Today, in my 16th Century Architecture class, we talked about Russia! More specifically, EB, we talked about Pskov! And of course, because my mind does nothing if not wander during class, I thought of you and your ridiculously symmetrical two trips to Pskov. First, some background: my class is mostly a survey of 16th century architecture of Italy, but since my (ridiculous, wonderful) professor is currently also working on a book about the cross-cultural development of architectural history during the 16th century, so today, we talked about Italianate influence in eastern European architecture, i.e. about Pskov, Novgorod, Kiev, and Moscow. Also, today, I found out that 'Novgorod' and 'Nizhniy Novgorod' are not the same places. Good to know. Anyways, we looked at the cathedrals of St. Sophia and St. Theodore in Novgorod, St. Basil's and Uspensky Sobol in Moscow, and actually, as I re-consult my notes, no actual buildings in Pskov. So... I suppose I was just so excited that the institution of Pskov was mentioned in such an esoteric setting that I felt the need to write an entire post about the ultimate non-entity of Pskov in fifteenth and sixteenth-century Italianate influence on Russian architecture. . .
15 October 2008
13 October 2008
Imbeciles. I'm Living Amongst Imbeciles.
Things That Have Actually Just Happened, or, "Overheard in the Syracuse Computer Lab."
"Is that how you spell Belgium?"
"Mussels in Brussels! Hahaha, that is so funny!!!"
"How you do you say Bruges? Broo-jes? Bru-gees?"
"The only reason why I know where Bruges is is because of that Colin Farrell movie." (And I'm pretty sure it's not because they've seen In Bruges, either)
"Oh my god, Stella Artois is Belgian, too! It's, like, my favorite beer!" Carly, that statement, and the girl whose mouth that statement came out of, would make you feel shame in calling Stella 'my lady.'
Now I don't feel quite so bad about noticeably rolling my eyes in class, every day.
ALSO: Things I've Learned From All Songs Considered: (well, really Only One Thing So Far)
"Is that how you spell Belgium?"
"Mussels in Brussels! Hahaha, that is so funny!!!"
"How you do you say Bruges? Broo-jes? Bru-gees?"
"The only reason why I know where Bruges is is because of that Colin Farrell movie." (And I'm pretty sure it's not because they've seen In Bruges, either)
"Oh my god, Stella Artois is Belgian, too! It's, like, my favorite beer!" Carly, that statement, and the girl whose mouth that statement came out of, would make you feel shame in calling Stella 'my lady.'
Now I don't feel quite so bad about noticeably rolling my eyes in class, every day.
ALSO: Things I've Learned From All Songs Considered: (well, really Only One Thing So Far)
- Did you know: That Paste Magazine Sampler/ Ann Arbor's 107.1 standby Jesse Sykes is also a collaborator with Sunn O))) and Boris? I most certainly did not!
podcast nation
Hi y'all. Please please please do yourself a favor and go download the September 2nd episode of the NPR podcast All Songs Considered. It's free, and I mean, if you need any encouragement, know that that it's title is "The 80's: Were They Really That Bad?" And know that Bob Boilen, Stephen Thompson, Robin Hilton, and Carrie Brownstein (!!!!!) get into ridiculous arguments about the relative merits and demerits of the music of the 80's. And they play Starship. I listened to it in its entirety today, giggling the entire time and basically making a fool of myself. I've subscribed to the All Songs Considered Podcast, which has done wonders in making me feel connected with the world, especially the musical world (obviously). I love being here in Italy, but FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out, thanks, Rachel) is a feeling that sometimes takes over. I guess All Songs Considered, along with the election podcast (I mean, duh), This American Life, and dilligent downloading of Gossip Girl and Pushing Daisies keeps me feeling sufficiently 'in the loop with America.'
12 October 2008
fyi -
Do not go to a Russian Orthodox mass in a non-majority Russian Orthodox country if not actually Russian Orthodox. You will feel like a disrespectful fool.
Other things I learned this weekend:
And happy NCOD, y'all. You know I love you all.
Other things I learned this weekend:
- The Museo San Marco is free and has a lot of really good, shaded, and secluded places to sit inside.
- The flea market at Santo Spirito is probably only worth going to once. But go, that one time! And check out the candied fruit stand there; it's definitely worth it.
