As Free as my Soul

If you’re one of those people who get made fun of by your friends for using a fork and knife to eat pizza, (yes Jonah Miller, I’m referring to you) then fear no more! Come to Italy, you have no choice but to use some utensils. The pizza is so freshly prepared that you have to choose between cutting it off piece by piece or folding its entirety in half and eating it like a sandwich. 

After the sunburn of monstrous proportions (ie I could see the perfect shape of my bikini outlined in white against my blazing red skin) I decided it was best for me to NOT lie on a beach in the scorching sun for another day and so I found myself hopping off to a solo lunch. I always enjoy my alone time, but today I absolutely relished it. I ordered a pepperoni pizza (pepperoni in Italian means the equivalent to bell peppers, not meat) and a half litre of chardonnay and while I waited, I simply observed everything that was happening around me. When the pizza arrived I chose the slightly more elegant option of using a fork and knife to eat it and enjoyed every last morsel. A young man passing on a motorcycle stopped to ask me on a date and when I politely declined, he still stayed to ask if I was enjoying Italy and Italian life before scooting off.

I polished off the last piece of stringy mozzarella cheese from my pizza, and my last few sips of wine, I headed off for some light browsing before packing up and saying goodbye to Rimini. Our almost four hour train adventure allowed us to stop in the beautiful city of Bologna (where the temperature was 33 degrees) for supper and then onto home again in Conegliano. I decided to spend my night listening to Bruce Springsteen and catching up on some writing. Even sitting by yourself is more fantastic in Italy, with the light of the lamp surrounding you in a soft glow, and the crickets chirping continuously outside. The last thing I remember before closing my tired eyes was hearing Springsteen sing "I closed my eyes and I was runnin', I was runnin' then I was flyin'" and seeing the wind blow the curtains in and out of the window; I'm sure those curtains felt as free as my soul has since I got here.

An Ocean all my own

Before I say anything, I need to give an opening visual. Right now, I’m sitting on the deck of my hotel room in Rimini. I just got back from a glorious day laying in the hot sun and swimming in the warm ocean. There’s an ice cold, lime Bacardi Breezer in my left hand and to my right, the sun is just beginning to peek below the clouds and its last rays are playing hide and seek in the trees in front of me. 

Rimini is the Cuba of Italy with a few more perks. You realize that it’s a beach town of no cares the minute you step outside the train station. A friendly cab driver will be happy to recommend you the best dancing and discos, restaurants, and of course beaches on the way to your hotel.

Although it wasn’t a hard experience to surpass, our check in at Hotel Marritima was immediately a million times better than the four points Sheridan express in Rome (and thank GOD). A smiling man in a suit greeted us with an enthusiastic “Ciao!” and welcomed us into his hotel straight away. He recommended restaurants, set us up with some (free) wireless internet, and reminded us of the complimentary breakfast we could avail of in the morning. This man had the service industry all figured out.

As soon as we got settled away and decided to explore, it only took us ten minutes to find our way to a beach (after picking up a few bottles of chardonnay and beer, for good measure) and feel the cool evening sand between our toes. When I stepped into the warm ocean for the first time and looked around at the setting sun and the endless coastline of beaches and hotel fronts, I already couldn’t wait to come back in the morning. A full 360 degree rotation revealed the entirety of another little piece of another Italian paradise.

The sound of the night coming alive was already hustling about, with chatting friends and couples out for supper in the many restaurants adoring Rimini’s sidewalks.  After some wine (just assume it’s a requirement from here on in) we decided to integrate ourselves into Rimini’s nightlife. We sauntered through the main street and soon found ourselves being drawn to a restaurant called “Bounty” by the sweet sounds of live, outside music. Keep in mind, this happens EVERY NIGHT at Bounty. After we seated ourselves close to the front and a waiter came to take our order, we were enthralled by the free talent standing before us. I felt like there was some kind of cover charge that I surely missed, especially when the lead singer of the band (a tattooed, tight pants wearing, smooth talking soul man) provided a personal serenade.

