On the Brink of History

Who makes history?

It’s a question I asked myself a few weeks ago as I stood at the Topography of Terror in Berlin, Germany (a museum and monument dedicated to the atrocities of Hitler’s reign). The skeptic in all of us is probably quick to respond with the witty, but not totally inaccurate answer of “dead white guys.” And sure, I will cede to the skeptics that white men were the most influential in determining what we talk about in class today, especially given that they were the overwhelming majority of the literate population until a few hundred years ago. However, history exists regardless of the dead white dudes. If white men went extinct, we’d still have a lot stuff to talk about… I hope. So, it was there, in Berlin, that I think I found my answer to this pressing question. I realized we all make history.

I stood where Hitler stood when he made some of the most fateful, cringe-worthy, tear-jerking decisions that world has ever seen occur upon its surface. As you can probably imagine, this feeling is one that still doesn’t settle well with me. Why? I asked myself over and over again. Who let this happen? Why couldn’t anyone stop him? I can’t explain to you the number of questions I asked myself on that cold, cloudy day in Berlin. It seemed like everywhere we went history followed us, and with it my slew of innocent questions. Linn, Haylee, and I, for example, went to the Berlin Wall Memorial one night. There, we listened to a recording announcing the names of those who fell victim to gunshots while trying to flee from one side to another. We stared at the messages spray painted on the wall — messages of love, of despair, of anguish, desperation. As a harrowing chill ran the course of every bone in my body, I watched a woman get her picture taken in front of the wall, a big toothy smile smacked across her face. I wondered why anyone would ever take a picture of him or herself like that. At its core, it just seems so ignorant.

Regardless, I felt history come alive in those moments. I stood where patrol towers overlooked the no man’s land. Maybe I stood where someone died a bloody death. And for what? Politics? Pride? Although this history is sad and at times disgusting, to say the least, I left Berlin feeling differently because of it. I realized why I chose to study history and why I am so passionate about it.

When I talk about the remote sadness I felt, though, don’t get me wrong; I loved Berlin. It’s a great, modern city with so much to see and do. Around every corner there seemed to be a surprise. The Reichstag, for example, looked incredible when we stumbled upon it all lit up by the river at night. The Brandenburg Gate was also amazing to see by the light of night. The food, although heavy, was so delicious! Pretzels? Sausage? Yes, please! And of course I bought some authentic German Birkenstocks and a Milky Chance record from their home country (what kind of #1 fan would I be if I didn’t?!). But what I will remember most about this trip, more than any souvenir could evoke and different from any other trip I’ve taken, is the way in which I was struck by my surroundings.

In Berlin, I came to understand the impact that each of us “regular” people have on history. It’s something that seems to get lost in the textbooks we lug around in our boulder-sized backpacks. When I got to college, so many of my professors began to stress popular history, or history from the everyday perspective. As a concept, I understood that idea in terms of, say, the American Revolution or the 1960’s. But what was still lost on me was the link between the changes of those times and today. It wasn’t until I stood in Hitler’s shoes that I realized each and every person on this planet is the link. We all have the ability to change something, to make history the same way that the most ordinary minuteman or hippie did years ago, the same way each vote for Hitler changed history. We all live in this world, and each one of us has the potential to change its outcomes. Everyday, we live on the brink of making history. Unfortunately, it’s not something that seems to come across crystal clear in the years we spend learning. It’s something that I hope to play at least a small part in changing.

 

Ciao!

Mackenzie

A Weekend with Gaudí

*”Barcelona” by George Ezra plays on repeat*

Barcelona was a dream: a wicked awesome dream. I mean that in the sense that simply having the opportunity to walk down those streets felt like something that was too good to be true. The ubiquitous Candyland Gaudí architecture, the scrumptious food, and the Spanish ocean still seem somewhat of an illusion to me. Spain is a place I have longed to go for years and years, and that wish has finally come true. And, if you couldn’t tell already, I was not disappointed.

