so maybe i'm ready to go home.
paris was nice enough. no, no, it was very nice. i finally went to see ste-chapelle, the 'jewelbox' chapel on île de la cité that is probably more stained glass than structural components. i walked along the rive gauche (left bank) again, and stopped at mariage fréres for tins of tea and ladurée (not on the left bank) for macaroons. i went to the musée rodin and saw my favorite sculpture of all time, probably, the burghers of calais. also there was the thinker, the gates of hell, ugolino, balzac and the kiss, along with an entire room of equally-impressive sculptures by rodin's mistress, camille claudel.
on saturday we went as a group (more or less) to chartres cathedral and versailles. it was truly magnificent to see finally see chartres after studying it so many times; unfortunately, due to a memory-card mishap, i do not have photographs of those iconically mismatched towers. oh well, they were nice. versailles... was the same as the last time i saw it, in paris, in the third week of november. i actually really do like that aspect of symmetry - it'd been five years to the week since i'd been in paris last. i saw all the signs for beaujolais nouveau and once again, i saved all of my metro tickets.
and, on saturday night, a group of us went to go see ra ra riot in this little (well, not that little) club on the outskirts of paris (past pére-lachaise cemetary), also in celebration of ryan's birthday. the show itself was very nice, and the entire experience of going to an indie rock concert, or any concert at all, which i hadn't been to since nextech way back in september. after ra ra riot, these exquisitely hilarious french rappers (think mc solaar but not quite) came on stage, and by that time, everything was funny. none of us had any idea what they were saying; but boy did we think it all hilarious.
the sleeper trains there and back (again) may have killed my nascent love for love distance travel by train. or maybe it's simply trenitalia. the trains were delayed both ways, which meant that to paris, we lost nearly two and a half hours of friday morning and back from paris, i didn't end up having enough time to go to my first class, which i really did want to go to (it was italian). walking home from the train station in a downpour on monday morning didn't enhance my mood, either.
okay, that's about it for now. i'm going (back) to rome, again, this weekend with my etruscans & romans class, led by the indomitable professor charles ewell. i'm also only in rome for one day, and spending the rest of the time in pompeii and herculaneum, sorrento, naples, and along the amalfi coast. it'll probably be too cold to go into the water, but i know the view will be nice. until then, signing off.
26 November 2008
16 November 2008
and, i mean, some things that i've done recently, too
Weekends this November: five.
Weekends this November I will have spent in Rome: three.
This is the truth, because I went two weeks ago with the Michelangelo class, last weekend with the All-School trip (my 'free' trip to Rome) and I am going in two weeks as part of my Etruscans & Romans class. Now that we're clear.
Anyways, this weekend I was supposed to go to Rome with Ariel, but a continuing sinus infection and new stomach virus rendered her mostly incapacitated and I basically ended up taking advantage of Syracuse University in Florence's free transportation and lodging while seeing Rome on my own. This was extremely nice because 1) no matter how much I enjoyed Renaissance Rome and the private viewing of the Sistine Chapel last weekend, the trip was mighty hectic and I felt like I could barely catch my breath the entire time and 2) the two previous times I was in Rome in September were Russian visa-related/bureaucratic nightmares that stressed me out way too much to enjoy any part of Rome at all. Okay, bitchfest over, onto the wonders of Rome:
On Friday, I left the group almost as soon as we arrived at the train station. I walked from the train station to Santa Maria degli Angeli, a Renaissance-era (the interior was designed by Michelangelo, apparently) basilica hidden under an ancient Roman bath-house. It had the most impressive proto-Baroque organ I have ever seen and very nice porphyry columnar work. I also ran into the Manifestazione, the Italian students' protest over educational reforms implemented by the government. There were banners, shouters, and an overwhelming odour of marijuana. It was like I was back in Ann Arbor again. I walked towards the Quirinal Hill (my favorite of the seven) and stopped by the Palazzo Barberini, where there was a very nice museum of High Renaissance and Baroque art, in an altogether pleasing palatial environment. To enter the museum, you walk up this very nice winding spiral staircase (not at all like the one in St. Peter's) and then since the museum is in an old palace, everything is airy and spacious and the natural environment that the paintings are in are just so nice. And yes, the artwork there is very high-quality, too! They have Raphael's La Fornarina (The Baker), reputedly a portrait of his mistress; two excellent Caravaggios (Judith and Holofernes and Narcissus) and one of Hans Holbein's protraits of Henry VIII.
