Picture of the Day: Hail in the Pantheon

All days are nights to see till I see thee

I apologize that this post is so long overdue. Hopefully some of you will return to my blog on some nostalgic whim and actually read this. The last paragraph is especially meaningful to me. Living in Rome was a truly life altering experience. I intend to express my feelings about the city and sum up my experience in this final post. I hope you all enjoyed living vicariously through me!

___

I miss slipping on paving blocks slickened by the moisture from a fresh rainfall. I miss the bustling traffic and the shouts and the horns. I miss the filth left over from the daily vegetable market. I miss the ancient buildings and the outdated appliances and the drafty single pane windows. I miss my enormous front door and the drunken Italians hooking up in front of it at three in the morning. I miss the tiny cars and scooters parked on every fucking sidewalk, street, ally, and path imaginable. I miss the crowded busses and dirty subway. I miss the thieves and gypsies constantly trying to take your money.

I miss Rome.

Rome is just a city, like any other, yet there something about it that is unlike any other place on earth. It was the way I could listen to one thousand conversations happening all around me, yet hear nothing. How I could be surrounded by friends, yet still be alone. How I knew exactly where to go and how to get there, but not know where it was.

While abroad, I developed a love/hate relationship with Rome, and I am glad I did. It wouldn’t have been the same if my experience was all positive because I think that the negative experiences made me appreciate the positive ones more. I must admit, I have never felt this way about a place before. I find myself longing to go back, yet I know that even if I do it will never be the same. I imagine it to be like returning to a childhood home to find it exactly the same as you remember; only something is missing. Some sort of life, some connection that is lacking.

I now understand why they call it the “Eternal City”. You see, time seemed to stop for me in Rome, and I believe that was only made possible by living there. You cannot become part of a city when you visit it. As in any real relationship, there is an element of both love and hate involved. When one visits, they only experience infatuation, lust, and the superficial side of love. But by living in Rome you learn to accept the city for what it is and embrace its flaws, deepening your connection. That, in my opinion, is love.

I regret how only after our time together is up, do I realize how eloquently this city spoke to me. In the words of Kahlil Gibran, “Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.” I feel like I have buried a loved one. I look back on all of the memories of that person and though I realize I will always have them, I also realize that they are just that, memories, and they will never again be anything more. It is something that I have come to terms with. All things, both good and bad, must eventually come to an end; and I now recognize that, though sometimes tormenting, the pain experienced in parting is critical in the forging of one’s soul.

-BJC

Picture of the Day: "Crystal Rain"

Fait Accompli

Introduction: Up until now, all of my posts have been in the first person. I thought I would try something a little bit different this time by switching to a third person perspective. I suppose, for me, the idea of blogging is a bit mundane. My passion (when it comes to writing) lies in creative writing, so I have decided to use real experiences from Paris to construct a fictional tale. I am not even sure if this passes for "blogging" because I am not actually a character in the story, but so what. Sue me...

“Mom, can we get Kinder Bueno?!” The little girl begged as she looked up at her mother with beady puppy eyes.

“Kinder Bueno! Kinder Bueno!” the younger girl repeated.

“No, sweetie, it is too late. You’ll be up all night.” the woman replied.

“Mom, please?!” the younger daughter said as she jumped up and down

“Amanda, I said no!” the mother shot back forcefully.

“Ok, then can we get some for tomorrow?” Heather, the elder daughter, persisted. There was a short pause as her mother briefly considered the daughter’s request.

“I said no, honey.” The mother finally decided. “Tell you what, if we pass another grocery store tomorrow I’ll buy some then.”

Although both girls made it obvious that they were displeased with the decision, the anticipation of the delicious fluffy candy bars they would be enjoying tomorrow morning was enough to silence them. Amanda continued to stare longingly at the fantastic assortment of strange candy and chocolate in the checkout lane of the convenience store as her mother paid the man at the register for their frozen dinners. The man shivered as he handed her thirty five cents change. There was a fan located directly overhead his register, blowing cool air onto his back. This job sucks he thought to himself.