First of all, the most rewarding aspect of this trip was that I navigated the transportation all by myself. Getting from Ferrara to Bologna, getting through security and to the gate, and then flying all alone. Sitting by the gate in the airport while waiting to board was probably the coolest part of my journey, though. Surrounding me were conversations in Italian AND Spanish, which was insane! I could understand most of the ones I was listening to, but it was a LOT of work. My brain wires were SPARKIN’! Once the plane arrived and I got randomly upgraded to Priority boarding (thanks, RyanAir), my flight over to Spain was pretty good, other than the young, Spanish high school couple ferociously making out just over the aisle from me. For those of you who know me, you know my affection level is pretty low, and I personally don’t think it’s cute to mess around with someone else’s hair and shove your tongue down their throat in public. Most Americans seem to agree. I mean, the expression “Get a room” exists for a reason. What I’ve noticed a lot so far in Europe, though, is that there’s more of an openness, not only referring to PDA but also with feelings and other things we consider more private matters back home. It’s just too bad I had to have that cultural learning experience a foot away on a plane ride with nowhere to escape.

After finally touching down in Barcelona, waiting for Hannah’s delayed plane, and checking in to our AirBnb, Hannah (my friend from home studying in Dublin), Rachel (my friend from home studying in London), her friend Jess, and I decided to try out a restaurant that our host recommended called Citrus Restaurant. When we got there, it was dead. As far as I can remember we were actually the only people in there, even though it was about 7 o’clock. Come to find out, what my Spanish teachers had told me over the years was true; Spaniards literally do not eat dinner until 9 or 10 o’clock! And I thought Italians ate dinner late! As ridiculous as we felt, we were too hungry to not eat, so we sat down to a delicious Spanish meal: paella, chicken, vegetables… my stomach rumbles just thinking about it! After dinner, Hannah and I were curious as to what was around the city, so we walked aimlessly for a few hours before deciding to buy some junk food and head back to the apartment. On our walk, we didn’t necessarily stumble upon anything special, (except the Plaça Catalunya, which looked so beautiful lit up at night) but it was really great just to take in all the sights.

The next day, Hannah and I woke up early to enjoy all of the day that we could, starting with a walk to the beach. We didn’t get there as quick as expected, though, because we stumbled across the stunning Parc de la Ciutadella along the way. What first drew us in was a glistening gold sculpture of four horses atop a monument. We had nowhere urgent to be, so why not check it out? We followed a dirt path to the other side of the monument only to discover a big, beautiful fountain complete with ducks and all. We walked a little more around the park, observing the beautiful architecture of the buildings within and the lovely landscapes. At one point, we even came across a small group of parrots just hanging out on the grass. We must have spent a good 45 minutes walking around in that park before deciding to move on to find the beach.

At some point along our walk to the beach, it started to rain a lot, but stopped just in time for our arrival. We descended some stairs, only to turn a corner and have what Hannah so appropriately called “a study abroad moment.” For a while it appeared to be just us two on the beach, probably partly because it had just rained and partly because it was just about 10 in the morning. We walked around, felt the sand spread between our toes, and dipped our feet in the Spanish waters (something that still doesn’t feel real to say for whatever reason). It truly was a special moment, to see a wide open, empty beach all to ourselves. I think that’s when it hit me the hardest that I was finally in Spain.

The next stop for us was La Sagrada Familia, something I have been itching to see for as long as I can remember. Designed by Gaudí, the church remains unfinished to this day! He passed away during the construction and with him went the plans. Architects today are puzzled as to how to finish this church without the roof collapsing in, so essentially we were hanging out in a church so nice that it can’t be finished, and it is truly breath-taking. There’s something about the way that the stained glass intensely reflected on the white interior of the church that could allow a person to feel the presence of God, or at least some higher presence. The more modern style architecture is different from any church I’ve been to so far in Italy: minimal gold, no frescoes, and maybe three or four icons. The most mesmerizing part of the building, though, had to be the high, intricate ceilings. It’s impossible to describe the smallness I felt in those moments.