After Palazzo Barberini, I went to a restaurant called Birreria Peroni for lunch, on the recommendation of my Italian professor. There, I ordered, per her recommendation as well, a dish called scamorza arrosto, which ended up being an entire roasting dish of melted cheese. Mm-hm. Delicious, yes. Incredibly unhealthy, certainly. After lunch, I walked to the ancient Roman Forum, ran into the protesters again and ducked into the Capitoline Museums for a good dose of ancient Roman art and artifacts. There, I saw the enormous head, left hand, right hand, left hand, and right (I think) kneecap of Constantine. Wonderful, really it was. Also there in the museums is the Capitoline She-Wolf, that famous sculpture of the wolf suckling Romulus and Remus. Fun fact, the babies underneath the wolf were only added later for the necessary propaganda. Oh, Rome, my love. Unfortunately, by that time, I was dead tired and still had to walk all the back towards the train station for our hotel, so I missed out on seeing the Dying Gaul. Curses.
At the hotel, my lack of friends meant that I got a room to myself for the night. Go me, obviously. I also fell asleep at seven pm and didn't wake up until seven am. You know those kind of nights. Necessary, and I'll just see the Trastevere the next time I'm in Rome. Saturday morning, I spilt from the group once again and went exploring in the suburbs, to the ponte Milvio, which is this bridge where lovers go and fasten locks onto the bridge pilings before throwing the keys behind them into the Tiber. Romantic, yet polluting. The hopeless romantic in me had to see it before I left Italy; and the ironic pragmatist in me chuckled when I saw the enterprising vendors selling locks and keys at various intervals for those less-prepared lovers amongst us. I caught a tram back towards the center of the city (the bridge is kind of south of nowhere-type) and just wandered down the via del Corso, one of the main arteries of Rome. Ostensibly, I was looking for the Museo del Corso, which had an exhibit of Dutch Masters. Unfortunately, I never did find it, and by the time I stumbled upon a Basquiat thing going on at the Palazzo Ruspoli (whatever that is, I googled it) which utterly made up for missing a Vermeer or three. I don't think the exhibition had a lot of his famous famous paintings but it did have one called Suiting, Tuxedoes that I really liked. They made me check my camera at the door though, so I couldn't even take any stealth photos. And I went to Muji in Rome. Obviously.
I finally re-joined the Syracuse group Saturday afternoon on the excursion to the Galleria Borghese, Cardinal Scipione Borghese's own "pleasure palace," the "Playboy Mansion of its day" (tm Sebastian, best guide ever) which is now filled with masterpieces of the Baroque, mostly Bernini and Caravaggio. Most importantly, it has Bernini's Apollo and Daphne and Rape of Proserpina. Seeing them was absolutely breathtaking, one of the first truly "wow, pause" moments so far in Italy. I think the only other one so far was when we went to the Laurentian Library, but that's not the point. The point was that you could see where Bernini sculpted Proserpina's tears and Pluto's fingers' indentations in her thigh. The point was after you took a turn around Apollo and Daphne, you could see the procession of her transfiguration, from the bark forming around her torso to the tips of her fingers turning into laurel leaves. The point was totally getting a talking-to from a humourless guard about "no pictures! no no no pictures!!!!" in the galleries.
After returning on Saturday night, I met Katie for a late dinner, where again I consumed a singularly unhealthy amount of dairy product, this time in the form of a gorgonzola-and-mozarella calzone that was supposed to have tomatoes in it as well but so emphatically did not. And then, gelato from Grom, this time caco (persimmon) and torrochino (torrone/nougat). It's not that I haven't gained weight, it's that since there are no dryers in this country, none of my jeans actually fit anymore. Deceptive, you see.
THEN, of course, Katie and I go out for American brunch this early/late afternoon. We went, this time per my roommate's recommendation, to a little restaurant tucked away between piazza Signoria and Santa Croce called La Via dell'Acqua, where we waited for an absurdly long time for absurdly good food. Katie got scrambled egg whites and turkey bacon while I ordered blueberry pancakes and a side of fried ham (really prosciutto cotto, but who's complaining). It was almost life-changingly (though still not as good as Egg) good, the blueberry pancakes, because they aren't even my favorite breakfast food! Like, that's how good the pancakes are, or, conversely, how much I miss the concept of Sunday brunch. Either way, delicious is the bottom line. And there was American coffee. Don't get me wrong, I will take a macchiato, always, but there is just something so comforting about a biggish ceramic mug, filled with coffee, and it even comes with a spoon of mini chocolate chips.
Weekends this November I will have spent in Rome: three.
This is the truth, because I went two weeks ago with the Michelangelo class, last weekend with the All-School trip (my 'free' trip to Rome) and I am going in two weeks as part of my Etruscans & Romans class. Now that we're clear.
