Pace Italia

General Relativity is a concept I'm less than familiar with. Physics fucked with my mind just as much as about anything in my life thus far. However, the concepts introduced within this impossible course resonated with me on a purely philosophical level. The mathematics and logical reasoning was a different story. Namely the concept of time dilation and gravitational time delay particularly grabbed hold of me. Based upon the general relativity principalities, time is far from the static measure we think it is. Time bends on a parallel with space, dependent on the gravitational realities that exist externally. This meant different things to different people, but it had a profound effect on my own reality.

On a parallel with any change, such as my cultural and linguistic immersion into Italy, this realization shattered many of my opinions or things I viewed as cultural invariables. If time wasn't static, what in my life could I say was? If Italians think in the Italian language, does that mean they conceptualize life differently? I delve into the physics segue because these things have become increasingly important within my experience here in Italy.

I have approximately 3 days until I depart. The common idiom tells me that "time flies when you're having fun." Yes, in retrospect it seems like yesterday when I arrived in Italy. I can take a honest, hard look at the things I've done and still feel the scope of time elusive. I'm left with the feeling that that which I cannot place a finger on has therefore become a void. So can I say time has flown by through the intellectually invigorating 4 months in Italy? Is it my perspective that is correct presumably based upon my own cultural upbringing and value system, or is it "time" that is correct? Four months is four months.

When I think about this, particularly within my current concept, I find it necessary to step back from the mindfuck that I have flung around just now and try to take a deep breath. I cannot say my experience in Italy is good or bad. There is no immediate value assignment reaction. Social pressures instruct me to formulate an opinion but I can cite only what has happened. The isolated instances I have chronicled in this blog are real and honest. The emotions portrayed within are real within the moment. But for example, at the soccer match, I felt a welling of pride. This is a fact. My journey is a set of facts that contain emotional charge within.

What does this mean for me? How can I say I don't have an opinion about Italy? I am changed, no doubt and this is where the concept of time is important to my experience. Time, I realize, isn't the factor in this equation, but it is the change found introspectively. Change, fluidity, motion, movement.

It is this reworking that I can and do realize to an extent. It is a constant revolution with an introspective genesis. Is my acquisition of basic Italian positive? I can only say that I have changed to gain that knowledge. Where once there was a void, now I can say "Ciao, mi chiama Galen. Come stai? Piacere."

I'm caught in this network of questions and hesitations. Right now is a moment within my experience. I feel lost. separated from who I really am. My life, like my blog, I see as segmented, scripted, convoluted and contradictory. But it's all honest. It's real data, real emotions and real life. As I head back I have a lot to think about and most likely a lot more to share.

What's Real Pt. 1

Will you miss Italy? What will you miss most about Italy? I'll bet you miss home a lot. When do you leave? Will you come back? Do you want to come back? You understand a lot of Italian for only 4 months, I'm impressed. What did you say your favorite memory was? Would you say it was worth it to teach at the schools? What are some of the key differences between American and Italian schools? What do you thing about the crucifixes that hang in the classrooms? Really? You're Jewish? Ma lui è asiatico... molto confuso.

Why don't you go more places? You shouldn't stay at home, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. You really shouldn't worry about home right now. Just have fun. Why don't you want to come out tonight? Do you want to come to Rome with me? Lei dovrebbe vedere il cinqueterra. È bello.

Why don't you look like an American? Are you able to talk to the people at the Chinese market? I've heard America is a very racist place... We have a problem with crime in Parma... it is mostly the Africans who commit crime. Why do you want to just sit in your room and write? Want to go shopping?

Ti piace Parma? You like bigger cities like Los Angeles? Do you see celebrities at school like George Clooney? Do you surf? Can I have your autograph? Un ragazzo molto interessante... lui scrive poezia...

I wonder what he's thinking. I heard there's a lot he doesn't share with others. I heard he doesn't like the program. I heard he wants to go back to the states. I think he's too reliant on English. He doesn't try enough. I wonder... what he has back home. Why does he act the way he does? He's ready to leave I can tell... Che triste.

What do you want? Perche?

A Few Random Photos

Our lovely instructor Francesca at Centro Linguistico in L'Universita Di Parma. Francesca is almost solely responsible for our grammatical successes in Italy. Keeping to a strictly "only Italian" policy, she has taught me more of Italian in 4 months than I ever hoped to learn. Look, we even get to study Nutella!

Photo Credit: Alicia Bock


Cucinare is to cook. This is the kitchen in which most of my culinary experiments in Italy take place. In my experience amazing ranges are pretty ubiquitous in Italy. My house has a great 5 gas range complete with all the pans I could ever ask for. I have been attempting fusion cuisine through my newly learned Italian and knowledge of marinade based east Asian cuisine.

Photo Credit: Alicia Bock


In reference to my calcio experience in Parma. From me clockwise are friends Sarah, Bennett, Scott and Marita. We witnessed Italy defeat Cyprus 3-2 as you can see in the upper right hand corner scoreboard. We were seated behind the east goal in the midst of hundreds of other fans, young and old, all purporting their Italy with flags, scarves and jerseys.