- L'Olandese Volant is probably overpriced, but the zenzero (ginger) truffles with marzipan are definitively delicious. Also it makes me want to have a mini refridgerator again becaue they sell aged Gouda there, too. L'Olandese --> Holland . . . !
- Jogging in Pumas is actually not good for the feet/ankles/body at all. True fact.
- The Ponte Santa Trinita is still beautiful. And the pilings are really nice to sit on on Sunday mornings - you can marvel at the sheer number of tourists they fit onto the Ponte Vecchio. Seriously, it's an engineering marvel.
- Gelateria dei Neri is as good, maybe even better than Grom. At least I know that they are my two favorite gelaterie in the city. Today, for/instead of lunch, I had cioccolato amaro (dark, dark chocolate) and cioccolato bianco. Incomparable. Of course, I had Crema di Grom on Saturday; and continued tastings will occur throughout the rest of the semester...
And happy NCOD, y'all. You know I love you all.
06 October 2008
the weekend
Apologies that these weekend update entries are happening later and later. But in my defense, this one was relatively uneventful. Friday morning, I woke up extraordinarily early to catch a train to Rome, to retrieve my passport-hopefully-with-Russian-visa-within. And it was there. It's really happening. I am going to Russia ????!!!!!?!?!??!!!!!! Utterly ridiculous, right? But anyways, that was there, that happened, you know, no biggie. I had grand plans of walking all around Rome again like I had done two weekends prior, but fatigue set in rather quickly, and after walking down via XX Settembre to the piazza Quirnale (that's the piazza from last week that I liked, but couldn't remember the name of) I simply walked down the stairs and went to this little café for an early lunch. And the café was awesome. It's called Papyrus, and if you are ever on the via Lucchesi, on the way between the Pantheon and via XX Settembre, which is a main throughway to get back to the train station, you must stop there. It's one of those little bookstore-cum-cafés like Trident on Newbury Street or R.J. Julia in Madison. All the books they sell are in Italian, but a lot of them are literature in translation, from English to Italian. There I found a publishing company called minimum fax, which publishes anthologies (along with other things, I suspect) of contemporary American and British literature and ficition. Thus I found a poetry anthology that included work by Frank Bidart, fiction anthologies with Zadie Smith and Jonathan Safran Foer, and David Foster Wallace's A Supposedly Funny Thing I'll Never Do Again. Besides the big, open atrium in the front of the store where you can stand at the counter for a cappuccino, there is also a back room, painted this really soothing shade of ochre that has bookcases all along the perimeter and tables set in a concentric circle a little bit within. That is where I sat and ate a delicious plate of gnocchi alla genovese, which is gnocchi with tomato pesto sauce instead of the usual cheese, but equally delicious. And and the waitstaff were all amazingly kind to me, and we had nearly-a-conversation in mostly-Italian, which is pretty big for me these days. After lunch, I knew that I wasn't up for much else, so I simply walked back to the train station and hopped on a slow local back to Florence, got a bowl of ramen for dinner (not bad, but Ippudo NY has nothing to worry about) and hung out with my friend Pete for a little while before going to bed.
Saturday morning I dawdled a little bit before finally leaving the house at around eleven. On the agenda was exploring the Gavinana neighbourhood of Florence, in the Oltrarno. So, a bit of backstory: a couple of weeks ago, when I first met my editor at the Florentine, Alexandra, I asked her if the Oltrarno was like the Brooklyn of Florence. She simply chuckled, a bit derisively, and said, "It wishes it was." Anyways, I went 'home,' so to speak, on Saturday, to a neighbourhood that really did sound a little bit like Brooklyn. Gavinana was pretty cool, though the consequence of arriving on a Saturday afternoon was that almost all the stores I had read about were in siesta, and I had to kill time in a piazza for nearly an hour, waiting for everything to re-open. The stores were cool, though. There is a vintage store there called 'Velvet Goldmine' (+1, duh) where I tried on this wonderful orange, 80s, suede dress that almost fit. It was one of those occasions where you try something on and instantly knew that it tragically doesn't fit you in an un-alterable way, thus it was a catastrophe. It had a scoop back, and massive shoulder pads, too. Oh, I am tearing up a little bit even thinking about it. And I also found a cute (expensive) little shoe store, where I had to resist buying Sigerson Morrison flats. Le sigh. After wandering about for a little bit longer, I climbed up to the piazzale Michelangelo and the church of San Miniato al Monte, where you can get a wonderful panorama of the city, and watched the sunset there. Wonderful.