Anyways, this weekend I was supposed to go to Rome with Ariel, but a continuing sinus infection and new stomach virus rendered her mostly incapacitated and I basically ended up taking advantage of Syracuse University in Florence's free transportation and lodging while seeing Rome on my own. This was extremely nice because 1) no matter how much I enjoyed Renaissance Rome and the private viewing of the Sistine Chapel last weekend, the trip was mighty hectic and I felt like I could barely catch my breath the entire time and 2) the two previous times I was in Rome in September were Russian visa-related/bureaucratic nightmares that stressed me out way too much to enjoy any part of Rome at all. Okay, bitchfest over, onto the wonders of Rome:
On Friday, I left the group almost as soon as we arrived at the train station. I walked from the train station to Santa Maria degli Angeli, a Renaissance-era (the interior was designed by Michelangelo, apparently) basilica hidden under an ancient Roman bath-house. It had the most impressive proto-Baroque organ I have ever seen and very nice porphyry columnar work. I also ran into the Manifestazione, the Italian students' protest over educational reforms implemented by the government. There were banners, shouters, and an overwhelming odour of marijuana. It was like I was back in Ann Arbor again. I walked towards the Quirinal Hill (my favorite of the seven) and stopped by the Palazzo Barberini, where there was a very nice museum of High Renaissance and Baroque art, in an altogether pleasing palatial environment. To enter the museum, you walk up this very nice winding spiral staircase (not at all like the one in St. Peter's) and then since the museum is in an old palace, everything is airy and spacious and the natural environment that the paintings are in are just so nice. And yes, the artwork there is very high-quality, too! They have Raphael's La Fornarina (The Baker), reputedly a portrait of his mistress; two excellent Caravaggios (Judith and Holofernes and Narcissus) and one of Hans Holbein's protraits of Henry VIII.
After Palazzo Barberini, I went to a restaurant called Birreria Peroni for lunch, on the recommendation of my Italian professor. There, I ordered, per her recommendation as well, a dish called scamorza arrosto, which ended up being an entire roasting dish of melted cheese. Mm-hm. Delicious, yes. Incredibly unhealthy, certainly. After lunch, I walked to the ancient Roman Forum, ran into the protesters again and ducked into the Capitoline Museums for a good dose of ancient Roman art and artifacts. There, I saw the enormous head, left hand, right hand, left hand, and right (I think) kneecap of Constantine. Wonderful, really it was. Also there in the museums is the Capitoline She-Wolf, that famous sculpture of the wolf suckling Romulus and Remus. Fun fact, the babies underneath the wolf were only added later for the necessary propaganda. Oh, Rome, my love. Unfortunately, by that time, I was dead tired and still had to walk all the back towards the train station for our hotel, so I missed out on seeing the Dying Gaul. Curses.
At the hotel, my lack of friends meant that I got a room to myself for the night. Go me, obviously. I also fell asleep at seven pm and didn't wake up until seven am. You know those kind of nights. Necessary, and I'll just see the Trastevere the next time I'm in Rome. Saturday morning, I spilt from the group once again and went exploring in the suburbs, to the ponte Milvio, which is this bridge where lovers go and fasten locks onto the bridge pilings before throwing the keys behind them into the Tiber. Romantic, yet polluting. The hopeless romantic in me had to see it before I left Italy; and the ironic pragmatist in me chuckled when I saw the enterprising vendors selling locks and keys at various intervals for those less-prepared lovers amongst us. I caught a tram back towards the center of the city (the bridge is kind of south of nowhere-type) and just wandered down the via del Corso, one of the main arteries of Rome. Ostensibly, I was looking for the Museo del Corso, which had an exhibit of Dutch Masters. Unfortunately, I never did find it, and by the time I stumbled upon a Basquiat thing going on at the Palazzo Ruspoli (whatever that is, I googled it) which utterly made up for missing a Vermeer or three. I don't think the exhibition had a lot of his famous famous paintings but it did have one called Suiting, Tuxedoes that I really liked. They made me check my camera at the door though, so I couldn't even take any stealth photos. And I went to Muji in Rome. Obviously.
I finally re-joined the Syracuse group Saturday afternoon on the excursion to the Galleria Borghese, Cardinal Scipione Borghese's own "pleasure palace," the "Playboy Mansion of its day" (tm Sebastian, best guide ever) which is now filled with masterpieces of the Baroque, mostly Bernini and Caravaggio. Most importantly, it has Bernini's Apollo and Daphne and Rape of Proserpina. Seeing them was absolutely breathtaking, one of the first truly "wow, pause" moments so far in Italy. I think the only other one so far was when we went to the Laurentian Library, but that's not the point. The point was that you could see where Bernini sculpted Proserpina's tears and Pluto's fingers' indentations in her thigh. The point was after you took a turn around Apollo and Daphne, you could see the procession of her transfiguration, from the bark forming around her torso to the tips of her fingers turning into laurel leaves. The point was totally getting a talking-to from a humourless guard about "no pictures! no no no pictures!!!!" in the galleries.