Photo Credit: Sarah Lee

My First Parmesan Experience: A Snapshot

...Despite my ignorance unto questo formaggio, the texture was nonetheless bliss within my mouth. Rolling the glob around my mouth, I proceeded to bite into the cheese yet convinced of nothing. The consistency first and foremost surprised my palate. The firmness of the fresh cheese gave way nicely but altered occasionally from the rich sections, broken up by a certain crunchiness I could only compare to crispy wafers found within certain chocolate. But as I continued to chew the taste began to expand within my mouth quickly consuming my senses. At the start, the Parmesan is creamy, and provided an interesting sensation as the morsel broke down into smaller pieces. The sweet creamy flavor slowly expanded but was punctuated by the occasional spike of a certain essence I could almost point to as picante. Far from forgotten, the bit was soon fully consumed. It not only delighted my senses both with its outwardly pungent aroma and fantastically strong taste, but it whet my palate for the rest of the spread before me...

Out of Italia

I know this is supposed to be about Italy and Italian food and Italian people and Italian adventures. But, this is my first time on the European continent and I felt the need to explore. Thus, for fall break I headed for Barcelona, the social capital of Spain.

If I knew little of Italy and Italian culture, I knew virtually nothing of Spain. Yeah, yeah... Beckham played for Real Madrid where Christiano Ronaldo plays now alongside Karim Benzema and Kaka. Of course Barcelona has the epic Camp Nou, housing the football giants Lionel Messi, Zlatan Ibrahimovich and Pedro. But anyway, as you can see I define everything European by an international football standard.

Upon my arrival, keeping my relative ignorance in mind, I was immediately struck by a second bout of linguistic immersion. My mind had managed the difficult cold water bath of Italian immersion and had gradually adapted to the reality which I faced. Extricating myself from this relative comfort was far from simple. In my linguistically simple state of mind I would look at a person who didn't speak English and immediately turn to my 'go to' for the last 2 months: Italian.

"Cuantos personas?" the waiter would ask.
"Umm... tre... oh shit tres, TRES," would come the delayed answer.

This situation repeated itself multiple times with different words and different people. Although slightly embarrassing, I was quick to realize that Barcelona, like bigger Italian cities like Milan or Rome were much more used to tourists and bumbling English speakers. Through a pretty terrible creole of English, Italian and Spanish, we were able to navigate through the city with relative ease. Barcelona houses an excellent train/subway system providing easy access to all parts of the city.

Barcelona is an impressive city, visually and culturally. No doubt a modern city, there are still distinguishable districts based upon time period. The historic Gothic Cathedral loomed large over us immediately upon exit of the subway. Any thought that I had become jaded by the age and legacy of Italy's numerous monuments dissipated. Although some call the Cathedral ugly and a scar on the face of the city, it was nonetheless impressive in it's menacing stature. The statues lacked the intricate definition of those I had seen in Italy but the curvature, the stylistic dedication and the immense size created a whole new, equally stunning appeal.

I enjoy more than anything else, simply exploring a city, discovering the little niches and little details that the travel books don't mention. Like what color the trash cans are (blue), how many bikes there are (not as much as Italy) and how many annoying street vendors there are (a lot). What impressed me the most about Barcelona was it's balance of historical monuments, modern architecture and green spaces. In many ways, Barcelona could be a European melding of Seattle and Los Angeles. The sprawling and grand nature was much akin to LA while the emphasis on creating green space, easily walkable distances and open markets (the Boqueria was a lot of what Pike Place is to Seattle w/o the beautiful views) reminded me much of my own city.

Despite my language shortcomings, I felt very much at home within the city. Perhaps there were a few more tourist than I would have liked, but this was actually a city. Multi-ethnic, youth-friendly and exciting.

By the end of the trip, I was certainly ready to come back to Italy where I could order food in a restaurant with little problem. But language aside, the architecture was great, the city was greater and the tapas was the greatest. Barcelona didn't just offer me the chance to see another European city, but it allowed me a certain perspective on my experience in Italy. Before Italy, I had virtually no reference points via European neighbors. While my comparisons by American standard were certainly enlightening, a Spanish comparison brought a whole new perspective. Italy's individuality was certainly confirmed and if anything, the visit brought extra respect to both countries.

Venezia

This is Venice. Venice is a city of beauty, a city of water, a city of tourism and historically a city of mystery and wonder. Through the sands of time, Venice never played a central role in the development of Italy, but rather existed as a semi-independent adjunct to Padua, flourishing through the Italian occupation by the Visogoths and subsequently the Lombards.

Of course, I knew little of this prior to commencing my journey. The train over was dominated by the stereotypical tourist quick read on a combination of wikipedia pages and a DK travel guide. What I did know, however, equated to the typical tourist view of Venice: beautiful canals , benevolent and gracious gondolas graced with fine satin cushions and great squares filled with people and music. All of this was true, as with many of my assumptions regarding Italy in general. But just as with my general Italian sentiments prior to direct experience, Venice held many surprises and much unexpected depth to the knowledge I already had.