Following more scrumptious food and chardonnay, we found ourselves in a karaoke competition and then laughing our way home accompanied by some friendly American naval personnel who were as delighted as we were to find themselves in the presence of English speaking people. We debated on whose Irish roots were stronger (a debate I won) while discussing the possibilities of a tequila shooting contest. In a few minutes we said some thankful goodnights for the accompaniment home, and went off to bed. I had a nightmare last night, a recurring one – that we woke up and it was raining and we couldn’t go to the beach.  Please don’t hate me; it was a legitimate concern, right? I mean, it’s not like it was SNOWING with 3 degrees in Newfoundland-oh wait.

As I lay in the sun today, it was hard to believe that for once in my life there was nothing else that I “should” have been doing. It was difficult to convince myself for awhile, that all I had to do was enjoy this sandy utopia. The day was productively spent dozing in and out of consciousness and continuously denying the beach vendors of a purchase. The only bother in the entire world was remembering to flip every fifteen minutes to even out my tanning. At one point, I was the only one swimming in the Arid ocean as far as my eyes could see. As I dove for pretty seashells, I felt like the entire ocean was all mine for a little while

Not one woman in Rimini wears ANYTHING but a bikini. Regardless of size, shape, or age, they’re all comfortable enough with themselves and their bodies to rock a bikini all day; I think this is fantastic! The amount of confidence in all the women in Italy is something to be marvelled, which is probably why the men believe they’re so untouchable. An Italian man will always appear slightly bewildered when a woman is NICE to him upon a first encounter, even if it’s just a friendly “Ciao! Come stai?“ I know this because I’ve received that look of bewilderment almost daily since I arrived here.

After ordering a delicious pizza from a local, family pizzeria, we began getting ready for a night of dancing in Rimini. Our cab driver promptly took us to beach 88, the home of the local gay bar much to the delight of David.  Hoards of people gathered (outside) this small bar as a DJ provided us with continuous electro and Italian popular music. Three times I was mistaken for a lesbian; I’m not sure how to take that, but for now I’ll just consider it a compliment.

I feel like a Gondola.

Everything is a picture in Venice. Not just any picture, but one you want to frame and admire for the rest of your life. Of course, you wouldn’t have enough room on your walls to do this, so you somehow need to muster the sensory energy to take everything in and make it a memory.

All that you’ve seen and conceptualized about Venice (be it from books, movies, or stories) is absolutely accurate. There are people all around you who aren’t in a rush to do anything but sip Prosecco, or Chardonnay, or Merlot on their lunch breaks while awaiting a primo prepared pizza complete with stringy, soft mozzarella, fresh tomato sauce, and crunchy, sweet bell peppers. Oh, and while you wait, you get chips. This isn’t unique to Venice, and it happens all over Italy. Waiters bring you little bowls of chips while you wait for your food, or are having a drink. For me, this is becoming a custom that will surely be hard to kick once I return to Canada. But I digress, these people not only get the best drinks and food imaginable, but they get to sit right next to the aquatic streets of Venice, probably with fresh flowers and tiny birds landing about to chirp the merriest little hellos, and just watch Venice “happen” all around them. There are fancy gondolas full of interested tourists, water taxis and personal watercrafts moving effortlessly through the waters, under bridges, and toward their destinations. Sometimes, a passing gondola will seat an obviously Italian couple, and you can hear the Gondoliers’ sweet Italian melodies travel into your adorning ears as they pass. You could close your eyes, but you wouldn’t want to.

If you walk up the main streets leading away from the busy St. Lucia train station, you are immediately met by markets and street venders, the tiniest shops with the most original commodities, and friendly waiters who will use their floral Italian accents and copious amounts of compliments to try and coax you into their restaurants for a pasta or pizza lunch.  Keep walking and the streets will become remarkably narrower, but with the same amount of shops. People pass, tourists grip their bags and purses, and everyone is smushed together into another element of Venetian life. Scarcely will you hear a “scusi” from one of the Italians, unless they’ve knocked you to the ground or really given you a good shake as they’ve passed. This is their life, why would they apologize for it?

When I enter into a busy morning coffee shop, I’m surprised at how easily I’ve mastered the skill of getting the attention of the baristas and ordering my drinks like the Italians do. If I flaw on a detail of my drink, or a pronunciation, it just means that I will end up with a new delicious creation that I haven’t tried before, and I have yet to be disappointed by any Italian surprises, coffee related or otherwise, thus far.