After returning on Saturday night, I met Katie for a late dinner, where again I consumed a singularly unhealthy amount of dairy product, this time in the form of a gorgonzola-and-mozarella calzone that was supposed to have tomatoes in it as well but so emphatically did not. And then, gelato from Grom, this time caco (persimmon) and torrochino (torrone/nougat). It's not that I haven't gained weight, it's that since there are no dryers in this country, none of my jeans actually fit anymore. Deceptive, you see.
THEN, of course, Katie and I go out for American brunch this early/late afternoon. We went, this time per my roommate's recommendation, to a little restaurant tucked away between piazza Signoria and Santa Croce called La Via dell'Acqua, where we waited for an absurdly long time for absurdly good food. Katie got scrambled egg whites and turkey bacon while I ordered blueberry pancakes and a side of fried ham (really prosciutto cotto, but who's complaining). It was almost life-changingly (though still not as good as Egg) good, the blueberry pancakes, because they aren't even my favorite breakfast food! Like, that's how good the pancakes are, or, conversely, how much I miss the concept of Sunday brunch. Either way, delicious is the bottom line. And there was American coffee. Don't get me wrong, I will take a macchiato, always, but there is just something so comforting about a biggish ceramic mug, filled with coffee, and it even comes with a spoon of mini chocolate chips.
book reviews
From the three I bought at the Persephone Bookshop in London over fall break:
Actually, this is pretty counterintuitive and completely a ploy to avoid work. Anyways, the three books I bought were Miss Pettigrew Lives For A Day, Farewell Leicester Square, and They Can't Ration These. I've finished Miss Pettigrew and am about two-thirds of the way through Farewell Leicester Square. Miss Pettigrew was thoroughly diverting, but reminded me to no small account why exactly I always (strive to) read the book before watching the film. I don't like the film any less, but just like what the shopkeeper at Persephone told me, the book is very different and I would like the novel much more. True on both accounts. Mom, you would like the book - definitely read it when I return. Farewell Leicester Square is quite good so far, and easier to get through than I thought it would be. It's basically about the discrete anti-Semitism of bougeois London in the interwar period; about a Jewish film director named Alec Berman and semi-self-inflicted, semi-environmental prejudices that he faces. The author, Betty Miller, does a great job of probing the psychologoical depths and paralyzing self-doubt (hey!) of the characters, especially Alec and his gentile wife, Catherine.
Obviously, The Brothers Karamazov, started in the second week of September, still has not progressed beyond page three hundred seventy-something. Dimitri is furious, Ivan is totally giving me the "I told you so" look and Aloysha is already praying for my immortal soul. And Infinite Jest? Pretty sure it has a fine coating of dust on its thick spine. Shame, shame away.
Actually, this is pretty counterintuitive and completely a ploy to avoid work. Anyways, the three books I bought were Miss Pettigrew Lives For A Day, Farewell Leicester Square, and They Can't Ration These. I've finished Miss Pettigrew and am about two-thirds of the way through Farewell Leicester Square. Miss Pettigrew was thoroughly diverting, but reminded me to no small account why exactly I always (strive to) read the book before watching the film. I don't like the film any less, but just like what the shopkeeper at Persephone told me, the book is very different and I would like the novel much more. True on both accounts. Mom, you would like the book - definitely read it when I return. Farewell Leicester Square is quite good so far, and easier to get through than I thought it would be. It's basically about the discrete anti-Semitism of bougeois London in the interwar period; about a Jewish film director named Alec Berman and semi-self-inflicted, semi-environmental prejudices that he faces. The author, Betty Miller, does a great job of probing the psychologoical depths and paralyzing self-doubt (hey!) of the characters, especially Alec and his gentile wife, Catherine.
Obviously, The Brothers Karamazov, started in the second week of September, still has not progressed beyond page three hundred seventy-something. Dimitri is furious, Ivan is totally giving me the "I told you so" look and Aloysha is already praying for my immortal soul. And Infinite Jest? Pretty sure it has a fine coating of dust on its thick spine. Shame, shame away.
09 November 2008
Rome, without the strife.