I met Katie for dinner after climbing down from San Miniato; we went to this 'northern European' market phenomenon in piazza Santa Croce and ate macaroons, gouda, gummies, and Polish sausage with sauerkraut ??? Trust me, it seemed like a good idea at the time. And verily, my stomach didn't like me very much later that night. We sat on the steps of Santa Croce for a bit afterwards, talkin' and judgin' and good things like that; contemplated asking all the girls on our program who brought last season's Tory Burch flats if they were wearing last season's Tory Burch flats, you know. There, we also got accosted by our first oh-so-sleazy Italian man that would not take a hint. He was the kind of guy that everyone has warned us about from before. Anyways, he finally got the idea that we were in no way interested, and we left because it was getting exceedingly cold outside.
I woke up at nine on Sunday morning, and could not fall back asleep. So instead, I decided the appropriate thing to do was to go work out... I know. Thus I jogged. Up to San Miniato, again. Just for reference's sake, it's 4.6 kilometers from my house. Up an enormous hill. And you all know that I have been sedentary for the vast majority of my twenty years. Thus this morning, I woke up and I wanted to die a little bit, even more than usual on a cold Monday morning. But the jog itself was worth it. I ran/jogged/power walked all the way down via Matteoti, crossed the ponte San Niccoló and up the hill to first piazzale Michelangelo and then San Miniato. On the way down, I ran through part of the Oltrarno and re-crossed the Arno at the ponte Santa Trinita. Then I jogged down via Tornabuoni (like the Boulevard Haussmann or Champs d'Élysées of Florence), through the piazza del Duomo (tourist roulette, ick) and through piazza SS Annunziata, where a 'mercato ceramica' (ceramics market) was going on, also excellent. I might have run... nearly ten kilometers yesterday?
Wow. That got out of hand quickly. I guess even low key weekends in foreign countries are packed to the gills in terms of blog-entry volume.
Saturday morning I dawdled a little bit before finally leaving the house at around eleven. On the agenda was exploring the Gavinana neighbourhood of Florence, in the Oltrarno. So, a bit of backstory: a couple of weeks ago, when I first met my editor at the Florentine, Alexandra, I asked her if the Oltrarno was like the Brooklyn of Florence. She simply chuckled, a bit derisively, and said, "It wishes it was." Anyways, I went 'home,' so to speak, on Saturday, to a neighbourhood that really did sound a little bit like Brooklyn. Gavinana was pretty cool, though the consequence of arriving on a Saturday afternoon was that almost all the stores I had read about were in siesta, and I had to kill time in a piazza for nearly an hour, waiting for everything to re-open. The stores were cool, though. There is a vintage store there called 'Velvet Goldmine' (+1, duh) where I tried on this wonderful orange, 80s, suede dress that almost fit. It was one of those occasions where you try something on and instantly knew that it tragically doesn't fit you in an un-alterable way, thus it was a catastrophe. It had a scoop back, and massive shoulder pads, too. Oh, I am tearing up a little bit even thinking about it. And I also found a cute (expensive) little shoe store, where I had to resist buying Sigerson Morrison flats. Le sigh. After wandering about for a little bit longer, I climbed up to the piazzale Michelangelo and the church of San Miniato al Monte, where you can get a wonderful panorama of the city, and watched the sunset there. Wonderful.
I met Katie for dinner after climbing down from San Miniato; we went to this 'northern European' market phenomenon in piazza Santa Croce and ate macaroons, gouda, gummies, and Polish sausage with sauerkraut ??? Trust me, it seemed like a good idea at the time. And verily, my stomach didn't like me very much later that night. We sat on the steps of Santa Croce for a bit afterwards, talkin' and judgin' and good things like that; contemplated asking all the girls on our program who brought last season's Tory Burch flats if they were wearing last season's Tory Burch flats, you know. There, we also got accosted by our first oh-so-sleazy Italian man that would not take a hint. He was the kind of guy that everyone has warned us about from before. Anyways, he finally got the idea that we were in no way interested, and we left because it was getting exceedingly cold outside.