Rose was not the wealthiest woman on the planet, but she had managed to scrape enough money and discounts together to afford a trip to Paris, France for her and her two daughters. They needed it. The divorce had caused them all a good deal of stress and now it was finally over and that poor excuse of a father was out of their lives for good. It was their second night in Paris and Rose knew they could not afford to eat out like they had the previous evening so, tonight, they would be relying on their hotel microwave for sustenance.

“Amanda, Heather, come now, we’re leaving.” Rose said sweetly as she practically dragged her two children away from the sweets.

o o o

Jean-Pierre savored the minty-fresh, germ fighting power of Listerine before spitting it out in the hotel sink. He only used mouthwash with an alcohol base because he found the burning sensation it offered to be much more refreshing than brands like Scope or Colgate that advertised an alcohol-free formula. He stared at himself in the mirror. His angular chin seemed enhanced and defined by his five o’clock shadow. His eyes fixated on themselves and he stood there for a moment watching this person in the mirror stare back at him. He felt like two different people. It was almost as if, at any moment, his reflection would turn around and walk away without him.

“You are a lucky man, monsieur” he said, pointing at his reflection and breaking the silence.

He had done quite well for himself. He was only thirty three years old and his business was already making annual profits in the six figures. He was in the master bathroom of the luxurious penthouse suite he had rented on a surprise vacation for his soon to be fiancé.

Although they both lived in France, she had never seen Paris. He thought it fitting that it be this city in which he would propose. However, that would have to wait until tomorrow. Right now, they both needed rest. In the next room his love, Marie, lay au natural in the king size bed. The milky white sheets hugged the contours of her slender figure, accentuating her irresistible form.

He turned off the light in the bathroom and slid into bed behind her, wrapping his muscular arms around her, embracing her with his warmth. She smiled and kissed his hand.

Tomorrow will be the day. He mused. He took a deep breath, and with the sweet scent of Marie’s hair filling his nostrils, nestled his head into the back of her neck, and slept.

o o o

…and there it was, The Eiffel Tower, standing in the heart of Paris in all its glory. Its graceful curves swept upward, shooting triumphantly into the sky.

Wow! It is much bigger in real life. Eric “Lawn-Job” Ramsey thought to himself as he strolled under the four massive cast iron legs. The arches between the legs stood fifty meters tall and eighty meters apart, forming the basic framework for the base. As if that wasn’t impressive enough, the French built a 275 meter tower atop the magnificent base, making it the tallest structure in the world for over forty years.

Under the tower mingled vast numbers of people waiting in line, talking, and watching street performers break-dance, perform soccer tricks, and do impersonations of celebrities. He wandered through the crowds, photographing everything that caught his eye while he soaked in the atmosphere, embedding the experience deep within his memory. A slight breeze blew through the space, but it felt nice, because it was a beautiful day.

“Hey, Lawn-job!” shouted one of Eric’s friends. “Hurry up, the class is getting ready to leave! We’re going to the Louvre!”

He had earned the nickname “Lawn-job” back in middle school when he starting cutting his friends and neighbors yards for cash. At first he resented the name, but eventually grew to accept it. In high school, a few of his friends jumped on the bandwagon and his summertime lawn mowing gig grew into a landscaping business which he named “Eric’s Lawn Jobs” after himself. He was now a junior in college, going to school with one of his best friends from home. Thus, the nick name carried over, but only within his tightest circle of friends.

Eric took one last photo before dashing off to catch up with his group.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” he yelled after them.

o o o

Two columns and an archway framed the great glass pyramid by I.M. Pei. As they approached the entrance, more and more of the impressive square that lay beyond was revealed. As soon as Amanda and Heather saw it, they went nuts. Rose smiled as she watched Amanda race toward the fountains surrounding the iconic land mark.

“Amanda! Come back!” shouted Heather, who despite being the eldest, was still just a child herself. Rose knew better than to remind her of that. Her daughter was going to be a teenager soon which meant she was now all grown up, or so she thought. Amanda looked first at her sister and then at her mother for a confirmation of the order. Rose nodded and Amanda began walking back.