Before this weekend, I hadn't a good impression of Rome. This may or may not have been because the last two times I had gone there for bureaucratic/emotionally draining/Russian visa-related reasons. This time, it was equally as hectic a trip, but much more enjoyable. I went for Friday and Saturday with the Michelangelo and Botticelli classes. They packed in an obscene amount of activity, but I am (mostly) thankful to have been jerked around mercilessly for forty-eight hours. Most importantly, we had a private visit to the Sistine Chapel on Friday night. That was amazing. It ended up being about seventy people (not an inconsiderable number, but whatever) but having studied the ceiling, it was an unreal experience. Earlier on Friday, we got to climb up to the dome of St. Peter's, where we caught the sunset over Rome - also magical, obvs. The actual climb up, and down, the dome was one of the most hair-raising things I have ever done. Imagine an endless spiral staircase that is also at around a 45-degree angle. I... understand vertigo now, a little bit? But the views were so utterly worth it, baby's got the bends or whatever. Then on Saturday, we went back for the Vatican museums. There, I got to see the Laocoön, Apollo Belvedere and the Belvedere Torso. Um, I saw the Laocoön. The Laocoön. Biggest. Fucking. Moment. Of. My. Life. (Sorry, mom.) Then of course, the Raphael rooms, where the School of Athens is. And, and, on another one of the walls, the fresco of Mount Parnassus (the writers) where he included, of all the people, Sappho. I dissolved into giggles immediately, of course. Oh, Sapphic chic. Oh, Wellesley. Love y'all.
Of course, after the ridiculousness of seeing Laocoön (still obsessed with this, as you might be able to tell) we go to the church of Santa Maria del Popolo to see Caravaggio's Conversion of Paul and Crucifixion of Peter. That particular Crucifixion is known for it's realism, most famously in the dirty feet of one of the figures.
Look:
We first looked at that painting in Humanities at Pioneer (oh yes) and then I had forgotten all about it. Seeing it again reminded me of how much I liked it. It's probably my second-favorite Caravaggio, after the Supper at Emmaus. And THEN, we go to the church of Santa Maria della Vittoria to see Bernini's St. Teresa in Ecstasy. Saturday was basically one huge orgy of masterpieces. And of course, I had walked by Santa Maria della Vittoria about four times (it's really close to the train station) without having ANY idea that the sculpture was even in there. Absurdity.
Okay, I'm tired and I still have to upload ALL the photos from fall break and ALL the photos from this weekend. You'll get an update when that happens.
Love,
me
Of course, after the ridiculousness of seeing Laocoön (still obsessed with this, as you might be able to tell) we go to the church of Santa Maria del Popolo to see Caravaggio's Conversion of Paul and Crucifixion of Peter. That particular Crucifixion is known for it's realism, most famously in the dirty feet of one of the figures.
Look:
We first looked at that painting in Humanities at Pioneer (oh yes) and then I had forgotten all about it. Seeing it again reminded me of how much I liked it. It's probably my second-favorite Caravaggio, after the Supper at Emmaus. And THEN, we go to the church of Santa Maria della Vittoria to see Bernini's St. Teresa in Ecstasy. Saturday was basically one huge orgy of masterpieces. And of course, I had walked by Santa Maria della Vittoria about four times (it's really close to the train station) without having ANY idea that the sculpture was even in there. Absurdity.
Okay, I'm tired and I still have to upload ALL the photos from fall break and ALL the photos from this weekend. You'll get an update when that happens.
Love,
me
06 November 2008
Okay it's coming.
Russia: the short version:
Was wonderful, daunting, exhausting and utterly unforgettable. I still am a little bit amazed that I went and came back alive, uninjured, and in a sound mental state.
Highlights: I saw Swan Lake at the Mariinsky Theatre with the Kirov Ballet, with E.B. and Ilana. Even without much context or background, I knew that the company was/is one of if not the best in the world. And it wasn't just the dancers, even though the dancers were untouchable. The holistic experience of the space, the design of the ballet and the orchestra! Oh, the orchestra! The ballet was definitely one of the best things about the trip, in my life, ever, you know.
I went to te Hermitage and the Russian Museum, which were both excellent. Though I liked the Hermitage, especially the Rembrandt room and the third floor, where all of the modern art is (including Matisse's The Dance), it reminded me a little too much of any old European or American art museum. Or, it just seemed like I was looking at art that was really similar to things that I could see here in Florence, or back in the States. On the other hand, the Russian Museum was excellent because I was exposed to all new artists and artworks. I'm pretty sure the Rodchenko (Black Spot) was on loan, but even so, I saw so many things that I liked. Here is what is probably my new favorite painting: Nathan Altman's portrait of Anna Akhmatova, the poet.