I woke up at nine on Sunday morning, and could not fall back asleep. So instead, I decided the appropriate thing to do was to go work out... I know. Thus I jogged. Up to San Miniato, again. Just for reference's sake, it's 4.6 kilometers from my house. Up an enormous hill. And you all know that I have been sedentary for the vast majority of my twenty years. Thus this morning, I woke up and I wanted to die a little bit, even more than usual on a cold Monday morning. But the jog itself was worth it. I ran/jogged/power walked all the way down via Matteoti, crossed the ponte San Niccoló and up the hill to first piazzale Michelangelo and then San Miniato. On the way down, I ran through part of the Oltrarno and re-crossed the Arno at the ponte Santa Trinita. Then I jogged down via Tornabuoni (like the Boulevard Haussmann or Champs d'Élysées of Florence), through the piazza del Duomo (tourist roulette, ick) and through piazza SS Annunziata, where a 'mercato ceramica' (ceramics market) was going on, also excellent. I might have run... nearly ten kilometers yesterday?
Wow. That got out of hand quickly. I guess even low key weekends in foreign countries are packed to the gills in terms of blog-entry volume.
02 October 2008
Ernesto & Martina
Last night, Gabriele's (my little host brother) half-brother Ernesto, and his girlfriend Martina, came over for dinner. They are awesome. Ernesto is twenty-five and Martina is twenty-four, and both of them are currently in laurea specialistica, the last two years of Italian university, equivalent to earning their master's degress. Ernesto is studying molecular & cellular biology while Martina is completing hers in 'biotechnology.' The reason why they were over for dinner (besides being, you know, family and stuff) is because Ernesto is leaving for Wales in January, to study/complete his thesis research at the University of Cardiff, and he wanted to practice his English conversation with us (Kristin and myself) before he left. Thus, Patrizia's whole plan for dinner was to 'test things out,' to see if we all got on and if we did, us talking with him and him talking with us would make for a great language exchange. As you might be able to tell, I really liked both of them, and I think that this kind of language exchange (pretty much talking half in Italian and half in English) will really help improve my spoken Italian skills. Here's hoping, right?
Also, dinner last night was amazing. Patrizia really went all out starting with aperitifs and rosé (and we usually never have wine with dinner), then lasagna, egg-and-onion quiche, and finally a sinfully rich chocolate torte served with three (!) flavors of gelato: nocciola (hazelnut), tiramisú, and gorgonzola & pear. The gorgonzola and pear gelato, the pungency of the cheese paired with the richness of the chocolate ganache, was surprisingly tasty. If it weren't my own dinner table, I totally would have taken pictures, too.
This weekend, I have to jaunt down quickly to Rome to retrieve my passport from the Russian government, but otherwise I am going to stay and explore Florence. I actually haven't gone to any of the major sites yet, and the weather is supposed to be kind of lousy, so I can foresee afternoons spent in the museums. Also on Saturday, I think I am going to Mass at the Russian Orthodox cathedral, just because I can.
Also, dinner last night was amazing. Patrizia really went all out starting with aperitifs and rosé (and we usually never have wine with dinner), then lasagna, egg-and-onion quiche, and finally a sinfully rich chocolate torte served with three (!) flavors of gelato: nocciola (hazelnut), tiramisú, and gorgonzola & pear. The gorgonzola and pear gelato, the pungency of the cheese paired with the richness of the chocolate ganache, was surprisingly tasty. If it weren't my own dinner table, I totally would have taken pictures, too.
This weekend, I have to jaunt down quickly to Rome to retrieve my passport from the Russian government, but otherwise I am going to stay and explore Florence. I actually haven't gone to any of the major sites yet, and the weather is supposed to be kind of lousy, so I can foresee afternoons spent in the museums. Also on Saturday, I think I am going to Mass at the Russian Orthodox cathedral, just because I can.
30 September 2008
The Rest of Rome, Bologna, and Lucca
After my epic morning spent in the Russian consulate, I thought that I would take the afternoon to de-compress in Rome. I had a pleasantly full-coloured free map from my hostel and nothing but time left. So, I walked. And walked, and walked, and walked. Rome covers... much more surface area than Florence. And that's your warning. Granted, I was coming from the periferia (the suburbs, the 'burbs), but the size and scale of Rome is far vaster than Florence. Or, now I could kind of understand why most Italians regard Florence as kind of a backwater compared to Roma or Milano. In one afternoon, I walked (yes, I calculated it on Google Maps) 4.6 kilometers from the Russian consulate to the Piazza Navona, and probably more because I didn't take the direct route. Then I walked all the way back to Roma Stazione Termini, another three or so kilometers. On the way there and back, I stopped by the Triton fountain, designed by Bernini in the 16th Century; the Trevi fountain, a mess; and walked up the steps to one of the many papal palaces, whose name is escaping me, but one that I really enjoyed? I stopped for a snack of pinenut meringue-cookie things that were predictably delicious, as has been basically everything I've eaten since arriving in Italy. There are pictures of all of these things coming, I promise.