We slowly made our way out of the church and began our long, uphill walk to the ever-so-famous Parc Güell, where you feel like your one card away from meeting Queen Frostine or landing at the Candy Castle. The park is situated on the outskirts of the main drags of the city, so it has some of the best views. It’s amazing to think of all the detail that went into building the all-mosaic monument portion of the park mainly because it’s just so BIG! Every tiny little piece played a small role in the completion of that building. We roamed around the monument and then meandered through the free portion of the park. For a few hours we walked aimlessly, constantly keeping our eyes focused on the sweeping panorama of Barcelona. At one point we decided to give our legs a break, so we sat down while not too far away a main played the guitar. The soft, romantic sound resonated in me, and I think that feeling of dreaminess will always reside in some part of me.

As we were just about to make our way out of the park, rain began falling from the sky… and then HAIL. I can’t even remember the last time I saw hail in New England, so it seems ironic that I’d experience it in Barcelona, of all places. So we ran down the hill, hopped in a cab, and got dropped off at La Rambla, a nice shopping district. However, we were not there to shop! No, no, no. First, we walked through the famous La Boqueria food market, where it seemed like you could find every food under the Spanish sun. Then, we made our toward the real goal of our stop in La Rambla: CHURROS!! After doing our research, we decided on a place called La Granja Dulcinea, which has been highly ranked by travelers on the Internet for it’s outstanding pastries and thick hot chocolate. It was all just as delicious as we expected! Later on, we met up with Rachel and Jess to go to an ACTUAL 10 o’clock Spanish dinner (make sure you try paella once if you ever find yourself in Spain), and then Hannah and I walked around a little more, slowly making our way back to the AirBnb. Overall, we walked over 14 miles that day, and my legs can painfully approve that statement.

My last day in Barcelona was bittersweet: bitter because I had to leave, but sweet because Hannah and I woke up early to get to see more of the city again. First, though, we had to get breakfast, and I knew just the place.

Yes, folks, that’s right. I am the shameful American tourist who spent her last day in Barcelona eating at Dunkin’s. But, in all fairness, I am forever a Boston girl at heart and was having withdrawals so bad that I could taste the strawberry donut on my tongue. Plus, it’s not like I didn’t branch out; I did try a dulce de leche donut, and it was just as delicious as it sounds. My experience at Dunks, though, was still sort of surprising. They served beer, mojito Coolatas, yogurt, and it was the first place I had seen bagels so far in Europe. But I digress. After breakfast Hannah and I headed toward the Catedral de Barcelona, a beautiful Gothic church in a part of the city that we had not yet ventured. We had intended on climbing up to the top, but we arrived in time for mass, so instead we walked around the parts that were still open to tourists while listening to the low hymns sung by the priest. Off the side of the nave, there was a small chapel in which people could say prayers. We sat there for a bit, praying, thinking, and reflecting. Then we realized the time and left to go to the Picasso Museum.

The Picasso Museum was just as one would expect: lots of Picasso. What I really liked about this museum in particular, though, was the way spectators are able to chronicle the growth of Picasso as an artist throughout his lifetime. Often times people see one of Picasso’s cubist paintings and think “What the heck is so special about a guy who paints squares? I could do that.” However, the work displayed in that museum, especially the stuff from his early days, is actually really impressive, understandable art. It wasn’t until a little later on in his career that he began to paint the crazy paintings that the world knows him for today. Probably the crowning moment for me here, though, was getting to see his famous Las Meninas collection. Las Meninas by Diego Velázquez is probably one of my favorite paintings because it seems that every time I look at it, I see something new or find some new meaning. Picasso, who was inspired be Velázquez, I think also found this to be true because he created 58 different versions of the painting, each with a new focus or analysis of the original. Getting to see those paintings truly topped off that trip for me.