My junior year of high school I traveled to Washington DC for the first time. This was the first time I had been to our capital and since I hadn't yet traveled to Europe, the first encounter with anything of historical and political significance. I was relatively young and didn't know exactly what to expect but once there, I was able to extricate myself from the tight grasp of family and explore for myself. What I found, was not simply a series of monuments and engravings, but moreover a newfound method of perception. Previous thought on DC had been adorned by multitudes of outside influence, but as I explored myself, I was able to view everything as an organic unit, shaped and molded by the voices of countless patriots.

Gondolas in Venice were now not just a tourist trap, charging 120 Euro for a 50 minute boat ride, ferried through a predetermined set of canals with the precision and scripting of a Disney ride. No. Gondolas represented a historically singular mode of transportation defining a city unlike any other. San Marcos piazza was not simply home to overpriced restaurants and stands selling I <3 Venice t-shirts. No. Despite criticisms that Venice has become a tourist haven with no real culture remaining, I was able to find depth and moreover history in the streets of Venice. I stood next to bustling Japanese tourists attempting hurriedly to embark on the 8 Euro climb to the top of the clock tower. And as I read the signs depicting the history of the tower, its partial collapse and subsequent refurbishment, I was transported away from the hectic scene around me and into my own rapidly expanding portrait of the city.

As we watched the Murano glassblower expertly craft a horse out of a blob of molten silica within seconds, it paid off to not only think of the modern wonder that this man demonstrated, but again, his trade as the apex of his trade lineage. The careful touch and elegant beauty that we witnessed on Murano was the same elegance that fascinated and tempted Louis XIV in his egocentrism. The gleam of precision and passion in the glassblowers eyes and the amazement in ours were the very same as those emotions stirred in 1291 at the beginning of Murano's tradition.

I was sick for most of my visit to Venice, but the passions ignited within me were more than enough to maintain my interest. Whenever I visit a new location in Italy I can't help but to feel that zooming out sensation of relativity. The beauty of age and belittlement. And the binding spell of our interconnectedness. Even the hoards of tourists and the abundance of designer shops catering to rich out of towners, spoke to me. Everything in Italy has a story to tell. Everything here exists as a byproduct of a long line of actions and consequences. It fascinates me, the historical lineage and importance in Italy and it's modern manifestations.

Bringing it full circle, I discovered this, in strangely a popular video game (one of my favorites actually):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iZVZBfd-Vbs

Funny how the world decides to treat 'things of importance.' I think it's cool.

Andato a Toscana

For a typical American, the view of Italy is pretty ubiquitous. Few even know the difference between the south and the north. Thus, when describing my travels, I must rely solely on my descriptive ability and visuals in order to get across as much information about this diverse country as possible. With Tuscany and the walled city of Siena, this is not nearly as big of an issue.

As you train for Siena from Parma, you arrive in the general Tuscany region from Bologna via a series of underground tunnels. Sitting in my compartment, I felt my eyes droop from the monotony of any long journey. They ride through Emilia Romagna (where Parma and Bologna are located) was generally flat and characterized by agricultural abundance. We entered the tunnels somewhere outside of Bologna and not yet in Tuscany. Immediately upon exit, the previous haze of sleepiness disappeared almost instantaneously. Those who have experienced the rolling hills, full of vegetation and life know the thrill I felt. Leaving the soot and squalor of the train tunnel, I took in a deep breath full of life and oxygen and a general crispness I have only yet associated with Seattle in her own brilliance. The sun peaked over the horizon of the nearest knoll, casting long shadows upon countless valley communities. "Under the Tuscan sun..." I thought, quietly berating myself for epitomizing that 'typical American.' I had asked my host mother prior to departure "Ti piace Toscana?" "Ai! Toscana e bellisima!" was the response. "Davvero..."

I progressed around, under and through the countless hills and finally arrived at the Siena train station, outside the general city limits. We then proceeded to the city. Siena, I was told, typifies a northern Italian gothic era city. Unlike Parma, which had its roots set as an ancient Roman city, Siena developed as one of many small city states stretching the western shores of Italy. Built upon one of the foremost hills, Siena certainly struck me as magnificent. We walked to the large fortezza on the northeast wall of the city. I was amused. What was once a fortezza against Firenze now housed jazz concerts, strolling couples and a sign reading 'Wine Bar, this way'. In Centro, called 'Campo,' the 17 'Contradas' paraded with drummers and flags looking much akin to pictures I had seen of the Swiss Guard. Contradas, I soon learned, are based upon the 17 different regions of Siena and were originally assigned according to lineage and trade. Now, existing in a traditional sense, each contrada takes pride in their flag, exhibiting their fervor in the form of parades and a bi-annual bareback horse race... Tired from walking and withered, I downed an energy drink. This was the beginning.

Day gave way to night and the city unveiled her other half. Cities, even the ones you hail from and know like the back of your hand, change face at night. Everything open in the day, closes. Conversely, new venues usher in patrons only as the sun sets. The shadows crossing the Campo lengthened as we sat eating pizza, eventually disappearing and with it, the warmth of the day.