Yesterday, we were in Venice for a European Union address which gave us a basic history of how the EU is formed, the details of its purpose, the Venetian region’s place and influence in the EU, and finally the requirements that must be met for a country to become part of the EU (Croatia is expected to remain snubbed until 2014). After this address, we had “class” while enjoying lunch (right next to a Venice canal) at a small, corner restaurant. We learned about Italy’s reputation on the human rights front (which is unfortunately not as shiny or admired as the country’s immaculate treasures), as well as the unexpected results of a local election which found Silvio Berlusconi’s candidate at a loss. We did this over  cool mineral water, toasted ham and cheese sandwiches, a varied selection of cheeses and breads, and of course, pizza. Life is stressful when you’re an International student in Italy.

Our first trip to Venice (last Tuesday) was a race of finding and appreciating St. Mark’s square. Several times along the way, someone would ask “When will we be in St. Mark’s square?” and David’s answer each time was “You’ll know when you’re there.” Truer words were never spoken! As soon as you break out of the maze of streets and turns, you subsequently break IN to a square of an unimaginable proportion with the most astonishing basilica full of golden glazed religious artworks, the tallest peaks and steeples, and thousands of people adoring what they’re smack in the middle of. You can hear four piece bands play sylvan Italian numbers to the tourists who’ve accepted the pricey consequences of eating in the square. Pigeons fly liberally about, people buy tourist souvenirs or line up to enter the basilica or its tower, and everything is as it should be. When we return to the square to meet for supper at six, we are captured by the beauty of a setting Italian sun as its last rays of warmth and glow strike the golden peaks and artworks of the basilica and everything around you erupts into an ocean of golden treasure.

Yesterday in Venice, myself, Candice, and Meghan decided to spend our second day in Venice as any fashion loving ladies would; diving in and out of every store and shop looking for things we won’t find when we get back home- another easy task. Some shop folk are nice and helpful, some very forward, and some very cautious about you even touching their products. It is a taboo that we’re not aware of in Canada. Some shop owners may take great pride in their products, some simply have no time for browsers, and others are just plain obsessive compulsive over what they’re offering you. Being able to negotiate price is a skill that comes easily and I’ve successfully bartered prices with a few vendors during my time here. The Italian people who walk around you do an enormous amount of unconscious marketing for the stores here, just by being themselves. It is remarkable how well dressed and fashion forward everyone seems to be when you come from a place that markets a trend about eighteen months after it is first spotted. Everything I see I imagine being a big trend in Newfoundland almost two years from now, and I’m patiently waiting to see how correct this theory will be. Any price is possible in Venice, from stores selling everything at ten Euros a piece, to ones that will run you over four hundred for a shirt or coordinating accessory. It’s an expensive city by nature, but if you’re willing to spend five hours turning each tiny corner, and walking down every alley way (as we did), you’ll find that unimaginable treasures await you. My genuine leather, lilac (NOT faded purple-thanks Candice) clutch (twenty Euros), for example. ;)

After gelato (that we swore was the best we’ve found so far) at GNOM, we decided to try to navigate our way BACK to the train station based on instinct on whether or not to go left or right at every corner we encountered. As we walked, I marvelled at the taste of fresh strawberry and vanilla bean gelato that tasted as though it had been just churned using milk from some sort of magical cow hiding in the back of the gelato shop. I know, it’s a stretch, but that’s how I felt about it.

From the absolute center of the Venice shopping district we began our series of lefts and rights, stopping occasionally to ask a “smiling mother” or “silver fox number seven” (who guided us through our last turns) for encouraging directions. We were actually spectacular at this whole navigation thing, not surprisingly of course, and made it to the station just in time to get on board the 6 o’clock train. 

I sat to collect my thoughts while the scenery of Venice and the surrounding towns blurred and vanished into the background of our day. Every day is a dream, every experience a lesson learned, and every thought an appreciation. I still can't believe I'm here, even while our train races toward our home in Conegliano. 

I feel like a Gondola. I never know who I'll experience, how the weather might be, or where the canal will take me, but no day is ever the same, and even the familiar is something new.

       

Show me the importance of everything.

The astounding sound of the clock tower’s bells never ceases to make me close my eyes and appreciate each tone no matter how many times I hear it sing to us every day. Whether you’re in bed, walking about the streets of Conegliano, or squeezing in some internet time, it shocks you to attention, bids you to listen to its stories, and then fades away softly as if it were saying “We’ll chat again later my friend, don’t forget about me, Ciao.”