Also, E.B. (bless her heart) and I went to all the small, weird museums, like the Museum of Bread. And the Museum of Hygeine. And the Museum of Arctic & Antarctic. And the National Zoological Museum, with (the famed) Bryan Billings and Lauren and Vicky, E.B.'s friends from Smolny. Seriously, in what other country would there be an entire (newly renovated!) museum devoted entirely to hygeine? And and and, the Kunstkamera. How to even describe that weird and wonderful and very quite disturbing place. It was St. Petersburg's first museum, where it exhibited Peter the Great's collection of 'curiosities,' which was a nice euphemistic way to say 'mutant babies preserved in brandy for three hundred-plus years.' I love Russia. I saw the churches, (Spilled Blood, Kazansky Cathedral and St. Isaac's) and sat in on a much less awkward Orthodox mass, which was really peaceful and nice, quite unlike the hectic pace of Russia. E.B. and I attempted unsuccessfully to go to the Summer Gardens twice (in the rain! It rained all week, actually) before finally succeeding on the third attempt. At the souvenir market behind the Church of the Saviour on Spilled Blood (try saying that three times fast) there was an artist selling these wonderful black-and-white photographs that are mounted on hand-decorated card stock mats. I'm not going to lie, it's kind of cool to be known as "the girl who went to Russia" by my professors. My favorite professor here, Ingersoll, is kind of scatter-brained and definitely still doesn't know my name, but wants to see my photos from Russia. Anyways, I think that's kind of cool.
I got to go to Smolny, too. The study abroad program there is so, so different from Syracuse. Well, it has about the same proportion of girls to guys, but that's about it. It's 25 kids, dropped in Russia, moored only by their wits, and Bryan Billings. I'm kind of in awe of everyone who does it, who goes to Russia, because it's a really hard country to live in. It's... rough, unrefined, still very different from western Europe, but all of that is concealed, almost lulling you into a false sense of security. It's a country that I wouldn't have survived in if I had visited by myself.
Oh! And I spent an unexpected extra six hours in Moscow because I had to take a later train. Don't worry, parents, everything turned out fine in the end, and that is what matters. Nevertheless, instead of taking an afternoon train from Moscow, I took an overnighter, and Bryan, bless his heart, phoned around frantically until he found me a chaperone, which was a very sweet and unnecessarily nice gesture on behalf of a complete stranger. But, my knight in a... shiny, white, commemorative Lithuanian Olympic team parka took me to see Red Square (St. Basil's Cathedral, the Kremlin, and the Lenin Mausoleum) before I actually finally departed for Petersburg. And for that I am very thankful, because it would have been a shame to not see those sights.
After Russia was a whirlwind of transportation and (more) rain. I took another overnight train from Petersburg to Riga, as my flight to London left from the Riga airport. Riga, unlike Moscow and Petersburg, was of an eminently manageable size, thank goodness. That's another thing about the cities in Russia: they are enormous. Or, they really make you realize how tiny of a city Florence really is. And it wasn't just the size/population, the scale is dumbfounding. In Moscow, the width of a normal street would be the width of an entire piazza in Florence. But Riga, Riga was/is a Medieval city and thus much more similar in scale to Florence, which was conforting. I walked around in the morning, saw two churches - St. Peter's and the Dome (cathedral) of the city and went to two museums. First, I went into the Museum of the Occupation of Latvia, which traced first the Nazi and then the Soviet occupation of Latvia. It was one of those sobering museums, detailing the hardships of occupation, and what was really moving were the museum's vast collection of personal artifacts made by political prisoners whilst in Gulag. Then, to lighten things up, of course I went to the Museum of Decorative and Applied Arts, full of, not folk art like I had expected, but modern and contemporary jewelery, book covers, weaving and other textiles, ceramics, et cetera. Very interesting stuff, definitely, a lot of things that looked like they could have been in P.S. 1.
LONDON, finally! I have been itching to go to London for so very long. And even though it poured the day I was there and I didn't wear my Hunters, it was okay because I was finally in London. I got an early start that morning by going to the markets at Portobello Road, which was nice and completely my scene, but knowing I didn't want to/couldn't buy anything meant that it also felt a bit empty. Nevertheless, I was really happy to finally finally see everything. And, moment of utter and complete validation, the none-too-easy-to-impress employees at the Paul Smith store in Notting Hill liked my bag ! It's the brown leather bag with purple trim I bought in Perugia a couple of weeks ago that is, in a word, perfect. One of those 'destiny' items, you know? Anyways, that was kind of like ultimate validation. I also finally went to the Persephone Bookshop, not the one in Bloomsbury but their new store in Notting Hill. It was... everything I imagined it to be and more. Funny story about how I left Italy with two books and returned with six...