The night was freddo and naturally the Americans turned to alcohol to provide the internal warmth. I was hence surprised to find that the art of 'shooters' was quite prevalent in Siena, something like home albeit with a semblance of class. 'Three shots for €5.' According to my friend, this was the best deal in town. Although we Americans were drinking in what we simply called 'the shot bar,' it was hardly there simply for tourists. A group of Italians next to us took pleasure in downing shot after shot while watching the U20 World Cup final between Ghana and Brazil. Perhaps it was the ever present American influence that gave rise to a new brand of "drinking to get drunk." Perhaps it was the natural evolution of European integration, Italy just now adapting to typical Eastern European standards, infamous the world over. Either way, the pleasure, warmth and culture of the bar was enticing and I enjoyed every minute.

The weekend in Siena provided me with many things, but first and foremost, it helped the development of prospective; a facet of understanding necessary for any cultural learning. Parma does not epitomize Italy. Parma is central to Italian culture as much as New York is to America. Although we know this on paper, traveling to Siena brought the personal experience necessary to bring those facts up from the semi-conscious world of book-knowledge to in-your-face-real-world knowledge. The thirst for new cities, new feelings and new culture now engulfs me more than ever. I'm provided Europe, replete with just this. But this is a craving never to be completely satisfied. And thus it is meant to be. It's what makes this journey special.

Soccer, Football, Fùtbol, Calcio

Cyprus 2 Italia 3

I've had the pleasure of playing following and generally loving the world's game my whole life. Although the football instruction of America is hardly worthy of European comparison, I slowly developed my own knowledge of the game, one fuzzy televised match at a time. And yet, even in the last few years following football in Europe like Americans follow the NFL or NBA, the football culture in America remains underground. One must go searching for that atmosphere of mutual respect and understanding that only football creates. Pre 21, I was usually confined to my basement, amid a tangle of cords, stretching from a power strip to my computer and finally resting behind the tv, providing me with a laggy, staticy picture to represent the entirety of the English Premier League. Outside, for a football fan in Seattle, you're inclined to stop every person displaying the emblem of your club, seeing as this is often a rare occurance. More often than not, they're just as clueless as to the patch on their chest as to the game that they have decided to advertise that day. It's quite dissapointing.

This is my first journey to Europe and thus, my first direct experience with European football. Perhaps I was disapointed at first. That not everyone played in the streets. Or that not everyone had Parma flags waving from the rooftops. But that disapointment was soon gone. Italians treat football like Americans treat American games such as baseball or basketball. It's not something that's out there every hour of every day. But it's more of an assumed knowlege and assumed passion. Fabio Cannavaro is a nationally recognized name. He, more than Guiseppi Garibaldi, is a national hero.

I attended the last of the group-stage qualifying matches for Italy. Up against relatively diminutive Cyprus, Italy had already secured a spot in the 2010 cup. Unfortunatly, this meant that they rested most of their starters. Buffon, arguably the best keeper in the world currently, sat. But Cannavaro, Iaquinta, Cameranesi, Gilardino and 7 other world class players took the field.

It always stuns me, the beauty that football is capable of on and off the pitch. I witnessed the innagural game for Sounders FC at Quest Field; a sight that brought the MLS commisioner to tears. A sea of green flags, scarves and painted faces. A scene that Frank Lampard of Chelsea FC would later describe as fit to be in Europe. I saw the Sounders take on Champion's League victors, FC Barcelona in a friendly. I witnessed Lionel Messi, Xavi Alonso and Andreas Iniesta effortlessly humble the home team with a continuous stream of beautiful play, pinpoint precision and deadly accuracy. But this past night was the apex.

Not only is international play the best in terms of skill, but it unites countries like nothing else can. The passion that exists in Italy is incredible. From the national anthem American soccer and European football part ways. People scream, people clap and sing at the top of their lungs. The anthem is not just a mandatory homage, it's a rally point for the masses. The game progressed. Fans sat down at points but the attention never snaped from the game at hand. Frequently chants of I-TAL-IA! I-TAL-IA! would rise from either end of the stadium, engulfing the 22 players on the pitch in a cacaphony of national pride. And when we scored... even down 2-nil... Old men were stirred in to a frenzy next to young girls no older than 10. The energy, joy and pride were ubiquitous. Although I didn't speak Italian, by the virtue that I was emotionally attached to the play as well, I was accepted.

As Italy took the lead in stoppage time, I jumped and shouted with the rest of them. The captain from Cyprus exited the pitch for a substitute, graciously clapping for the Italians who created the atmosphere. In reciprocation, the fans gave him a standing ovation. I couldn't help it. In the face of the passion, the emotion and overwhelming respect for the game I love, I too felt pride in mia Italia.

Settling in

The progression of comfort is a strange creature. Coming to Italy, I knew the stages of development and adjustment I would encounter, but the slow and steady assimilation never ceases to surprise.