After hanging out with Picasso, I headed back for Ferrara, feeling a lot different. I know this is a really long post, but I think it needs to be that way for a reason – not just because we squeezed a lot of stuff into 2 days, but because being there evoked a lot of feelings within me. I got to travel out of the country for the first time last weekend, and it was all alone. I was nervous, but I proved to myself that I should be confident in both my Spanish and Italian skills because that’s how I made it through the parts where I wasn’t so sure what to do (even though I did accidentally order my food in Italian a few times). But I also realized how fortunate I am to be in a smaller city. My friends in London and Dublin are having a great time, and for that I am really grateful, but speaking with them made me understand just how special and revealing it is to be immersed into small-city European life. I am learning more than I could have ever imagined about a foreign language, a foreign culture, and, most of all, myself. I am really growing into my own here, which is a super cheesy thing I never thought I’d say.

A presto!

Mackenzie

Anything but Triste in Trieste

“No unforgettable landmark, no universally familiar melody, no unmistakeable cuisine” – Jan Morris

After stressed-out, last-minute planning and a winery tour on Friday morning, some of my friends and I decided to hop on a bus and ride to Trieste, a city located in a tiny sliver of Italy on the border of Slovenia. Of all the places I have been so far, this was my favorite. It’s not a place people typically think of when they think of Italy, but for me that made the experience all the merrier. Because I could ramble on for days about why I loved Trieste, I will break it down for you here.

The number one reason is probably just the size. Trieste is a quaint little city. It’s big enough that it has its own airport, train, and bus stations, but it’s small enough that not everyone knows where it is. Because of its smaller size, I was able to get a more authentic Italian treatment than in the other cities. When I spoke Italian, I was answered in Italian (rather than in English, like people in bigger cities automatically do once they realize you’re American), which I loved! Not one random man came up to me trying to sell me a selfie stick or a useless toy, a refreshing break from Florence and Venice. I loved that the locals were always out and about, strolling through town or munching on aperitivo. It’s not your typical tourist trap, and while those places are certainly worth seeing, it was nice to be able to get away without being on constant guard for pickpockets.

Reason 2? I loved the cuisine. If you have a fond appreciation for seafood like I do, then this is the place for you! I get that not everyone likes mussels or clams or whatever (weirdos), but for me, the food really helped to launch this place to the top of my list. The city lies along the water, so local food includes a lot of frutti di mare (fruits of the sea, literally). After descending from the Castello Miramare, my friends and I stopped to eat at this little restaurant on the water where I had some amazing soup, mussels cooked in white wine! I’m hesitant to say that they were as good as Prince Edward Island mussels (which will always have my heart), but Trieste mussels aren’t too shabby.

Of course, there’s also the justification of plain beauty. Because it lies along the ocean, breathtaking views can be found all along the coast, especially when looking up into the hillsides off the water. The Piazza dell’Unità, the main square, is wide open and looks out on the sea. It is surrounded by intricately decorated Baroque buildings, which shine just as bright during the day as they do when they are lit up at night. Not too far from the piazza there are bunches of churches of all different denominations, which are beautiful to look at from the outside, especially because you can notice the difference between those and other typical Italian churches. The best spot for sightseeing, though, was probably the Castello Miramare, where some of us went after asking around and figuring out how to get there. It is a Hapsburg castle sitting on the ocean that dates back to the 19th century. There, I saw some of the most incredible views I’ve ever seen in my whole entire 20 years of living.

Just outside the main part of the city are parks all along the coastline, making Trieste one of the freshest places I’ve been to so far in Europe. Even the air there felt so much purer and cleaner to breath, and the salty scent of the Adriatic helped to clear my mind of any stress I felt related to schoolwork.

Trieste is also loaded with history. It was a city founded by the Ancient Romans, which became evident when Sophie, Linn, Lauren, Haylee and I stumbled upon an amphitheater dead in the middle of the city. Because of its position on the coast, the city feels influences of Austrian and Slavic cultures, which is evident through the architecture around town. Walking around, it started to become pretty obvious how diverse the city is. Temples, Greek Orthodox and Catholic churches line the streets, evidence of the imperial influences of old. James Joyce, Italo Svevo, and Sigmund Freud all worked in Trieste at one point or another, drawn to the city’s unique heritage. The city also has an interesting history during World War II, when it was subject to Allied bombings. For me, all this was just so fascinating to note.

If you ever have the chance to go here, please do. You won’t be disappointed.