After the outdoor portion of this journey, I hopped back onto the Tube to go to the Victoria & Albert Museum, because of course I love nothing more than decorative art, apparently. Entering from the South Kensington tube stop, the tunnel deposits you directly into the 'Europe from 1600-1800' wing, which is of course basically every reason that the French Revolution happened - Sevrés porcelain and gaudy Rococco reliquaries and everything beautiful yet utterly superficial. I loved it all.
Then then then on to the British Museum - it's kind of ironic the fact that I went to London to see the Parthenon marbles, and my roommate Kristin went to Greece, including Athens, and saw the Parthenon, sans marbles. Ah, the discreet charm of colonialism! Anyways, the stuff in the British Museum, the Rosetta Stone, all important, blah blah blah (it just wasn't really my scene). But what was actually very cool was an installation they had called Statuephilia, which entailed five works by five contemporary sculptors installed into the context of the British Museum. So, for example, you had Damian Hirst's private collection of painted plastic skulls, just hanging out in a glass-front case in the 'Enlightenment Room' (hmmm...) of the British Museum. Or Marc Quinn's ridiculous sculpture, Siren, of Kate Moss. And Ron Mueck's monumental self-portrait installed in front of one of the moai from Easter Island. It was a very... clever exhibit. Seriously check out the website, it gives you a good introduction to what is the what.
ThenIwalkedbackinthewindandtherainandthenIfellasleepandthenIflewbacktoItaly. Whew.
That was... my fall break.
Okay, I'm going to be late for dinner.
Finally finally (finally),
OBAMA.
Was wonderful, daunting, exhausting and utterly unforgettable. I still am a little bit amazed that I went and came back alive, uninjured, and in a sound mental state.
Highlights: I saw Swan Lake at the Mariinsky Theatre with the Kirov Ballet, with E.B. and Ilana. Even without much context or background, I knew that the company was/is one of if not the best in the world. And it wasn't just the dancers, even though the dancers were untouchable. The holistic experience of the space, the design of the ballet and the orchestra! Oh, the orchestra! The ballet was definitely one of the best things about the trip, in my life, ever, you know.
I went to te Hermitage and the Russian Museum, which were both excellent. Though I liked the Hermitage, especially the Rembrandt room and the third floor, where all of the modern art is (including Matisse's The Dance), it reminded me a little too much of any old European or American art museum. Or, it just seemed like I was looking at art that was really similar to things that I could see here in Florence, or back in the States. On the other hand, the Russian Museum was excellent because I was exposed to all new artists and artworks. I'm pretty sure the Rodchenko (Black Spot) was on loan, but even so, I saw so many things that I liked. Here is what is probably my new favorite painting: Nathan Altman's portrait of Anna Akhmatova, the poet.
Also, E.B. (bless her heart) and I went to all the small, weird museums, like the Museum of Bread. And the Museum of Hygeine. And the Museum of Arctic & Antarctic. And the National Zoological Museum, with (the famed) Bryan Billings and Lauren and Vicky, E.B.'s friends from Smolny. Seriously, in what other country would there be an entire (newly renovated!) museum devoted entirely to hygeine? And and and, the Kunstkamera. How to even describe that weird and wonderful and very quite disturbing place. It was St. Petersburg's first museum, where it exhibited Peter the Great's collection of 'curiosities,' which was a nice euphemistic way to say 'mutant babies preserved in brandy for three hundred-plus years.' I love Russia. I saw the churches, (Spilled Blood, Kazansky Cathedral and St. Isaac's) and sat in on a much less awkward Orthodox mass, which was really peaceful and nice, quite unlike the hectic pace of Russia. E.B. and I attempted unsuccessfully to go to the Summer Gardens twice (in the rain! It rained all week, actually) before finally succeeding on the third attempt. At the souvenir market behind the Church of the Saviour on Spilled Blood (try saying that three times fast) there was an artist selling these wonderful black-and-white photographs that are mounted on hand-decorated card stock mats. I'm not going to lie, it's kind of cool to be known as "the girl who went to Russia" by my professors. My favorite professor here, Ingersoll, is kind of scatter-brained and definitely still doesn't know my name, but wants to see my photos from Russia. Anyways, I think that's kind of cool. I got to go to Smolny, too. The study abroad program there is so, so different from Syracuse. Well, it has about the same proportion of girls to guys, but that's about it. It's 25 kids, dropped in Russia, moored only by their wits, and Bryan Billings. I'm kind of in awe of everyone who does it, who goes to Russia, because it's a really hard country to live in. It's... rough, unrefined, still very different from western Europe, but all of that is concealed, almost lulling you into a false sense of security. It's a country that I wouldn't have survived in if I had visited by myself.