It's been just over a month since I arrived in Milan from Seattle. Reflecting on my experience over the past few weeks is odd since I am completely and utterly in tune with my current reality. If there is one thing that linguistic isolation brings, it's clarity. It seems as if nothing much has changed since I've been here. At first glance, my experience in Parma has been static. I feel as if I've been able to loosely communicate in Italian my entire time here. I feel as if I've been in Parma for 4 months, not 4 weeks. But when I select memories from those uncertain weeks I realize the immense proportion of progress I've made since I was here.

When I first arrived, I was completely lost. Although I had the capacity to introduce myself in Italian based upon the memorization of some key phrases on the 10 hour plane ride, I could only bumble in English when meeting new people. I was easily flustered and very reserved.

Midway through, language classes were always a roller coaster. Some days I felt strongly that I was learning Italian and some days I felt like I understood nothing. More often than not, I would change my mind about my level multiple times in 3 hours.

Often times in the past few weeks, when approched by Italians and addressed, I've internalized enough to communicate my lack of language skills and basically why I'm in Parma.

In retrospect it's a blur. It's trite, but it simply doesn't feel like just 4 weeks. My progression hasn't been immense, but it's been enough. Enough to change my status from complete isolation and timidity, to comfort in a not-so-long-ago foreign city. Of course, I'm a long way off from complete certainty and knowlege. A lifetime is not enough to understand this country, but I'm working with the time I've been handed.

Parma
This is one of the main streets near the center plazza (Garibaldi). It serves as a high end shopping district as well as a hang out street for many of the Parma youth. As you can see above the storefronts, there are apartments lining both sides of the street. You better believe the people that live there have money. (They do. A lot.)

Photo Credit: Alicia Bock


A beautiful view up the river Parma to the west of Center. Not much of a river as you can tell. More of a trickle. Nevertheless, the river served as a border for the Parma Commune for much of its history. Parmaseans say that the only thing historically holding back Parma from becoming a large city such as Paris, Venice or London is the lack of water in the river.

Photo Credit: Alicia Bock


This was last night at a local club right outside of the city. The name from club in Italy is disco, if you refer to "a club" or "nightclub" in Italy, you are referencing what we call strip clubs. (Although a bit classier than Tropical Lei I would imagine) On Friday and Saturday nights, the disco is a very popular destination for young people, providing drinks, music and dancing.

Photo Credit: Maddie Grose

This is the center square in Parma called Piazza Garibaldi. You can see the statue of Garibaldi n the bottom right. To Northern Italy he is generally known as the unifyer of Italy, somewhat of a national hero. Much of the south, I am told, views him as a betrayer of the South; selling them out to the industrial power of the north.

Photo Credit: Maddie Grose

These are images of the Baptistry West door. Designed in the 13th century, the Baptistry served as a religious center for Parma allong with the large church just to the North (Duomo). Even from these pictures, you are able to see the intricacy and care put into each and every carving. Bar the doors (built in the 1800's) everything you see is from the 13th century. In the center is Christ surrounded by the 12 Apostles in the outer ring. Below Christ you can see the double wave, the symbol of baptism.


Photo Credit: Maddie Grose

Cheese 2009: Bra, Italy

So here's where it gets interesting. Bra, about a 45 minute train south of Torino. Bra is a small, unassuming city much like a smaller Parma with less glitz and designer shops. But once every other year, the city explodes in an international fervour. There are dialects of Italian even the most versed of Italian scholars cannot understand: Milanese, Parmasean and southern Italian tossed around the vendor's stands like a football. Americans, Brits, Aussies and even South Africans wander the streets, popping tasty morsels into waiting mouths. In this particular niche, Bra is the center of the world for 4 days. This is Cheese 2009.

Cheese 2009 is a biannual... well... cheese festival put on for the last 20 years. Now, it attracts world famous cheese vendors from across the world. Not only is it a venue in which cheese producers can market their product to the global community, but it presents a social attraction all across Europe. The love of the senses here is unlike anything I've seen in America. You don't have to love cheese, you just have to love tasting.

Travel was not gruling, but not enjoyable as I, accompanied by 3 others, took the 4.5 hour train ride from Parma to Torino. We arrived in Torino at approximately 11:00 to the unexpected hustle and bustle of a large city. I suppose I had never really thought of Torino anything larger than Parma. But I was mistaken. No one ever honks in Parma. They honk in Torino like they honk in New York. Walking to our hostel looked like an easy task on the city map. Half and hour later we checked in and prepared for Cheese.

Cheese was put on by Slow Food, the same organization that exists in America, promoting sustainable living and generally organic practices in cooking and food consumption. But Cheese 2009 has no counterpart in America. The closest I can come to a parallel is a US Oktoberfest celebration. The enormity of people was what struck me first. The entirety of the city center was closed to moterists and filled instead with stands and tents for vendors. Most of these vendors, lined up and down the roads, had a sign above, advertising the company name with a card written in Italian and English below explaining the company and primary product. As we made our way, awestruck down literally, a hall of cheese, we sampled premier cheeses from across the globe. In 15 minutes I had consumed more brands and types of cheese than in the previous 21 years.