The sun had reached its highest point in the sky when we awoke yesterday morning (aka-champagne tends to make you sleep late). We had another “class” where we discussed more sociocultural dynamics and our perspectives on the intricacies of life here and in Canada. Following the discussion we were sent off exploring with the instruction to observe and feel everything around us. This served to be more of a natural reaction as opposed to an assignment involving conscious efforts.

The group decided to attend supper at Casa de George where the specialty of the day was a fresh pasta and sauce sprinkled with tiny morsels of ground, fresh lamb. The way the owner presented the dishes was an experience in itself, (it was as though he was singing us a story of food) and soon we were all sold on his primo prepared meal. The table was quickly filled with glasses of wonderful red wine and baskets of soft, out of the over bread.  When the pasta arrived, as delicious as it was I’m sure, I discovered that I was not partial to the lamb and one of the waitresses immediately asked if I would like to order something else instead; how often would such a gesture of generosity happen in Canada?

Italians take so much pride in their food which allows for them to standardize that their customer must ALWAYS be happy. I was quickly served a fresh dish of spaghetti and meat sauce and the pasta was so neoteric that tiny fragments of it stuck to my fork as I twirled it round and round until I was sure I couldn’t fit another bite.  Next came dessert, and anyone who knows me at all, knows that I cannot turn down dessert. I ordered the most moist, rich piece of tiramisu and enjoyed it all down to its very last morsel.

We gave a thousand thanks to the chef and went off to the local cafe in the piazza where an everlasting supply of proseccto was served by two Italian friends who have taken it upon themselves to make sure we enjoy every second of Conegliano; they’ve got a rather easy task, honestly. We accompanied them to a local bar where we were greeted by a friendly pub owner named Francesco who loved Canadians and immediately poured us more proseccto on the house. We stayed and chatted with locals until 3:30am when we departed and strolled back to the convent, barefoot over the cool cobblestones of Conegliano.

The quiet was incrediable, astounding even. You don’t need to hear anything to appreciate the beauty that surrounds you. Whether it’s marble walkways or the cobblestone roads, the tiny creatures that come out at night, or the occasional sound of music (which seems to appear out of nowhere); there is always an awareness of the rich character of every little thing in Conegliano.

As I closed the gates to the convent and said goodnight to friends, I made my way to the bed that was calling me to rest and went to sleep with visions of how I would experience Venice in the morning.

Cobblestones and Champagne

I woke up at 8am, and for the first time in my life I didn’t feel the need to go back to sleep, or to be somewhere, or to do something. Marvellous! I saw the breeze tango with the white curtains that adorn my towering windows, closed my eyes for just a second, and then opened them again to be sure I wasn’t dreaming. I performed a similar routine when I found a gorgeous leather jacket for only 50 Euros later in the morning, but we’ll get to that in a bit.

I and David toddled off to breakfast (which was delightful) where we experienced fresh ham and cheese croissants, cappuccinos, and the BEST yogurt I’ve ever tasted in my life. After a shower I decided to go wandering through the cobblestone lanes, the marble archways, and the plethora of verdant fountains and statues commemorating various historical dignitaries or other important symbols.

I stopped at the piazza for a moment where the Italians drink mineral water and have light lunches (for as long as they want, I might add) when the markets and shops close for their two hour lunch breaks. I found my way to a fresh fruit market where the tomatoes, strawberries, and cherries taste so succulent and sweet that it’s as though they’re entirely foreign fruits that I've never tasted before. I crammed as much as I could into a bag for $14 Euro and proceeded to munch on all of it as I walked.

I braided in and out of shops, conversed with the owners, and permanently smiled everywhere I found myself.  I set my eyes on the softest leather jacket I’ve ever seen and proceeded to purchase it IMMEDIATELY, so immediately in fact, that the ladies working laughed when they saw my eyes widen and my jaw drop at the sight of the jacket.

Soon I headed back for my first “lecture”. HA! We soaked up luscious rays of sunshine while lounging in the piazza, ate more fresh fruit, learned of all the places we would be visiting for the next month, and saw the rooms we would be staying at in Rome this weekend. In my three years of university I’ve never had a lecture that demanded so much of my attention, and whose demands I adhered to so well.