Speaking of the Trevi Fountain, avoid it if you can. I know it has a ton of history and even more appearances in pop culture magic, but all of that mystique is stripped away when you are actually there. The piazza is literally packed to the gills with tourists wandering aimlessly about, living statues, and street vendors who only seem to sell strange 'souvenirs,' all of which are required to make obnoxious noises. It's very hard to get a good picture of the fountain, and you are (or, at least I was) ready to scream from the sheer number of bodies packed into one small space after two minutes.
The obnoxiously huge crowd in front of the Trevi Fountain:
This was still Friday afternoon, and after arriving at the train station, I decided that I wasn't quite ready to return to Florence yet. So I went to Bologna instead. My friend Rachel, whom I went to high school with, is studying there for the year, at the Universitá di Bologna, and had an apartment with a spare bed. I ended up only staying for a night and a morning, but I hope to go back before I leave here. In Bologna, we met up with some of Rachel's friends from her program and grabbed dinner at a little osteria, Osteria dall'Ursa (restaurant of the female bear). I had a pasta there whose shape was called 'gramigna,' and I'd be lying if I said I didn't order it solely because I was interested in what shape it was. Kind of hilariously, the pasta bore more than a striking resemblance to worms. After dinner the six of us went to an amazing gelateria simply name 'Il Gelatauro.' If you are ever in Bologna, go to 98 via San Vitale and have gelato there. I got cioccalatto e arancia again, mixed with the verde con marron glacés (green tea with candied chesnuts), which was a very... interesting combination. I really want to try zenzero next time, which is ginger-flavored gelato. We simply went home to bed after that, because Rachel had to be up early for a trip to Urbino the next morning, and I was dead tired from my probably-at-least-eight-kilometers of walking.
Saturday morning I woke up fairly early, around eight. I was going to Lucca, a little Tuscan town, maybe an hour and a half from Florence, two and a half from Bologna. The story behind why I wanted to go to Lucca goes something like this: for my internship/position at The Florentine, my first story was to be about the Tuscan locations that Spike Lee had shot around for his new movie, Miracolo a Sant'Anna. One of the towns, Barga, was pretty easily accessible from Lucca, and I wanted to go on Sunday. But first, Lucca.
Lucca was awesome. I loved it. It's probably my favorite place in Italy, right now. More than Florence, more than Assisi. It's a medieval city whose massive walls are still completely intact. Therefore, all Luccans/the Lucchese (and all the visitors) can walk/bike/jog on top of 'la mura di cittá' and take in the views of the Tuscan hills in the distance. When the carabinieri aren't looking, you can even walk on the parapet of the wall itself, until they see you and shoo you off...
Here's a photo of the view from la mura di cittá:
Another of aspect of Lucca that I loved was the size - it was perfect for a day trip or an afternoon/evening/morning excursion. And it's only a five euro train ride away! I'm utterly in love. Anyways, I walked around most of the city that afternoon, went into the Duomo and the other chiese (churches), and generally had a really good time. Oh, a note about the architecture, Lucca is only twenty minutes from Pisa, and most of the religious architecture is in the style of the Pisa Romanesque, which as I discovered, is really kind of heinous. Like, just plain ugly.
Per esempio:
But I digress, and I'll have photographic proof, too. I also ate incredibly well that night, at a little trattoria close to my hostel. I had the full Italian dinner - primi, secondi, plus wine and coffee. I started with a 'piatto tipico di Lucchese,' (typical Lucchese dish) zuppa di farine, basically a barley soup. Then I had trippa alla toscana, tripe cooked fork-tender in a tomato, celery, and carrot sauce. For dessert I ordered crostata con fichi fresce e noci, fresh fig tart with walnuts, and a macchiato. Molta, molta buona. And for the seventh time, pictures to come, soon!