She watched her daughter walking toward her and as she did so, colors slowly began to blur her vision. An expression of confusion came over her face. She felt off balance, as if the entire Earth were a large sea vessel swaying back and forth between the swells.

“Mom, are you ok?” Heather asked. Her mother had begun to sway.

“I’m fine, honey, I just need to sit down.” Rose explained as she took a seat on a stone wall toward the east end of the square. Her condition began to worsen. She could see, but her eyes couldn’t focus. It was as if someone had put a semi-transparent piece of glass in front of her eyes.

She noticed several soldiers walk by, their berets tilted sharply to one side, rifles pointed at the ground. However, before she could get up to ask for help, they were consumed by a crowd of college students, their blurred bodies blending into one another, as if they were all part of a single entity. The edges of her vision had now begun to fade to black. She felt agitated and anxious but at the same time disoriented, exhausted, and famished. The world around her began to disappear. All that was left was the worried face of her daughter, Heather, and the confused expression of Amanda. But soon even those faded and everything turned to dark…

o o o

Eric stopped while the rest of his group carried on. He stared at the pyramid in amazement. To his right a woman in red sat with her two daughters, and to his left a man with a fantastic camera was photographing a beautiful young woman in front of the pyramid. People poured into the square from the portal behind him, the masses flowing around his motionless figure as if he were a rock in stream.

He whipped out his camera and began snapping pictures, capturing the square as best he could before switching lenses for detail shots. Totally consumed in his world of photography, he didn’t notice the little girl at first.

“Mom?... Mom?!” she whimpered.

Eric stopped what he was doing and searched for the source of the cries.

“Mom, are you ok?” Heather cried.

“Is she okay?” Eric asked as he approached the couple. The girl looked about thirteen and was cradling the head of who must have been her mother. It was then that he noticed a third girl, no older than eight or nine, staring in confusion.

“I… I don’t know!” the girl bawled. “MOM! What’s happening?” Eric got closer and noticed the woman’s hands trembling, her skin was incredibly pale, like that of a ghost, and a cold sweat had formed on her brow.

“She’s in shock.” Eric observed. “Have you ever seen this before?”

“No, what’s going on?!” Heather demanded.

“Is your mother a diabetic?” he asked.

“A what?” the younger girl interjected.

“Diabetes, does your mother have a disease called diabetes?” He prodded.

“Um, yeah, but what is happening?”

“She needs sugar and an ambulance!” he said “Does anyone have a candy bar or soda?” Eric turned. Several people had begun to gather but nobody spoke English. Eric tried talking to each of them, looking for anyone who knew how to call for help. He pointed and shouted and more people began to gather. They all stood, watching, unmoving. Nobody seemed to understand the situation.

Eric knew this woman did not have much time left. He approached person after person, couple after couple, family after family, but they either did not understand, or could not help him. There was a large crowd around the woman now. Her children cried and the people just watched. Nobody moved or made any effort to help.

Eric needed to find someone to help her. He could not stand this feeling of helplessness! Then he spotted him. For whatever reason, this one couple stood out from the crowd. They were not huddling around like everyone else. Instead, this man’s attention was wholly focused on the woman he was photographing.

“A little further to the left… and… perfect!” Jean-Pierre said to Marie. The shutter of his camera clicked just as a young man came running up to him.

“I am sorry, are you French?” Eric huffed, clearly exasperated. “Do you speak English?!”

“uhh… yes, but-” Jean-Pierre started, but was cut off by the young man.

“Please, do you have any sugar, chocolate, soda, anything?!” Eric interjected

“Please go away, we were just about to leave.” Jean said. He had no interest in this crazy American’s requests or affairs.

“Wait… what?” Eric replied, confused. “Please, it will only be a minute! Someone is hurt!”

“I have no time for you…” Jean said as he grabbed Marie’s hand, turned, and walked away.