In somewhat of a sensory overload, we decided to investigate the rest of the affair. Cheese 2009, as we discovered, was much more than lines of stands. Workshops regarding sustainable farming, cheese and wine pairings and the making of cheese occured throughout the weekend. Many other products such as balsalmic vinegar, honey and beer had major representation. And street food could be found everywhere.

We jumped from cheese stand to cheese stand. Looking for souveniers, I sampled beer from approxmately 15 of the dozens of Italian and German breweries represented at Cheese. Communicating with the vendors was often an issue but with key words such as "chiaro" "scurro" and "bionda" I was able to determine enough.

It was bizzare for me to experience so much in such a short period of time. In the two days we were at the festival, my mind was blown time and time again. This was real cheese. The makers of the cheese that actually pretty much invented the variety, not the American knockoffs that do their best to imitate. French brie, Swiss gruyere and of course Parma's Parmigiano-Regiano. I had good beer. I had good wine. And I think my tastes may have even matured a bit in those 48 hours.

I'm pretty sure this is why I came here.

(Agro-)dolce Vita

Today is a bittersweet day. I find myself situated here in Parma, sitting on top of a privileged life. I am allowed not only to attend Pitzer, but to travel 6000 miles across the globe to a foreign country. And I'm here not just for the purpose of education but more so, simple fun and enjoyment. Most of the world's ~8 billion will never experience the wonders found beyond their own culture. Probably never get a chance to examine and understand the beauty of human diversity. Although trite, the realization never fails to hit me hard and fast: every day is a blessing. Pitzer is a blessing. Friends are a blessing. Semesters abroad in Italy are a blessing.

But after coming back from a weekend of wonderful food and multicultural convergence in Bra, I must pause and remember a person who embodied blessing.

Luke Rogers used to be a Pitzer student. He used to be a friend, a confidant and generally just a relaxed, chill presence within the extended Seattle and Pitzer communities. Once Luke was added to a scenario, his bold, wiry smile never failed to impress. Happy go lucky was an understatement when it came to Luke. While confusion with our summer storage unit hit all time highs in September 08, I was stressing a major way. Luke just looked at me and offered me a beer in his room to bring in the new school year. His unquestioning loyalty and pure love for new experience gained him respect and reciprocal friendliness across borders. When he smiled, we smiled.

One year ago yesterday the positive energy that Luke brought was inexplicably taken from us. He passed in a quick and painless manner, surrounded by good friends and good times.

One year ago we were different. We have lived a year without Luke directly in our lives. We are moving on. But we are moving on with a certain presence guiding us. He remains with us not as a living being, not as a drinking buddy or a beautiful face, but as a culmination of 19 years and a lifetime of loving interaction. Where ever I turn, I bring Luke with me and when we speak together, even when unrelated, Luke is there. Each and every interaction with Luke left an impression that will never leave our side. This is what we call a living legacy.

I'm doing a lot better than I was 6 months ago. I'm enjoying life. I'm enjoying being abroad for the second time in my life. And I'm looking forward to returning to the smiling faces of family and friends in Seattle and Claremont. I have always been hesitant and unsure with "I love you"s but I can say with certainty that I love this enigmatic life we are handed. Luke, to a large extent, taught me how.

Even when we break down as emotion overwhelms, we experience feeling as we are supposed to. We are living. We are laughing at his jokes, we are swooning at the melody of his voice, we are smiling at his unflinching charm and today, we are crying at his passing.


Luke Rogers

A Taste of Parma:

Duration: 2 weeks tomorrow.

Places Traveled: Just Parma but headed to Bra, Italy for Cheese 2009.

Food Eaten: A lot. Notably. FRESH parmasean cheese. Parma Ham (prosciutto). Ravioli w/ mixed ricotta, parmasean and nettles. It is not the complexity of the recipes that make them successful but the simplicity and quality of ingredient.

Language: Slow but steady. Monday through Thursday lessons from 9:30-12:00 taught only in Italian. As you probably know understanding is MUCH easier than speaking.

Family: Single mother Vivianna who has three children. Marco (23 anni) lives at home during the summer and is a 5th year medical student (out of 5 years) at University of Bologna (oldest in Europe). Both speak proficient English but ask me to correct them whenever they use incorrect grammar. I politely request the same...

Internet: Internet is still not ubiquitous throughout Parmesean households. Luckily I have solid broadband. Skype anyone? (glieberworth)

Weather: The weather has been generally hot for the first few weeks (25+) but has cooled recently and rained in the past few days. Reminds me of home minus the fact that it's very humid.

Entertainment: The youth of Parma entertain themselves through numerous social events, either seasonal or regular. There are speakers and concerts in streets and parks on weekends. On Friday all 18-25s head to Via Farini for a generally festive atmosphere wandering from wine bar to pub to restaurant, encountering familiar faces at every turn.