Pictures of my courses:
Zuppa di farine:
Trippa alla toscana:
Crostata con fichi fresce e noci:
Sunday morning dawned bright and early, again, and at least I thought that I was going to be in Barga shortly. But once I arrived at the bus station, I was kindly informed by the ticket agent that the only bus to Barga left at 10:25 and returned at 1:00, leaving me a little less than two hours in the town proper, therefore kind of not worth it at all. Oh well. I left, walked around (on top!) of the walls until I got back to the train station, and hopped on the train back to Florence instead. It being the last Sunday of the month, I knew that the flea market at the Piazza di Ciompi was going on, and therefore I obviously had to stop by. I'm not sure if I've mentioned this on the blog yet, but for about a week, I was obsessed with buying this vintage accordion that I found in the smaller, daily incarnation of the flea market there. Anyways, I didn't buy it (probably thankfully) but I knew I wanted to check out the bigger version of the market. And now, instead of wanting to buy an instrument of dubious quality that I can't play, I want to buy cameras of equally dubious quality that I don't have the foggiest idea how to use. Ah, c'est la... But, E.B., I've found both Fed and Zenit cameras at these markets, and obviously I think of your on-a-blanket-in-the-mud purchases.
Then-I-went-home-then-I-changed-and-went-back-to-school-to-do-homework. Lame! But that's what Sunday was like. Whew.
EDIT: 18:04, 02/10/08: With promised photographic proof!
Speaking of the Trevi Fountain, avoid it if you can. I know it has a ton of history and even more appearances in pop culture magic, but all of that mystique is stripped away when you are actually there. The piazza is literally packed to the gills with tourists wandering aimlessly about, living statues, and street vendors who only seem to sell strange 'souvenirs,' all of which are required to make obnoxious noises. It's very hard to get a good picture of the fountain, and you are (or, at least I was) ready to scream from the sheer number of bodies packed into one small space after two minutes.
The obnoxiously huge crowd in front of the Trevi Fountain:
This was still Friday afternoon, and after arriving at the train station, I decided that I wasn't quite ready to return to Florence yet. So I went to Bologna instead. My friend Rachel, whom I went to high school with, is studying there for the year, at the Universitá di Bologna, and had an apartment with a spare bed. I ended up only staying for a night and a morning, but I hope to go back before I leave here. In Bologna, we met up with some of Rachel's friends from her program and grabbed dinner at a little osteria, Osteria dall'Ursa (restaurant of the female bear). I had a pasta there whose shape was called 'gramigna,' and I'd be lying if I said I didn't order it solely because I was interested in what shape it was. Kind of hilariously, the pasta bore more than a striking resemblance to worms. After dinner the six of us went to an amazing gelateria simply name 'Il Gelatauro.' If you are ever in Bologna, go to 98 via San Vitale and have gelato there. I got cioccalatto e arancia again, mixed with the verde con marron glacés (green tea with candied chesnuts), which was a very... interesting combination. I really want to try zenzero next time, which is ginger-flavored gelato. We simply went home to bed after that, because Rachel had to be up early for a trip to Urbino the next morning, and I was dead tired from my probably-at-least-eight-kilometers of walking.
Saturday morning I woke up fairly early, around eight. I was going to Lucca, a little Tuscan town, maybe an hour and a half from Florence, two and a half from Bologna. The story behind why I wanted to go to Lucca goes something like this: for my internship/position at The Florentine, my first story was to be about the Tuscan locations that Spike Lee had shot around for his new movie, Miracolo a Sant'Anna. One of the towns, Barga, was pretty easily accessible from Lucca, and I wanted to go on Sunday. But first, Lucca.
Lucca was awesome. I loved it. It's probably my favorite place in Italy, right now. More than Florence, more than Assisi. It's a medieval city whose massive walls are still completely intact. Therefore, all Luccans/the Lucchese (and all the visitors) can walk/bike/jog on top of 'la mura di cittá' and take in the views of the Tuscan hills in the distance. When the carabinieri aren't looking, you can even walk on the parapet of the wall itself, until they see you and shoo you off...
Here's a photo of the view from la mura di cittá:
Another of aspect of Lucca that I loved was the size - it was perfect for a day trip or an afternoon/evening/morning excursion. And it's only a five euro train ride away! I'm utterly in love. Anyways, I walked around most of the city that afternoon, went into the Duomo and the other chiese (churches), and generally had a really good time. Oh, a note about the architecture, Lucca is only twenty minutes from Pisa, and most of the religious architecture is in the style of the Pisa Romanesque, which as I discovered, is really kind of heinous. Like, just plain ugly.