Eric stood in disbelief. “At least tell me how to call for help?!” he shouted after them, but they did not hear him for at that moment a gust of wind blew through the space, picking up discarded wrappers and dust and sending them across the square.

o o o

Jean-Pierre and Marie walked, his arm around her waist, past the Louvre pyramid, watching the light reflect off the glass and then the water. There were so many reflective elements in the square, that if they were all positioned upright, one could easily mistake it for a giant hall of mirrors! Instead, however, the angled sides of the pyramids reflected the classical buildings around them, complimenting them in a unique, but elegant way.

“What did that young man want?” Marie asked as she offered a piece of Kinder bar to her love.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Jean-Pierre replied. “He said he wanted your chocolate bar.”

“Strange, those Americans, they cannot seem to ever get enough of their sweets.” She said, shaking her head.

Project 2

Redevelopment proposal for the Porta Portese area in Trastevere

Picture of the Day: "Frozen in Time"

Picture of the Day: Fontana di Trevi

Lonely Streets

The city was eerily quiet as I wound my way through the labyrinthine streets of Rome. Normally filled with sirens, music, voices, and shuffling feet, there was only the sound of the metal buckle of my camera case clinking in time with my step. It was a cool morning, and every now and then a slight draft of wind greeted the back of my neck with an icy kiss.

I walked, hands buried in the front pockets of my jeans, looking down at the undulating cobblestones ahead of me. They reminded me of water, swirling and flowing with the current; swelling and then breaking against the shore.

I passed a street on my right. There was an old man hobbling across it with a plastic bag in each hand. My eyes followed him until he disappeared from view behind a building. It was almost strange seeing someone else inhabiting the same streets. I felt like a survivor of a terrible apocalypse, having just seen another person for the first time in many years. The only other evidence of life came in the form of periodic booths throughout the city in which Carabinieri guards are stationed 24/7.

It was 7:00am and, in the States, any city in the country would be busy with commuters hurrying to work, but in Rome people approach the necessities of life in a rather lax manner. I had stayed up through the night, working on a variety of chores and trying to tackle all of the tasks I had failed to accomplish over my spring break. There was no urgency in the matter, but I had decided at some point in the wee hours of the morning that I was going to stay awake to photograph the Trevi fountain and Spanish Steps at dawn. That was exactly where I found myself headed.

I crossed Via dell Corso, normally one of the busiest streets in Rome, and saw a single car in the distance heading in my direction from Piazza del Popolo. Everything looked so much different at this time of the day. Despite the fact that there was plenty of daylight, I barely knew where I was! I kept walking, keeping track of my location via the image of a 19^th century map I had burned into my mind before leaving. Another strange thing about Rome is that even maps that are 200 years old are still, for the most part, accurate. The timelessness of the Eternal city is a difficult concept to wrap one’s head around.

Before I knew it, I could hear the dull roar of water. I let myself flow with the current, following the sound until it spilled out into the piazza. To my left, a skinny policeman was shivering violently as he paced back and forth. To my right, a middle aged couple stood, frozen in an embrace as they watched the endless cycle of water fall into the fountain. I put down my camera bag and unbuckled it, removed the UWRC’s Canon EOS 10D and affixed a 300mm medium/long range lens.

As I took my detail shots, memories from the previous week came back to me. I had been here before with James and several others and had taken some of the exact same pictures, but it had been at night. The piazza couldn’t have felt more different, but the tunnel vision of my camera transported me back in time.

It was a strange feeling knowing that the people I had been spending the vast majority of my time with over the past week would likely never see me again (and vice versa). Less than a day ago, I was leading them around Rome, talking and joking without any thought of the future. That was pretty much how I spent my spring break, and now it was over. I guess it hadn’t really sunk in. This wasn’t the first time I had ever said goodbye to someone or something, but it was different this time. Most of the people in my program left for spring break, so I had been living alone for the most part. I spent my days with James and the Newman center group and then went home to sleep, wake up, and repeat the cycle.