Ciao for now,

Mackenzie

One Down, Three to Go

 

We Have a Lot of Catching Up to Do

The past two weeks in Ferrara have been quiet, but eventful. After returning from Venice I went with my study abroad program to the local theatre to see an opera: Rossini’s L’italiano in Algeri, the complicated love story of an Italian couple who get lost at sea only to find each other in Algeria. For three hours, we sat and watched the singers do their thing (although by the end it started to feel a lot longer, if I’m being honest). As you’d probably expect the crowd was pretty tame, well-dressed, and a little on the elderly side. This probably wasn’t my favorite activity I’ve done, but I really did enjoy it! Plus, it’s cool that I can now officially say I’ve seen an opera in Italy.

The next day, we went on another mini program field trip to watch a SPAL soccer game! The match was SPAL, the professional soccer team here in Ferrara, versus Pontedra. Unlike the opera, the crowd was ROWDY. Flags constantly waving, chants being sung, curses being flown around like it was nobody’s business. In a way, the game was exactly what I’d expected it to be. But in another, stranger way the environment was surprisingly electric. Probably my favorite part of being there was that it seemed like everyone knew one another, making it more of a social event than sports games are in America. You can easily tell that that SPAL tifosi are some of the most passionate and dedicated in Italy. For me, being there, the stereotype of Italians loving soccer was superseded by a more tangible connection that made me understand the love they feel for the game… and I HATE watching professional soccer (a rant I will save for another time and place)! Oh, and SPAL won, which was also pretty nice.

Then, during the weekend, my friends and I stayed in Ferrara to indulge in some chocolate because, to my unending delight, there was a chocolate festival rolling through town. I was  NOT about to pass that opportunity up! Set up next to the good ol’ Castello Estense, this series of tents appeared to offer up every delicacy I could have ever wanted: chocolate shoes, chocolate Minions, macaroons, hot chocolate, and more! I did a very good job of limiting myself to buying a box of chocolate, a cannoli, and a chocolate lollipop, which took every inch of self-control I had. There were also the typical weekend markets all around the central piazzas, which were a blast to look around! There, vendors sell anything from jewelry to used furniture to old historical documents.

Over the course of the past two weeks, my classes have really picked up the pace, too, which is why it’s been hard for me to find time to write this blog post! All my classes have officially started: Women’s Literature, Italian Renaissance Art, Contemporary History (which I am taking with REAL LIFE ITALIAN STUDENTS), and Italian Language. So far I’m feeling pretty confident, just bogged down with work and projects. Everything seems to be happening all at once, which really does stink. I won’t let it get me down though!

So, that’s that. I’m officially one month in to my Italian adventures and I really can confidently say that I am learning more than I could have ever imagined in any sense of the word: cultural, linguistic, and even personal. Every so often I have these tiny moments where I realize the progress I’ve made since telling my parents through tears at Boston Logan Airport that I “didn’t want to go anymore.” Being here really has made me a more confident and adaptable person, and I really am so proud of that! And while all this serious stuff is happening somewhere deep inside, I’m also still having so much fun!

Next up, my post about my weekend trip to Trieste!

A molto presto,

Mackenzie

Masquerading Around

Carnevale in Venezia

Studying abroad is all about taking advantage of those once-in-a-lifetime opportunities. Of course, this includes visiting Venice for Carnevale, especially since it’s just an hour and a half from Ferrara. For those of you who are not familiar with this weeks-long event, it’s basically the last chance to be gluttonous and have fun before Lent, ending on Fat Tuesday. In a more modern and secular way, it’s a celebration of extravagance and culture, and there’s nowhere else in the world that one can get the same experience as in Venice.