Per esempio:
But I digress, and I'll have photographic proof, too. I also ate incredibly well that night, at a little trattoria close to my hostel. I had the full Italian dinner - primi, secondi, plus wine and coffee. I started with a 'piatto tipico di Lucchese,' (typical Lucchese dish) zuppa di farine, basically a barley soup. Then I had trippa alla toscana, tripe cooked fork-tender in a tomato, celery, and carrot sauce. For dessert I ordered crostata con fichi fresce e noci, fresh fig tart with walnuts, and a macchiato. Molta, molta buona. And for the seventh time, pictures to come, soon!
Pictures of my courses:
Zuppa di farine:
Trippa alla toscana:
Crostata con fichi fresce e noci:
Sunday morning dawned bright and early, again, and at least I thought that I was going to be in Barga shortly. But once I arrived at the bus station, I was kindly informed by the ticket agent that the only bus to Barga left at 10:25 and returned at 1:00, leaving me a little less than two hours in the town proper, therefore kind of not worth it at all. Oh well. I left, walked around (on top!) of the walls until I got back to the train station, and hopped on the train back to Florence instead. It being the last Sunday of the month, I knew that the flea market at the Piazza di Ciompi was going on, and therefore I obviously had to stop by. I'm not sure if I've mentioned this on the blog yet, but for about a week, I was obsessed with buying this vintage accordion that I found in the smaller, daily incarnation of the flea market there. Anyways, I didn't buy it (probably thankfully) but I knew I wanted to check out the bigger version of the market. And now, instead of wanting to buy an instrument of dubious quality that I can't play, I want to buy cameras of equally dubious quality that I don't have the foggiest idea how to use. Ah, c'est la... But, E.B., I've found both Fed and Zenit cameras at these markets, and obviously I think of your on-a-blanket-in-the-mud purchases.
Then-I-went-home-then-I-changed-and-went-back-to-school-to-do-homework. Lame! But that's what Sunday was like. Whew.
EDIT: 18:04, 02/10/08: With promised photographic proof!
29 September 2008
Sono andata a Roma...e Bologna...e Lucca
Oy vey. Very, very, very full weekend, again. It starts Thursday afternoon, when I hopped on the local train from Florence to Rome, for a mission to get a visa to Russia. You should know that though the local train is very cheap (16 euro and change to go to Rome, as compared to 35 euro for the Eurostar) it is very, very slow. It took nearly five hours to get to Rome from Florence, including a rather interesting delay... somewhere between the two cities; I have no idea what godforsaken town the train simply stopped at for nearly an hour. What made it a little bit more interesting was the mother and daughter sitting opposite me: the daughter started fidgetting profusely at around the half-hour mark of delay, and even with the language gap, I could tell that she was very anxious to arrive in Rome, perhaps to see a long-distance love? That would be the only factor I could think of that would leave her as agitated as she was. Who knows, I just made up one more-hairbrained-than-the-next story about them, just because I could. Anyways, I got to Rome, I had a mediocre dinner in the train station because I was tired and couldn't bother, and checked into my hostel for the night, which was filled with what certainly seemed like an entire high school of German students, but luckily none of them were in my room, 'South America.'
Friday morning dawned bright and early, as I began what was going to be (unbeknownest to me at the time) a very long morning. I have a picture of my breakfast, because the cornetto con cioccalato (chocolate crossaint) that I had was legitimately bigger than the cup my cappuccino came in, and the coffee cup was certainly sizable.
The only good thing about Friday morning:
From there, I left for the Russian embassy, a fairly short and very pretty walk from my hostel. I took a lot of pictures of the Roman houses along the way, all excellent examples of late Renaissance and early Baroque architecture. Upon arriving at the Russian embassy, the most hilariously, absurdly well-guarded building I've ever happened upon, I was told, in a roundabout fashion in very broken English, that I was supposed to be at the Russian consulate for all visa-related matters. Crap. Of course the consulate was nearly two kilometers in the other direction (though I didn't know that at the time, either), and of course it closed (or so I was told) at noon. It being ten at the time, I thought I had plenty of time to walk over to the via Nomentana, 16. After a broken-Italian conversation with the lawyer's office at via Nomentana 16 and instructions from the very courteous concierge at a hotel that the Russian consulate was actually located at via Nomentana 116, I was not hopeful of my prospects. The walk is always less scenic when you are stressed.