After “class” (I still laugh when I make the mental association with what that word means to me) we strolled to the grocery store (appropriately named “Eat’s”) where I almost had a heart attack upon realizing what was around me. Mountains of the freshest fruits and vegetables with colors so rich that they appear to be painted, meats cut directly from the animal in front of you (seriously- there were pigs, and legs of cattle RIGHT in front of me), a bakery full of every bread and sweet treat that you could imagine, at least 100 varieties of the freshest cheeses, and a wine SECTION (yes, section) with at least 400 varieties to choose from. They call it a convenience store, and again I laugh at my mental association with the word.

After shopping, I returned to the kitchen at the convent and made THE SINGLE BEST SANDWICH in existence. The mozzarella (taken straight from a bowl of cold water and milk by the server at the grocery store) was SO fresh that I couldn’t tell the difference between it and the strips of fresh roasted chicken that were also on the sandwich. I also placed sprigs of lettuce and red, bursting cherry tomatoes to top off the crusty outside, soft as a baby inside bread that I bought. The banana yogurt was so good that I would eat it for dessert at home if I could, and the potato chip people NEED to send Lay’s their recipes because WE do NOT know how to prepare potato chips, trust me. All of this with a glass of red wine whose particles sparkled as the rays of sunshine hit it from the window. I have never enjoyed a meal so fresh and delicious. I don’t think anything can be any more arousing to my sense of taste as yesterday was, but perhaps I’ll continue to be surprised.

After supper, I opened a bottle of champagne and climbed onto my window ledge to read some of my favourite “Eat, Pray, Love” passages as the sun set around me. Surely, I’m in heaven.

After more champagne, hair, and makeup we all headed to the bar closest to where we’re staying for drinks (compliments of some lovely Italian boys) and conversation encompassing the dynamics of Italian and Canadian cultures. We sat, drank, and conversed until the bartender closed shop after which time we all skipped playfully home. It’s worth mentioning that five inch heels and cobblestones are not really as dangerous of a combination as you might think.

 Soon, we fell into our beds and proceeded to shut our eyes on another day, but we’re never completely unconscious to where we are, what we’ve seen, smelled, and tasted, and what is yet to come.

Ciao for now! 

Greetings from Paradise!

Always remember that 1 drink in the air is equal to 3 on the ground. I learned this at 31,000 feet on my 8.5 hour flight from Toronto to Rome while asking Laura if the lights were changing color on their own or if it was just me. It wasn't just me, for the record.

 After twenty four hours of travel, and some legitimate pre-journey sickness, I found myself walking through the arrivals gate at Rome’s international airport. As soon as I stepped from the aircraft, off the ramp, and onto the pavement of the secured area, I immediately felt the humidity radiating from the hot, new land beneath my feet. Even though we crammed ourselves onto a transport bus which quickly escorted us to the terminal, the arrivals gate itself was surprisingly empty for such a magnificently large airport. One glance around proved what we had believed all along- every person and everything within our sightlines was beautiful, absolutely stunning. From the charming gentleman walking about in 3 piece suits, to young men strolling through or working within the airport, to the beautiful Italian women who are so very distinct and well carried- Italy was already a dream come true.

I made my first purchases while speaking Italian, much to the delight of the woman behind the counter at the airport. The cafe cream cappuccino was like a thick, frothy delight travelling over my lips adorned with real whip cream and tiny fragments of chocolate powder. All of this brought to my senses by an express cafe; I can only imagine what I will taste in specialty coffee shops.

I had heard fantastically elaborate warnings of pick-pocketers and dishonest folk (of which I have yet to experience), but very little about the charming Italian gentlemen who kiss your hand and ask your name (while looking DIRECTLY into your EYES) upon their first meeting with you. They appreciate every inch of a woman with only their eyes before even saying “Ciao”.  I’ve been told that this is because Europeans really understand how to enjoy life and “Il dolche far niente” which is “the sweetness of doing nothing” so that when “something” arrives, they can give thanks to it in the most wonderful ways.

Once we touched down in Venice, I stepped into more glorious heat while a lovely man who would be driving us from Venice to Conegliano offered to take my luggage straight away, with a smile. Canadian boys, take note. We drove through the winding roads of Conegliano, through an open market and up the narrowest little alley towards the Mecca that we would call home for the next month. The 15^th century restored ex convent of Saint Francesco is ours, complete with chirping crickets and cuckoo birds, grape vines, and a gated entrance. The courtyard is adorned with cobblestones and a marble endowed well at the center.