Oh! And I spent an unexpected extra six hours in Moscow because I had to take a later train. Don't worry, parents, everything turned out fine in the end, and that is what matters. Nevertheless, instead of taking an afternoon train from Moscow, I took an overnighter, and Bryan, bless his heart, phoned around frantically until he found me a chaperone, which was a very sweet and unnecessarily nice gesture on behalf of a complete stranger. But, my knight in a... shiny, white, commemorative Lithuanian Olympic team parka took me to see Red Square (St. Basil's Cathedral, the Kremlin, and the Lenin Mausoleum) before I actually finally departed for Petersburg. And for that I am very thankful, because it would have been a shame to not see those sights.
After Russia was a whirlwind of transportation and (more) rain. I took another overnight train from Petersburg to Riga, as my flight to London left from the Riga airport. Riga, unlike Moscow and Petersburg, was of an eminently manageable size, thank goodness. That's another thing about the cities in Russia: they are enormous. Or, they really make you realize how tiny of a city Florence really is. And it wasn't just the size/population, the scale is dumbfounding. In Moscow, the width of a normal street would be the width of an entire piazza in Florence. But Riga, Riga was/is a Medieval city and thus much more similar in scale to Florence, which was conforting. I walked around in the morning, saw two churches - St. Peter's and the Dome (cathedral) of the city and went to two museums. First, I went into the Museum of the Occupation of Latvia, which traced first the Nazi and then the Soviet occupation of Latvia. It was one of those sobering museums, detailing the hardships of occupation, and what was really moving were the museum's vast collection of personal artifacts made by political prisoners whilst in Gulag. Then, to lighten things up, of course I went to the Museum of Decorative and Applied Arts, full of, not folk art like I had expected, but modern and contemporary jewelery, book covers, weaving and other textiles, ceramics, et cetera. Very interesting stuff, definitely, a lot of things that looked like they could have been in P.S. 1.
LONDON, finally! I have been itching to go to London for so very long. And even though it poured the day I was there and I didn't wear my Hunters, it was okay because I was finally in London. I got an early start that morning by going to the markets at Portobello Road, which was nice and completely my scene, but knowing I didn't want to/couldn't buy anything meant that it also felt a bit empty. Nevertheless, I was really happy to finally finally see everything. And, moment of utter and complete validation, the none-too-easy-to-impress employees at the Paul Smith store in Notting Hill liked my bag ! It's the brown leather bag with purple trim I bought in Perugia a couple of weeks ago that is, in a word, perfect. One of those 'destiny' items, you know? Anyways, that was kind of like ultimate validation. I also finally went to the Persephone Bookshop, not the one in Bloomsbury but their new store in Notting Hill. It was... everything I imagined it to be and more. Funny story about how I left Italy with two books and returned with six...
After the outdoor portion of this journey, I hopped back onto the Tube to go to the Victoria & Albert Museum, because of course I love nothing more than decorative art, apparently. Entering from the South Kensington tube stop, the tunnel deposits you directly into the 'Europe from 1600-1800' wing, which is of course basically every reason that the French Revolution happened - Sevrés porcelain and gaudy Rococco reliquaries and everything beautiful yet utterly superficial. I loved it all.
Then then then on to the British Museum - it's kind of ironic the fact that I went to London to see the Parthenon marbles, and my roommate Kristin went to Greece, including Athens, and saw the Parthenon, sans marbles. Ah, the discreet charm of colonialism! Anyways, the stuff in the British Museum, the Rosetta Stone, all important, blah blah blah (it just wasn't really my scene). But what was actually very cool was an installation they had called Statuephilia, which entailed five works by five contemporary sculptors installed into the context of the British Museum. So, for example, you had Damian Hirst's private collection of painted plastic skulls, just hanging out in a glass-front case in the 'Enlightenment Room' (hmmm...) of the British Museum. Or Marc Quinn's ridiculous sculpture, Siren, of Kate Moss. And Ron Mueck's monumental self-portrait installed in front of one of the moai from Easter Island. It was a very... clever exhibit. Seriously check out the website, it gives you a good introduction to what is the what.
ThenIwalkedbackinthewindandtherainandthenIfellasleepandthenIflewbacktoItaly. Whew.
That was... my fall break.
Okay, I'm going to be late for dinner.
Finally finally (finally),
OBAMA.
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