I got to the Russian consulate, was let in another ridiculously well-guarded gate, and was told that the visa department was on il primo piano, the first floor. I automatically assumed that the first floor was technically the second first, because Italians and most Europeans count the ground floor separately. Another wait of about thirty minutes commenced outside a closed door, where I bonded with a Russian-Italian baby, but where it turns out was emphatically not where I was supposed to be. An admonishing Russian matron herded me downstairs, promptly told me that the visa forms I had filled out prior to coming were the wrong ones, and gave me new ones. By now, know that it was at least quarter after eleven. When I had finished filling out the forms, it was 11:40. I had been told that the consulate closed at 12:30 by the embassy, which evidently wasn't the case when I returned to the window and another unsympathetic Russian woman of a certain age (and girth) informed me that the consulate actually closed at 11:30. I am firmly convinced that diplomats do absolutely nothing. This is when the tears first started. I knew that morning was the only time that I could go to Rome, and I needed that visa now. Luckily, they took pity on me (but not until after a fresh batch of tears during the payment process) and the moral/happ ending of this story is that I have a Russian visa. Or I will next Friday when I go back to Rome (durrr...) to retrieve it. But now I know where to go, the correct address of that location, and I'm hopefully hitching a ride back with one of the SUF classes that has a day trip to Rome that day.
Next time (because the library is closing soon and I have to go home for dinner), the rest of my afternoon in Rome, evening/morning in Bologna, and visit to Lucca.
Friday morning dawned bright and early, as I began what was going to be (unbeknownest to me at the time) a very long morning. I have a picture of my breakfast, because the cornetto con cioccalato (chocolate crossaint) that I had was legitimately bigger than the cup my cappuccino came in, and the coffee cup was certainly sizable.
The only good thing about Friday morning:
From there, I left for the Russian embassy, a fairly short and very pretty walk from my hostel. I took a lot of pictures of the Roman houses along the way, all excellent examples of late Renaissance and early Baroque architecture. Upon arriving at the Russian embassy, the most hilariously, absurdly well-guarded building I've ever happened upon, I was told, in a roundabout fashion in very broken English, that I was supposed to be at the Russian consulate for all visa-related matters. Crap. Of course the consulate was nearly two kilometers in the other direction (though I didn't know that at the time, either), and of course it closed (or so I was told) at noon. It being ten at the time, I thought I had plenty of time to walk over to the via Nomentana, 16. After a broken-Italian conversation with the lawyer's office at via Nomentana 16 and instructions from the very courteous concierge at a hotel that the Russian consulate was actually located at via Nomentana 116, I was not hopeful of my prospects. The walk is always less scenic when you are stressed.
I got to the Russian consulate, was let in another ridiculously well-guarded gate, and was told that the visa department was on il primo piano, the first floor. I automatically assumed that the first floor was technically the second first, because Italians and most Europeans count the ground floor separately. Another wait of about thirty minutes commenced outside a closed door, where I bonded with a Russian-Italian baby, but where it turns out was emphatically not where I was supposed to be. An admonishing Russian matron herded me downstairs, promptly told me that the visa forms I had filled out prior to coming were the wrong ones, and gave me new ones. By now, know that it was at least quarter after eleven. When I had finished filling out the forms, it was 11:40. I had been told that the consulate closed at 12:30 by the embassy, which evidently wasn't the case when I returned to the window and another unsympathetic Russian woman of a certain age (and girth) informed me that the consulate actually closed at 11:30. I am firmly convinced that diplomats do absolutely nothing. This is when the tears first started. I knew that morning was the only time that I could go to Rome, and I needed that visa now. Luckily, they took pity on me (but not until after a fresh batch of tears during the payment process) and the moral/happ ending of this story is that I have a Russian visa. Or I will next Friday when I go back to Rome (durrr...) to retrieve it. But now I know where to go, the correct address of that location, and I'm hopefully hitching a ride back with one of the SUF classes that has a day trip to Rome that day.
Next time (because the library is closing soon and I have to go home for dinner), the rest of my afternoon in Rome, evening/morning in Bologna, and visit to Lucca.
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