first hospitals in Europe. They also had an organization to look after abandoned children and the poor [those orphans were often more fortunate than those with parents, as they received food, clothing, trade training (boys) and a dowry (girls)].

The Santa Maria della Scala functioned as a legitimate hospital all the way until the 1980s (in fact, my Nonna used to work there as a nurse and Rebecca, who gave us our internship preparation class in the first week, was born there), when it was closed and renovated as a working museum, highlighting many of the works that the museum and Siena acquired and commissioned over the years. In fact the original Fonte Gaia (a plaster model of the fountain currently resides in the Piazza Pubblico) was moved and renovated there after a man stood on the fountain and broke part of it during a Palio in the 1500s (he was put to death).

Michelle and I assumed that all we would be doing is working in the front desk, selling tickets and translating English/Italian, or watching the works of art to make sure ignorant people don’t touch them or take pictures of them.

When in reality, what we do is so much cooler than that.

Beneath the Santa Maria della Scalla lies a huge archive of archeological items found mostly in Siena and surrounding areas of Tuscany; sections of this museum are closed off for excavations still taking place.

Everyday, we work with a woman named Debora who is one of the people in charge of the archeological section of the museum. We normally don’t go into the actual museum, but work daily in what is called the magazzino, which is really just a storage room where artifacts not currently in the museum are kept.

In the magazzino, we have unpacked, organized, reorganized, re-reorganized, and double/triple-checked the inventories of seven different collections. While at times it may have been tedious, and wearing rubber gloves can get annoying, every single day I was so thrilled to go into work and see what new treasures and artifacts we uncovered.

It’s also amazing how much they trust us. I mean the first day, we helped put together a bronze pot that she said was from 300 AD (the word for puzzle in Italian is still puzzle in case you were wondering). We’ve dealt with terracotta pots and lanterns, some Grecian urns, thousand year beads and bronze jewelry (I was very tempted to steal the ring that fit me too well), human bones that were from 200 BC (Michelle and I enjoyed putting together some vertebrae, spotting the femur, or tibia and fibula, and the jaw pieces that still had some teeth). We had these beautiful shards of glass, black vases and goblets, old bronze buckles and handles, and there was this really cool Egyptian statue that looked like it was made of jade. Needless to say, when I get back to the Y, I plan on talking to someone about minoring in archeology.

Plus we work with really awesome people. Luca (or as the Sienese pronounce: Luha) is our security guard who will always greet us with “Boungiorno Belle,” or “Ciao Stupende.” Mauro (not Mario) is in charge of the restoration (restauro) work and always has more gloves and plastic sacks for us when we can’t find anymore. Nora: I want to be her. End of story. But seriously, she is probably late twenties, Debora’s assistant, is gorgeous, and dresses so cute everyday. I want to be her. Debora is also a hoot. She prints everything on the back of already used paper (cheaper + recycling), she waddles when she runs, talks really fast, has various degrees of magenta and orange in her hair, is late and then gets a coffee every morning (which is why we now come at 10 instead of 9), loves her two cats (one is named Ciste, after crusty things you get in your eyes when you sleep. I don’t understand either), and has the Friends theme song as her ringtone. I adore her, as well as various others who work at the front desk and watch points.

(front entrance.)

(the Duomo right outside.)

(side room of the magazzino.)

(Our least favorite job: cleaning the cassette. One morning we came in and the pile was taller than me. Dang it.)

(I know it looks like we just have pots, but everything else is harder to see through the non-earthquake proof glass shelving.)

Cheeky

This weekend, we went up north to Liguria to The Cinque Terre, a remote part of the Italian Riviera. No museums in sight; simply sun, sea, sand (read: pebbles), hillside houses, honey, pesto, and pure, unadulterated Italy.

We stayed in Riomaggiore, my first look at the fascinating tangle of pastel homes. After climbing approximately 217 steps (twice) we reached the top of the town where I spent too much money on an especially fantastic dinner (spinach flan, grilled vegetables, pesto, and the shared desserts of coffee crème brule, caramel apple cake, and this pastry thing with honey and cheese). Since we ate especially early, we had the entire restaurant and it’s incredible view to ourselves, and finished with enough time to catch the sunset over the ocean.

(the top of Riomaggiore, and the view from our restaurant)

In the morning, we began the first hike, Via dell’Amore. There were more “love locks” like in Florence, and more Italian graffiti along the walls (I haven’t put pictures up yet, but most Italian graffiti I’ve seen consists of “mi manchi gia” (I miss you already), and “buongiorno principessa”. None of that threatening gang I’mma-cut-you crap).

(Potter Puppet Pals anyone?)

("And if you need me and don't find me, look for me in a dream...I love you")

The road led to the second town of Manarola. Tiny and picturesque.

(camping?)

(the piazza of dead birds?)

(nature woman. ha. ha. ha.)

We then took the train to the center town Corniglia. However, the train did not prevent us from walking up 382 switchback steps to the hill-top town. To reward ourselves, we ate some Rick Steve’s recommended gelato (as they use their homemade honey to make it, that is the delicious flavor I chose).

Being in Italy, and especially when it concerns food, you start to not think – just do. Which is why we laughed later after we realized that we ate the gelato simply because it was there and we wanted gelato, and didn’t think that right after we were starting on a 4 km hike to the next town. Whoops.

Despite the lack of sustenance, the hike wasn’t the hardest I’ve ever been on. Though it was the most beautiful, interesting, possibly dangerous, enticing one. No railings, despite having about a 3-4 foot leeway between you and a cliff, and fragmented stone ground left me on the tip of my toes and wondering what was around the corner.

As it turned out, around the corner was the next town Vernazza, overseen by a ruined castle and a stout stone church. Here, both the tourists and the natives learn to live the phrase “vita pigra di Vernazza” or the lazy life of Vernazza. We also had the most delicious pesto bruschetta ever (another “after hike” reward), and then took the train to the last town.

Monterosso al Mare, the only Cinque Terre town built on flat land. After arriving in Monterosso, only one thing was on my mind: beach.[The town does sport a 16^th century look-out tower, and a Nazi “pillbox,” a small, low concrete bunker where gunners hid (during WWII, La Spezia, the town right before Riomaggiore, was an important Axis naval base and Monterosso was bombed while the Germans were there), but I’ve put it on my “next time I’m in Italy” list).The water is warmer, bluer, and clearer than in California, but I definitely prefer my spacious, sandy beaches, where people don’t like bikinis or speedos as much.

Sad and pathetic story: as we were enjoying the beach Friday afternoon, two Italians approached myself and two other friends. After chit-chatting a bit, they ask us where we were from. I respond with "California." He looks at me..."You are very white for a girl from California," turns to my friend, "it is strange. She is very white."

Dang it.

(hahahaha sorry I just love this)