Problems: 1. Not as many people speak English as I assumed prior to departure. 2. Although I haven't encountered it directly, I am told some Parma residents are highly racist. 3. Most Parma residents especially towards the center are fairly well to do. My family described many as "snobbish." This, again, I haven't seen directly. 4. It is hard to meet Italians without language skills. This will improve. 5. Regrets about missing friends at Claremont.

Plans: I head to Bra this weekend for a cheese festival put on by Slow Food. (the same organization that appears in the US) The prosciutto festival comes to Parma in a few weeks for the closing days. This will be tasty. For fall break, I'm headed to Paris and perhaps Barcelona, both completely foreign places for me. Rome, Florence, Milan, Siena, Cinquaterra, Venice and Sicily are all in my sight as well. Alas, financial limitations will dictate how much is possible.

Questions? Let me know!

It's All Relative

Everywhere I see the past manifested in the present. Standing in Piazza Garibaldi, where the Roman forum of Parma used to exist, our instructor Claudio noted chronologically the aged edifices erected in the square. These buildings stood strong and intimidating before us and I imagined them half-completed; imagined the landscape if the tower that used to stand next to the palace was not destroyed in the war. The palace, still painted in the same 'gialla parma' as centuries ago, provided a pleasing background for an aged statue of the Garibaldi, the liberator and unifier of Italy, located in the center of the square. Even as I get accustomed to this new city, the dismissive attitude exhibited by many locals in the face of these historical treasures is still lost to me.

I've never lived in a city that exists so much in the past and yet remains a first-world, forward thinking city. Unlike much of the rest of the world, the United States remains ignorant to the presence of history. Obviously we have history, but the history I refer to reflects the Roman, Gothic and Renaissance influence on Italy. So when I gaze upon the ancient bridges of Commune di Parma, now underground, I cannot conceptualize time. I can understand that these things happened or were built at one point, but a chronological scale eludes me.

I'm getting closer to understanding the historical significance of this city. (The only one that resisted against the fascist regime, holding out for days before begrudgingly cooperating with Mussolini.) The more I learn, the more I'm fascinated. This is all new to me, but the awe doesn't always strike like lightening but more in waves. Either way, it's incredible.

No parlo Italiano

2nd period Japanese:

Ohayou gozaimasu Craig (ku-re-gu) sensei! I had taken three years of Japanese prior to entering my fourth year in Sophomore year of high school. After greeting and bowing to commence class, we soon progressed into daily language activities. This included Craig sensei telling us a story in Japanese for us to translate and write down. Today's story was a fairy tale about a farmer, or something similar. At one point she paused after an unfamiliar word (gokiburi) and proceeded to ask us if anyone knew what this word meant. Without hesitation I shouted "Cockroach!" across the room. This was correct. Craig sensei, whose English was subpar at best, smiled at me condescendingly, illiciting laughter from the classroom. "This he knows," sensei gestured to the class. "Perhaps you try this hard for other words..."

So this is pretty much a summary of my experience in foreign language. After 4 years of Japanese, I was barely conversational. This was most likely due to three factors. One: I did not like Craig sensei. Two: foreign languages have always befuddled me because English rules are so ingrained. And Three: I never applied myself as perhaps I should have. After two days of Italian instruction, two out of the three of these factors have already disappeared. I like our instructor Francesca. Although she speaks only in Italian, I am able to understand much from her demeanor and body language. In terms of Italian application, there is no choice this time. Surrounded by it constantly, Francesca speaks to us only in Italian, thereby forcing comprehension on some level. This leaves only one problem.

I've said this many times but I pride myself most on my ability to articulate what I am feeling at any given moment. The catch? I can only do it in English. Now surrounded by a society where English is a handy tool, not the prominent language, my skills in articulation are hung out to dry. Interacting with Italians and while in class, my lack of language skill has left me frustrated and embarrassed. I know exposing myself and taking chances are a direct prerequisite to linguistic success but I hate the perceived devolution in my intellect. But even in the first few days I have witnessed a slow expansion in comprehension. This, unlike the uncomfort associated with language, is a new feeling, singular to my experience with Italian. It's important to me that I learn how to harness this singularity and grasp the unique opportunity that's been handed to me by Pitzer College.

This is my goal for the next few weeks.

Beginnings

Its a Sunday today and I obviously still havent figured out how to write correctly on this computer yet. I see Lira (£) Euro (€) a bunch of other stuff (òàç§ùèé etc...) but cannot find an apostrophe to save my life. I suppose this could be an appropriate metaphor for my experience in the first week-ish in Parma. Just as with a new keyboard, the base reality and function is the same. Just as with the keys I type, the mannerisms and the western tendencies are the same here as in the United States. But as with the odd symbols and placement, the words, the tendancies and the underlying assumtions of the Italians are completely foreign. So I am able to write this post out with clarity, but it takes time and it takes a certain dedication that is not registered in a familiar American setting.