Usually the one who is leaving is the one saying goodbye to everyone else, but this time the roles were reversed. Everyone said goodbye to me and then got on a plane to go back home. It felt as if everyone had moved out of my home town at the same time and took their houses, cars, neighbors, and relatives with them.

I felt a chill, and reality began to sink back in. I wondered how long the policeman had been standing out in the cold. I had been there for maybe twenty minutes and was already starting to feel the elements penetrate my layers of clothing. I switched lenses, packed the larger one away, finished up my photo shoot, and packed the rest of my things.

Time to move on, I thought to myself.

Picture of the Day: Trajan's Column

Picture of the Day: "Death on the Horizon"

A Day in the Life of...

I wake up, startled by the irritating sound of my cell phone’s alarm. I roll over, grab the phone, press the ‘end’ key, and all is silent. Lying in bed I fight off the hypnotic power of sleep. 10:00am. I’ve already hit the snooze button twice and I will most likely be late enough as it is. The edges around the window glow as the rays of sunlight try in vain to penetrate the wooden shutters. My eyes take a moment to adjust. My roommates are both still sleeping.

I sit up and swing my legs over the side of my tiny twin size bed. Grabbing my towel, I walk into the hallway and find the shower room to be occupied. “Oh well”, I think to myself as I head back to my room for another five minutes of shut eye.

Twenty minutes later I am showered, shaven, deodorized, and clothed. I sit at the oversized kitchen table wolfing down a bowl of Kellogg’s Coco Pops, one of the few reminders of my more permanent place of residence, and washing it down with a strange Italian fruit drink involving Blood Orange, Banana, and Grapefruit. To my left, out the window, the eternal city of Rome sprawls for as far as the eye can see. In the distance, the dome of St. Peters is visible through the haze that perpetually looms over the city.

10:25am. I have class in five minutes. Time to go. I hurriedly wash my bowl and spoon and toss them back into their respective cabinets. Back in my room, I quickly make my bed, gather my belongings, ensure the windows are shut, dash out the door, and down the hall. There are 145 steps to street level from the fourth floor. By taking the stairs two at a time, I only need to walk down 73 stairs (taking into account the landings that occasionally throw off my gait) and thus, I have dramatically reduced the amount of time it takes to transition from a vertical plane of travel to the horizontal one that must be traversed in order to reach my final destination (I’ve got this getting around thing down to a science).

The cobblestone streets are slippery from a mixture of rubber, oil, city slime, and moisture from an early morning rain. It never stops raining here. I must pay extra attention to every step else I risk slipping and falling; an event that would ruin anybody’s morning. 10:33am. I am three minutes late for my Italian class.

1:00pm. Italian is over. I exit the building and turn right, walk a few meters and turn right again. I find myself on a very busy Via dei Baullari. Locals scurry about, their gaze directed downward, paying little attention to the details that surround them, while tourists pause every few moments to soak in every storefront, façade articulation, and giant sausage sitting outside the entrances to bakeries and butcher shops.

Expensive cameras hang from their necks, daypacks stuffed with all the necessities for a day of sightseeing weigh them down as they huddle in groups of two or three (or fifteen) around trusty maps which they use to reorient themselves and navigate from sight to sight. At one time they and I would have had few differences, but lately this foreign land has begun to feel more and more like home. I would likely blend in seamlessly with the locals were I not a six foot, two hundred pound, Irish-American with bright red hair.

I make a pit stop at a small Panini stand on the left side of the street. I order the usual, “Uno salame e mozzarella panino perfavore. Caldo. Grazie!” I say. In less than 180 seconds I am on my way. With one hand holding my hot panino and the other stuffed in my front pocket, I stroll through the Campo dei Fiori farmers market, mostly people-watching, but keeping an eye out for goods that were not offered the previous day.

At around 1:30pm I make my way to studio just around the corner on the third floor of The University of Washington Rome Center located inside the famous Palazzo Pio. Here I will spend the next four hours sitting at my desk scribbling thoughts down in a three by two inch sketchbook and refining designs over and over again on trace paper. To some it may seem silly, but this is what I’ve signed up for.