For starters, this city was more CROWDED than any place I’ve ever been. I’m not only talking St. Mark’s Square, where the official activities take place, but I’m talking nearly the entire city (at least the parts that we hung out in). Saturday was much worse than Friday, probably for the most obvious reason of it being the weekend. While on Friday the crowds were quite manageable, on Saturday we had to stand on water busses, elbow through the streets, and eat standing up at a little sit down self-service restaurant. In fact, it’s estimated that 3 million tourists each year travel to La Serenissima to take in the sights of masked strangers and elegant wardrobes. Actually, here’s this picture someone must have taken of me walking around on Saturday when I wasn’t looking:

Of course, I had to get over my intense hatred of being near too many people because I was in Venice!! This was an experience that so many others would love to have, and there I was, lucky enough to have it.

One of the first things we did after leaving the train station was buy ourselves masks, which is a huge part of the Carnevale experience. As you might imagine, kiosks and even entire stores are dedicated solely to the sale of masks, and believe me, there are TONS. They can be as cheap as 10 euros and as expensive as a couple hundred! Some only cover the eyes, while others cover the full face, and yet others are shaped like cats. They run quite the gamut, if I do say so myself.

 

My own personal favorite?

(Okay, I promise I’m done with my The Office references for now).

Anyway, if you ever find yourself in Venice for Carnevale, I would say that the best thing to do is have nothing to do. Venice is a beautiful city, with new and exciting sites to offer around every corner. During Carnival, this feeling of excitement and adventure multiplies. People on stilts, Disney costumes, a dancing butt. You name it, I saw it. Even Barack Obama came to join in on the fun!

As cool and awesome as Carnevale is, I’m not sure I would recommend it being the only time you visit Venice. Although this gigantic party is a Venetian tradition, it really is when all the freaks come out to play (no offense). Being swept along in the crowds took away from my enjoyment of the city’s sights, and I wasn’t invoked with the same sense of wonder as the first time I was fortunate enough to travel to Venice because of it. I do plan to return some time this semester for a more “average” experience and am wicked excited! Despite all that, I am still so happy that I had the opportunity to play a very small role in this cultural event. It was truly a blast and, of course, once in a lifetime!

Ciao!

Mackenzie

Those moments

Warning: Cheesy, sentimental post to come

On Friday night, we checked into the hotel and walked around the city. What was so amazing about that first night was the series of coincidental run-ins with landmarks: the Medici Chapel, the Arno River, and views of the Ponte Vecchio. But in my opinion, the best moment of the night, and maybe even the whole trip, occurred after stumbling upon a different landmark.

There we were, six American college students on our first night in Florence trying to navigate the city at 9 o’clock at night. It was dark and kind of cold, which was not ideal. As we made our way down a desolate side street, I looked down at my feet. We hit a corner, and I looked up to see what Florence’s next street offered. But when I looked up, I screamed. And I’m not talking some wimpy, under-the-breath scream. I’m talking a real loud, jumping around “OH MY GOD!!!!” I ran in circles and grabbed Lauren’s arm, which caused her to scream too, and she ran in for a hug (you could call us history nerds). The rest of the group looked on in an excited, stupefied, jaw-dropping amazement. We ran toward the Duomo of Santa Maria del Fiore, not caring a bit about what everyone else in the piazza thought about this group of rowdy, obnoxious Americans.

It’s cliché to say that there are no words that could describe the feelings of that moment, but there really aren’t any. We stood at the church’s feet for several minutes, admiring the ornate façade, the beautiful layers of color, and the sheer gargantuan size. What I love about those few minutes was that although I had seen the Duomo on my past trip to Italy, it felt new. I remembered feeling awe-inspired, but it’s the type of feeling that can’t suffice to be memorized. It’s spontaneous, carefree, and infinite. At the very pit of each of our reactions were the same wonder, curiosity, and shock. How could something so beautiful be built so long ago? Could we even build that today? Looking up toward the top, it seems impossible. Lost in the allure, we realized the time and that we should really keep walking. What I love about those moments is that we were all effortlessly present.

 

We began the next day by entering the Duomo. Intricate molding, high ceilings, and elegant stained glass are just some of the beauties you’ll find in there. Maybe the most beautiful of all was the painting inside the dome, illustrating the figures of Heaven and Hell. To be in the presence of something so big, so great, makes you wonder what contribution you can give. It makes you feel small. As deep as it sounds, it makes you wonder why you’re here. And so there the six of us stood, all looking up, mesmerized by different aspects of the same painting. Within our own diversity was unity.

