Photographs: Travel Writing #23

Roma

They say you do crazy things in Europe. I believe them. I stepped off the plane just this morning, but already I am risking my life. We barrel into an intersection. How does the elderly woman in the front of the bus not even flinch? Taxis stop inches short of a disaster, and their near collision pushes the air from my lungs. I gasp, but to my left, drivers are unphased, seemingly unaware of any problem. No horns. Horns are for more important things, like when someone is stopped at a green light. Traffic is not the same here. Even at a stop light, scooters weave between parked obstacles to make it to the front of the line, dodging fellow riders and rear view mirrors. Always movement. Lanes are hardly a suggestion to Roman drivers, and yet, somehow, amidst the chaos, the bus makes it to the curb. My stop.

Italian traffic

is not simply stop and go;

movement all the time.

Firenze

Florence is at once a change from Rome. A change from the noise, the scooters, the stress. But not from the tourists. They must have followed me: it is a curse. Everywhere I go there are people, always trying to get in front of me, always trying to be in my pictures. My only personal space must be bought from the front desk, and even when I lay upon my hotel bed, my peace is interrupted by the knock of the cleaning lady. Outside, leather dealers hassle passersby, their accented English somehow heard amidst the sounds of the city. Where would Florence be without the angry German boys or the bubbly Spanish women? Without the English language? Later, the wooden carts are packed up, even as tourists continue to finger through the soft leather. They are piled into nearby buildings, and stowed away until tomorrow morning.

Even Tuscany,

peaceful, ageless in beauty,

cannot escape us.

SS Lazio

Italian football fans are a sight to behold. The stadium is not even halfway filled, but everyone is crammed in our end. Safety in numbers. I’m glad we picked the right section. The players have not even taken the field, and yet we are standing and yelling. We yell and even spit at Torino; their pack is small, but just as dense on the opposite side. Organized anger. Our demeaning Italian language starts together and ends together. Somehow everyone knows the silent invisible cues. Perhaps we start at the wave of the enormous blue and white flag. And maybe we end on the twirling of the inscribed Lazio scarf. How should we know? We’re just soccer fans at a football game.

Is football soccer?

Although the rules are the same,

the fans change it all.

Mad Journey: Travel Writing 21

I.
I may
never
get to experience Italy
again.

II.
I am going to see Mediterranean beauty
when I should be doing
homework.

But if I have learned one thing these weeks,
it is to take advantage of opportunities
sent your way.

III.
So we sit cramped on a train,
the four of us,
because finding out it wasn’t worth it
is not as bad as imagining
what it would have been like.

Around me the train sleeps,
bodies desperately
and uncomfortably
pleading for rest
as they frantically run
across Europe.

They need to see everything.
I need to see everything.

IV.
Time
is running
out.

I may
never
get to experience Italy
again.

V.
Sleep is not an option
for me.

My eyes remain glued to the window
taking in all of Tuscany as it flies by 80 miles per hour.

Don’t blink.

You’ll miss something.

VI.
The destination approaches,
hidden beyond a tube of darkness.
The train brakes periodically
calling people from their peaceful dreams.

Wake
up.

We’re
here.

VII.
All at once

light explodes

into the train,
blinding

as the tunnel ends.
First town.

VIII.
A sparkling blue expanse below.
This is what I came to see.
I hear gentle waves lap up
on a beach of rocks,
and nothing else.

Not even the raspy tour guide behind me.

The water
clear,

the horizon

endless.

IX.
No time to stop.
No time to gaze.
Take a picture and let’s go.

Four more towns.

X.
My camera is always on,
documenting this mad journey.

I hope nothing happens
to my pictures.
My camera

is

my memory.

XI.
Town two.
Three.
Four.

Amazing.
Incredible.
Breathtaking.

I must sum up my emotions in less than a minute.

My calves are rubber, my feet are bricks,
but they will be better tomorrow.

Onward –

I may
never
get to experience Italy
again.

XII.
Perhaps we will stop at a beach
to relax

sometime soon.

Maybe up there.
Oh how refreshing that clear water would be.
But why does this trail keep going up?

How

far is

Monte-

-rroso

from here?

XIII.
Finally

vibrant colors puncture the seascape,
and behind the umbrellas
a fifth town.

Destination.

No time for beaches.
No time for rest.
Only time
to catch the train.

XIV.
Right on time.

My muscles give out all at once
As my body falls into the seat.
Sitting is amazing.

So long Cinque Terre.
I understand
we may never see each other
again.

But that is okay –
I saw

everything

today.
Just don’t tell me what I missed.
I would like to sleep soundly
on the ride back.

Italian Phonetics: Travel Writing #20

Diritti al mare To Read an Alarm

Entrambe queste azioni In a trumpet quest, a zone:

Per la subacquea per disabili Pearls are baking purely subtly;

Di recerca che hanno poi portato They reach your cake, an open potato.