8:00pm. Studio is long over, but many students have lingered to talk to Vyt, Skype, or waste time on Facebook. My stomach rumbles and my neck hurts from staring down at my desk for so long. I pack my things, lock up my computer, tidy my desk, and depart. It is dark now, and no evidence of the farmers market remains in Campo dei Fiori. Instead the cafes and restaurants have transformed into bars, setting up their tents and preparing for the massive amount of teens and twenty-something’s who flock to the famous piazza every night. I take a shortcut, bypassing the piazza, and soon find myself climbing back up the 145 stairs to my floor. I alternate the flights, taking every other one two stairs at a time so as to utilize separate muscle groups and prevent fatigue.

As I walk down my hallway, I pass by the usual faces of the Arts and Science majors in the Wintergarten surfing the web and connecting with people back home. I open the door to my room, remove my coat, and set down my belongings. From there, I immediately proceed to the kitchen where I find a gathering of students nourishing their bodies with fantastic home cooked Italian food. I take part in their laughter, stories, and occasional drinking while I boil water and heat up tomato sauce for my meal.

1:00am. I lay in bed cradling a novel which I read with the assistance of a convenient flashlight built into my phone. Two candles flicker away on my nightstand casting fascinating and ever shifting shadows across the walls. I turn the pages, absorbed by the adventure until my eyelids grow heavy and I struggle to make sense of the strange symbols printed on the page. I place my bookmark and close the story, gently placing it in a tiny bin under my bed. With a single breath, the already dying candles are extinguished and I lay my head down. I give in to the seductive call of sleep and let my mind wander. My heart rate slows and thoughts begin to bend, twist, and blend into one another. At last, I rest...

-BJC

Pictures of the Trip

Como

Milano

Verona

Vicenza

Venezia

Bologna

Firenze

Giro nell' nord Italia!

I was grateful for the vaulted ceiling over my head as the blizzard raged less than two meters to my left. The arcaded streets of Bologna protected us from the elements and seemed to embrace me like a bird shelters her young with its wings. The harsh weather affected us little as we walked along the dedicated pedestrian sidewalk (a rarity in Roma) and peered into dozens of closed shops and restaurants. Many stores (especially family owned ones) close on Sundays and some even take Mondays off as well. As we walked I admired the charm of the city and soaked in the details around me.

As we rounded the corner I stopped, taken aback with surprise. Before me stood the tallest masonry structure in the world prior to modern day, the Asinelli Tower. It seemed to have come out of nowhere, jumping out at the last minute from an invisible hiding spot. Its sister, the Garisenda Tower, leaned precariously next to it as if it would topple over at any minute. By far the tallest thing in the city and its surrounding suburbs, it seemed impossible for something so narrow to be so tall. Even by today's standards it is impressive to say the least.

Our journey to the top was impossibly long. Every endless staircase terminated at a platform on top of which was another endless stair. And so the process repeated, the stairs becoming narrower, more slippery, and less stable the higher we went. Finally, as rays of light shone in from above, I knew we had made it to the top. The view was incredible and the snowballs we launched from the top traveled as far as four blocks, even making it over the dome of the Cathedral next door.

After taking 360 degrees worth of photos I came to the realization that the Garisenda tower was nowhere in sight! "Where's that other tower?" I said aloud.

"Down There." replied Dan standing next to me. I looked down and sure enough, the 160 foot sister tower was there, impossibly far below us.

Bologna was only one of 7 cities we traveled to. Although we may have only spent several hours there, it remains firmly rooted in my memories. Every city had its own character and personality. I personally enjoyed Venice the most. Even though it has been overrun by tourism in recent years, the urban fabric has not changed. The way the narrow pedestrian streets flow, jumping over canals by means of bridge and continuing to feed into one another is a novelty that has not and probably cannot be replicated. The entire city revolves around water, using it for everything from transportation to waste management. It is an incredibly complex, fascinating, and unique system. Around every blind corner there seems to be some special node waiting to be discovered.