Theres so much to account for, even though Ive only been here for 4 days, two of which I think I was awake for. This being the first time abroad since Korea when I was 10, EVERYTHING is new. So well start from the beginning. The flight was gueling. I hate flying to California (a tame 3 hours) so the 10 hour flight was trying to say the least. I quickly made friends with a woman named Tiffany sitting next to me, however, who was from Mountlake Terrace. Funny enough, she attended school in California as well. Kind enough to let me share her screen and headphone port when mine inexplicably stopped working, Im pretty sure Tiffany saved me much sanity through watching Star Wars, The Hangover, The DaVinchi Code and Hannah Montana back to back to back to back.

The airport in Frankfurt was not as noteworthy as perhaps I supposed it would be. The food was noteably better (looking) than any food I have ever encountered in a US airport. But in my 3.5 hour layover, there was little memorable, perhaps because I was in a haze after 4 movies and no sleep. As an international hub, however, Frankfurt was buzzing. I heard more languages spoken then I had in the past year in the US. It was very odd to hear announcements first in German, then in English.

As anyone who has ever been abroad in a foreign country knows, the first few days are very humbling. Especially for an American, where, even if you know its wrong, English is taken as the hegemonic dialect. The immidiate, complete and utter immersion leaves you literally without words. Suddenly, for a person who prides himself on articulation, I was left with more to say than ever before, but lacking the skills to even make known the most basic of emotions. Encounters still leave me flustered and embarassed for my precieved ineptitude. Hopefully this will spur me to learn Italian that much more quickly. In the first few days the going has been slow but Ive learned quite a bit even if its simply picking out words from rapid Italian conversation. I know various words (mostly dirty: figa, catsu etc...) some phrases (no parlo italiano, mi dispiache) and colors (thank you rosetta stone.) So in conclusion, theres a long road ahead, starting tomorrow.

The food is great with many similarities to my own gastro experiences. It deserves a separate post to come...

So today I recover from a crazy introduction to night life in Parma consisting of eating, drinking and wandering the crowded downtown streets. My current task is to find a converter for my laptop, buy a soccer ball and get more sleep. I miss home and oddly I miss the Inland Empire (permission to hit me when Im back...) I know this is inevitable and potentially shortlived but to all at home and school: be there when I come back. Ill have recipes, stories and much love.

Ciao

I havent slept in 30 hours and I think its starting to get to me maybe just a bit. Plus, this keyboard I cant find appropriate punctuation on. But as the sleepy eyes start to droop, the only thing that kept me awake was this new country. Ive riden a bus thousands of times, but not passing kilometer per hour signs and surrounded by only Italian language. Ill rest tonight and get my bearings, try to work out the imminent jet lag. But even as this was a day full of firsts for me, its just the beginning. The world opens up tomorrow.

Anticipation

I've learned through the years to call only two geographical places home. Seattle, Washington and (sometimes regrettably) Claremont, California. Seattle, with its green trees, views of the skyline and perpetual 9 month rain, is the only place I knew from birth to 19. Claremont became my second somewhat permanent residence and thus, took title as a second "home." My connection to relatively few locations on this earth has obviously effected me in both positive and negative ways. While I was able to establish a close connection with the few places I have lived, I now feel major anticipation and even anxious when exploring new territory.

Italy is a rapidly approaching reality. The massive public works of art, thousand year old edifices and a culture older than recorded history is just a breath away. I knew this and I know it now. But to learn culture in a Scripps' European history classroom and to dive headfirst into Parma are two different things. This fact is finally starting to sink in 3 weeks before it becomes a tangible fact.

I pride myself on my ability to adapt and rapidly learn new situations. I thrive on change, but how far will this get me in such a vastly different society? I don't doubt my ability, but am apprehensive towards a world I have only seen in pictures. I feel a nervous tremor when I think about flying on the 1st or play out scenarios, guessing as to what's to come.

I guess this is the first time I can call myself officially excited.

Today...

I start this "blog" primarily as a resource to family and friends who wish follow my ventures in Parma, Italy this fall. I'll be residing in Parma and attending Universita Di Parma from September 2nd 2009 through December 16th 2009. Since I have never been near this far from family or anything remotely resembling home, I feel it is only appropriate to maintain a chronicle of my experience abroad.

Beyond the practical motivation, however, I've always believed writing to be a key component of my expression. Further, to express and put forth my ideas in a forum such as this allows me to not only remember, but to understand the thoughts that all too often drift away. This being said, a forum open to public eye, opens the gate to other issues, privacy aside. I've learned in the past year that writing for oneself can be a tool used to heal, understand and cope. One of the greatest joys I have derived from writing is the ability to share my ideas and my work, be it prose, poetry or simple ramblings. There is a noted difference, however, between voluntarily sharing work with individuals and providing certain sets of thoughts to an unknown collective audience. Private and public writing has its advantages and disadvantages. I guess what it will come down to is what I choose to take from each.

So as I write, I expect a certain evolution (or devolution) in the manner with which I speak and the material that will cycle in and out. Although optimistic, I strive to write what I want, when I want and to vocalize my current state as accurately and as articulately as possible. So a note to the reader: read with an open mind, with no inhibitions and with your imagination turned on. My goal is to let you into my head for a few potent moments and hopefully let you feel what I feel.

Thanks, and happy reading.