The streets of Conegliano are everything I could have imagined but better. While walking, you wonder what it must be like to have the balcony of your home overlooking the local bars and shops and the busy streets of the market. From gelato shops to small boutiques, everything has character, Italian character. 

We followed a serendipitously acquired Croatian business administration graduate student, who quickly led us through the rustic streets of Conegliano and into the most charming little pizzeria where we drank bubbly champagnes, wines, and beers over various tinges of pizza followed by tiramisu and mousse desserts.

Upon leaving the pizzeria, I glided through the streets toward home, stopping occasionally to converse with the locals and practice my Italian. The Italians are very appreciative when you communicate with them in their language (even if you can’t speak it) and so they offer their brightest smiles to someone speaking even at an introductory level. I’m making an effort to speak in as much Italian as I can, everywhere I go, and so far the response of the Italian people has been overwhelming. My only stupor comes when they assume I’m completely fluent and find myself lost for a moment, but one can usually place themselves back on track with a light smile and a laugh.

My mind is so filled with thoughts that it’s difficult to crunch out the text as quickly as it is running through my newly plasticised brain. Keep in mind I’m writing this entry in the quiet hallway of the convent, overlooking the Piazza below me. I want to remember how this feels for the rest of my life. In fact, I never want to leave it so that I can ALWAYS feel this cultured and emotionally aroused, so you can all hop a flight and come see me ;)

Time to let the crickets chirp me to sleep.

Ciao!

Housekeeping and Formalities

I am a personified fabulous state. I'm always wandering about in some frenzy, late for everything (thus the word "state"), with a confident style and a whimsical aura surrounding me, and forever considering what's next on my many lists. I'm discovering the world which encompasses my busy existence and trying to create a sense of permanence (but not too much stability, one must keep things fresh and vibrant!) of some sort while I'm at it. 


Last summer, Elizabeth Gilbert's memoir "Eat, Pray, Love" saved my life. Although I'm an actress I promise that statement was not me being over dramatic. It inspired me and gave me a perspective that I so desperately needed. Since finishing the book (and highlighting hundreds of my favorite quotes with post-it notes) I decided that I too might benefit from some international exposure. From there, I was presented with an opportunity to attend a Communications Studies (one of my university majors) field school in Conegliano, Italy in May 2011.


I began putting the details into place, and with a few sprinkles of financial fortune coupled with determination and some blessings from the unknown along the way, I'm now preparing to leave for Italy. For the next month I'll be getting lost with myself in beautiful Venice, and I've decided it's about time I create some sort of memoir to store and share my experiences, thoughts, and curiosities with my family and friends back home, and also to keep track of various components of the international communications courses I'll be completing throughout the next month.


If you're a friend or family member who is interested in virtually accompanying me to Italy then feel free to follow the blog and look for my updates via Facebook. I'm hoping to write as daily as I can, and also planning to insert some creative tidbits (poetry, writings, and photos) for you all to enjoy as you devour the delicious details of my travels.


Thank you to EVERYONE who provided encouragement and advice (especially Sharon Sinnott, David King, and Christina Fabretto) for me while I was in consistent preparation (and utter confusion) trying to work out all the details.


I leave St.John's this Saturday at 12pm and I will return on June 5th just in time for my 21st birthday on the 6th. Once I return, I'll continue to use this blog to document my last year of undergraduate studies and all of the wonderful plans I have for myself and subsequently, my future. You will also see excerpts of scripts I'm working on pop up occasionally to provide your lives with some genuine around-the-bay comic relief. Bride and Agnes can't wait to meet you. ;)


As an conclusion to this post and a commencement to this blog, I'll leave you with a personal quote:


"Sometimes, the world is more inspiring when you're alone in it for a bit."




I hope my writing is filled with enough vividness and emotion that you all feel like you're right there with me (except when I'm in the shower, I prefer to take those alone) tasting and experiencing every morsel of the next month. If you're up for this, be aware that you will be drinking copious amounts of virtual wine, and probably consuming more pizza and pasta than any human should. Here's to all the flavors and indulgences that the next 31 days will surprise us with...




Attraversiamo e ciao!


-Jess -xox-