Vicenza was a jewel of classical proportion and rational thought. Many of the great Andrea Palladio's buildings are located in and around the city and much of the city is clearly inspired by him.

Verona was a pleasant surprise. It is absolutely beautiful. Juliet's balcony is a must-see for couples (or anyone with a significant other). Castelvecchio was amazing and is a true Italian jewel that is highly underrated. Carlos Scarpa does a masterful job of uniting ancient with contemporary architecture. The entire museum is like an architectural playground which had every one of us running around like a child in a newly discovered McDonald's play place.

Florence was, well, Florence! Walking through the streets lined with vendors was an awesome experience. The Duomo is an architectural marvel and the many statues throughout the city are breathtakingly beautiful. I even got to see a piece of the cross of Jesus in the Basilica di San Lorenzo.

Como was a bit of a let down. It was snowing and terribly foggy, so neither the mountains nor the lake were visable.

Milan was interesting in that it is a very modern city in an ancient country. The hustle and bustle reminded me of New York, but the Duomo of Milano was a very firm reminder of where I was. It is an amazing basilica with all sorts of spires reaching up to the heavens, lavishly decorated with hundreds of statues, and awe inspiring works of art throughout the interior. I would have to consider it my favorite church... but lets wait until Paris before making that statement official.

-BJC

History Presentation

The handout for my Ara Pacis Museum History presentation.

Project 1

Analysis of Piazza Campo Dei Fiori

Picture of the Day: St. Peters from the Palatine

One Down, Three to Go!

Project 1 is officially over! I was stressing out a couple of days ago, but I think the project went well. I feel my layout has a very strong unifying quality and it doesn’t hurt that I am the only person to have done a 4 page spread (a decision I regretted at approximately 4:00am). Regardless, I am happy with how my project came out and I can’t wait to scan my pages and post them for you to see.

The past couple days have been hell. We had Italian in the morning and History in the rain yesterday on almost no sleep which was miserable. I’ve slept about 4 hours total the past 2 nights, which made it very difficult to wake up after a 2 hour nap before jury this afternoon. My neck hurts from leaning over the light table, with which I have once again developed a love/hate relationship over the past week. Love because it makes tracing photographs SO much easier and hate because you still have to spend hours upon hours staring into a glowing white surface that will, I am convinced, drive one insane if exposed for too long a period of time. Thankfully, it’s all over and I have our first study trip to look forward to!

That’s right, on Friday we are leaving for Firenze (Florence for all you Americani) as well as Bologna, Venice, Como, and Milan! I must say I am really excited to begin my grand tour of Italy. I could use some socks though… where the hell do you buy socks in Rome?

-BJC

P.S.: I stumbled across this Italian Industrial Design Firm’s website and I really like some of their stuff. Check it out: http://www.albertodelbiondi.com/jos/

Picture of the Day: The Pantheon & Piazza Rotunda

Drunk Italians and Rock&Roll

Its 2:45am and a bunch of drunken Italian men have been singing at the top of their lungs outside for the past hour. Its driving me crazy, so I've decided to put on some headphones and listen to loud rock music.
Meanwhile, I'll write my second blog entry. Today (or yesterday, rather) was somewhat uneventful. I wasn't feeling very good, so I decided to skip the museum trip (I've already seen it anyway) and use the day to recover from the previous week. After a nice shower and filling breakfast I went to studio to work for a bit.
A couple of hours passed and I found myself thinking about the fact that we will be going on our first study tour in about a week. I anticipate doing a lot of walking, but of the two pairs of shoes I brought, one offers no real support or padding, and the other pair are falling apart at the seams. Planning ahead, I decided to get a new pair and use this week to break them in. I asked Marina where to go to get a new pair of walking shoes and she suggested somewhere along Via del Corso. Unfortunately, finding a size 13 shoe in Europe is much more difficult than I thought!
It took me 3-4 hours of walking up and down Via del Corso before walking into the Puma store which had shoes in sizes above quarantasei (46)!