Ricerca di carattere Reach a chair caddy; carry a tear –

Tra cui spiccano il cattivo A track with pecan oil can’t even

Messo a disposizione de tutti Mess up this position that you see.

Il contenimento dei fenomeni Silk on ten meant today for many.

Mancanza di accessi Man can say the act chases

Natanti a motore troppo vicini A more tarry trap of each in thee,

Hanno riguardato casi di abusivismo And no regard to case the abusive is more–

Mare e lungo le coste e i disservizi More railing; old coast aide is heard easily.

Just to let you know...

I know you want success in Rome,

To make it here and make it home

With full respect from local eyes

(To know they saw at least you tried).

Then in that case I’ll help you find

The best ways of the Roman kind;

They’ll keep you from the ‘tourist’ name

To show off your Italian game.

The moment you get off the plane

You’ll ride your first Italian train.

To validate is lesson one –

Caught without would be no fun.

On this train and on buses too,

Hold your wallet close to you.

This way you’ll always be aware,

Instead of finding pockets bare.

And “all roads lead to Rome,” you say,

But you can get lost any day.

Know your streets and landmarks well,

‘cause you’ll be here without your cell.

Lesson four: It might seem strange,

But Romans kill for proper change.

We pay with coinage when it works,

Avoiding names like ‘foreign jerks.’

Where you’re from we do not know;

Regardless, you’re a Roman’s foe

When you pull out the camera flash

And nearer bring our art to trash.

Be prepared for Roman skies –

For even in the scorching highs

You’ll find out soon, it too does rain,

And though in buckets, don’t complain.

And if you are a football fan,

Then choose with care your team and clan.

Regardless if you think you’re right,

Small talk here may cause a fight.

Non capisco; Si signor –

Are phrases we’ll be looking for.

But just remember grazie

And everything should be okay.

Journal Excerpt 2

Today I write from the Eurostar train to Florence for our week there as somewhat of a class field trip. Walking to the Rome Center this morning from Trastevere, I was amazed by how interactive and happy people are so early in the morning. It seems as though people know I am foreign even when I wear European clothing and avoid speaking English - it is because I'm not seen greeting locals in the morning as I pass. I heard buongiornos and saw embraces and cheek-kisses all over the place in Trastevere. It is such a small town concept so strange to see in a place as big as Rome. Is is because the people are more friendly and interactive in the Italian culture, or does each sect of the city function as a small community? Or both? Either way, people should have been more grumpy. It was way too early. Good mornings don't start until at least 8:30.

Also, I forgot to mention witnessing my first pickpocketing. Well, I only really saw him get caught, and he didn't pick my pockets (I don't think), but it was on the crowded way home from the beach on Sunday. After it all happened, it seemed pretty obvious; he walked over between me and another man standing near me with a bag - which was really strange in retrospect because there was plenty of room elsewhere to stand - and just rode standing for a while. After a stop or two, he bent over to tie his shoe or something and must have grabbed something from the guy next to him. In all honesty, he could have stolen from someone else, but this seems most likely (he was good). A short bit later, he tried to jump off the train as the doors were shutting, but a good samaritain grabbed hold of his shirt; he refused to let go until the subway doors reopened, when he was able to jump out and stop him. By the time the whole process was over, there were about eight strangers altogether surrounding him, collectively interrogating him and probably ready to take him to the polizia. It was definitely a feel good story in action. And yes, my wallet was safely stowed for the whole deal.

Journal Excerpt 1

Today we ventured out into the Rome that you don't see in postcards, the places that give the city history and culture. I may just be in awe, having it be only the third day of the program, but I found beauty today in places I never knew I wanted to visit. Hopefully I will remember to go back with my camera. After the Jewish Ghetto, we walked along Teatro Marcello. Only Rome can perfectly fuse the old and the new the way those apartments sit upon the Colosseum-style architecture. Yet in construction, it's hard to believe that this almost destruction of history (okay, alteration) was welcomed with open arms. The situation seems comparable to the late 20th century addition to Suzzalo Library (who ever thought that was a good idea?), but not quite as ugly. It actually looks very nice now, but has it always?

The issues with Rome giving in to new styles and new architecture (hardly complaints in this city) soon subsided upon visiting Santa Sabina and Parco Savello. Built centuries before many of today's Roman wonders, the complex seems to be in a world of its own - even the viewpoint seems to defy physics as it extends from the peak of one of the southern hills of Rome. As you sit with arguably one of the best views of the city, it's hard not to imagine the chronology of a developing city below. It is amazing to find places that have remained so permanent as their surroundings have changed so much. Surely the viewpoint is a twentieth century tourist addition, especially since it perfectly faces St. Peter's, but the church reminds us of times when tourism was not even a defined word. The cats seem to respect that as they sunbathe between orange trees. With the quietness only giving in to the trickling of public water from a nearby fountain, it's nice to know not everywhere does life move at the speed of a Vespa on Via Garibaldi.