One thing I noticed while walking is that everyone appears nicely dressed. Although I do find the puffy, reflective, plastic jacket trend absolutely repulsive, for the most part, everyone is well put together. I think this may have something to do with demographic differences between the states and Europe.
From what I understand and have observed in the US, the less wealthy lower class tend to live in the inner city while the middle and upper classes live in the suburbia’s surrounding the city. In Italy, it is exactly the opposite. The wealthy upper class live in the heart of the city and the average wealth decreases the further one goes from the center. This could account for the surprisingly large number of people driving fancy cars and wearing designer clothing and the surprisingly low amount of poor and homeless in Rome.

I saw a guy wearing sweatpants that said "I <3 NY” today, It made me laugh because someone from New York would never actually wear pants like that. You see the same thing in the states all the time with those “Firenze” purses that girls carry. Just more proof that all people are really the same I guess.

-BJC

Picture of the Day: St. Peters dome from my window

The Beginning (week1)

It has been an eventful first week and a half, so I am going to try to summarize my experiences as much as possible... but probably not, so this should be a long one.

___

Thanks to weather (or perhaps workers going on strike), my original flight was cancelled and rescheduled for several days later. It actually ended up working out as I was upgraded to first class to make up for the inconvenience. I don't know how I will fly economy ever again!

I landed in Fiumicino, Italy with one and a half suitcases (one I left partially empty for when I return) by myself with no contacts and without the ability to communicate. All I had was 80 euro and an address: Via Santa Maria Dell'Anima 30.

Knowing the Fiumicino cab drivers charged a minimum of 60 euro for a ride to Rome, I set out in search of the train that runs between the airport and Termini Stazione. After buying my ticket (11euro) and almost getting on the wrong train, I found myself stepping onto the Fiumicino-Termini Train and embarking on a one way trip to the heart of Rome.

Disoriented, alone, and mentally and physically tired from both lack of sleep and carrying my luggage everywhere (Italians love stairs) I wandered out onto the notorious streets surrounding Termini Stazione. After a short time, I found a group of cab drivers huddled together speaking fast Italian. One noticed me and leapt from the group, “CAB?! You need cab?” he said pointing at his car and waving his hands.

“Si, si!” I nodded after ensuring the vehicle was one of the legitimate, white, metered taxis of Rome. He opened the trunk and helped me toss my luggage in.

The ride was as expected: crazy, fast, and with more than a couple middle fingers involved. He dropped me off about two blocks from my apartment claiming that Piazza Navona was under construction and that he could not drive there (I’m fairly certain he just didn’t feel like navigating through the back roads).

“Ventinove euro.” The cab driver said.

“Gratzie.” I said as I handed him a 50. He produced 10 euro in change (most likely assuming I wouldn’t understand how much ventinove (29) was. After a bit of arguing over correct change, he produced another 5 euro and proceeded to act like he couldn’t understand me. Giving up, I set off to find my apartment, and the rest of the day, like much of Rome, is history.

Since then I have stocked up on food (the first couple days were rough), figured out when to shower so that I have hot water, rearranged my room, consumed a few bottles of wine, bought a jacket, started my classes, visited the pantheon (I buy groceries there… no, not kidding), the Forum, the Colosseum, Trajan’s market, and St. Peters, shopped at the Campo Dei Fiori farmers market (my studio overlooks the piazza), walked the 7 hills of Rome, went bar hopping on the Colosseum pub crawl with 15 of my classmates and a sketchy Canadian guide by the name of Tac, watched an authentic Italian movie, Skyped with Kathleen and my parents, bought an Italian phone, and finished 30% of my history class grade (I was assigned a week long project the day before it was due and I somehow pulled it off. Go me!).

That just about brings you up to speed! I’m sure I’ve forgotten something, but all will be revealed soon enough. Besides, I need to go to bed because we are going to see some priceless works of art tomorrow (well… today) at 10:00am.

Buona Sera!

-BJC