Tight, circular staircases enough to make me dizzy led to the top of the dome. By the time we had reached our destination, we climbed 463 stairs (a fact I waited to check until AFTER leaving the church). The route had taken us around Vasari’s frescoes on the dome, allowing us to gaze at them as closely as possible, and up to the viewing deck. From there,  we could see everything from the Arno River, to Santa Croce, to the Tuscan Hills outside the city. Looking down, though, was my favorite part. It’s so different to watch people and cars like a bird from the sky. Hands off, no control on the situations below. It was peaceful. In those moments, I appreciated the short tranquility of being utterly free.

Later on, we took a long and confused walk up to the Piazzale Michelangelo to watch what we could see of the sunset over the city skyline. The cloudiness of the day subtracted nothing from the beauty, genuineness, or serenity of those moments. We watched the lights glitter along the river, illuminate the Duomo, and shine on the Ponte Vecchio. Looking out on this scene made me realize that I am the luckiest girl in the whole entire world to have the supportive family and friends that I do. It made me feel for the first time that I am lucky to be me. That’s the beauty in those small moments and little wonders. Seeing the Duomo of Santa Maria del Fiore from afar helped me to understand that there is so much more to being abroad than just being here.

Being abroad is about what the Duomo taught me in all those moments. It is about the excitement of stumbling upon new things. It is about being present in order to enjoy each second to the fullest. It is about making new friends and embracing the differences that in some weird way unite you all. It is about being free and independent. But most of all, it is about appreciating the opportunity to feel all those things.

Of course, there is more to Florence than the Duomo, but nothing seems to quite sum up my feelings on my weekend there than that. If you’re not impressed with Duomo or think it’s small (like someone I know actually did), [window] shopping on the Ponte Vecchio is great, the Uffizi is incredible, and the Medici Chapel was also astounding. No matter who you are, I can only hope that each of you has the opportunity to visit this place in your lifetime. You won’t regret it.

Ciao for now,

Mackenzie

In Fair Verona

La città dell’amore (The City of Love)

Waking up before sunrise was well worth it on Saturday morning, when we took an hour and a half bus ride to Verona. Our first stop along the tour was the Basilica di San Zeno. Frescoes covered what seemed to be every inch of the walls, and the altarpiece (painted by Andrea Mantegna) was truly moving. Although I’ve lost sight of my Catholic religion in recent years, standing in these churches is an unspeakably emotional experience. There is something about Italian cathedrals that just makes you feel small, in the presence of something greater. Thinking about all that the walls of the Veronese cathedral have withstood since the 1100’s is really just curious. The masses, the marriages, the funerals. There is literally nothing that can even compare. Photos can’t do this Basilica justice, but here are some anyway!

After touring the Basilica, we saw a lot of other sights Verona had to offer, and they didn’t disappoint. Settled in the rolling hills along the Adige River, there’s almost too much to look at. The Piazza Erbe, with its iconic fountain and small market. Rumor has it that Madonna almost bought an apartment overlooking this piazza! We saw a beautiful Gothic cemetery dedicated to the city’s former ruling family. Probably the coolest part about Verona, though, was the way in which Roman ruins are incorporated into the everyday infrastructure of the city. Like, *Just sitting and having a coffee in front of a wall that is older than basically everything, no biggie.* Or, *I just walked over a 2,000 year old fossil in the sidewalk, another average day!*

And, of course, we saw the famed house of the Capulets. This was truly neat, especially since I just read the ORIGINAL Romeo e Giulietta last semester in Italian class (Let’s just say Shakespeare was lucky he lived in a time before copyright laws). An entryway with hearts and names scribbled on the walls led to a rather small courtyard, where one can find a small balcony overhead. Unfortunately, this balcony was a mere creation of an American director looking to film a movie in the early 1900’s. If you read the play, there’s actually no mention of Juliet walking out on to a balcony. Sorry, folks. It was still cool, though. The courtyard was flooded with tourists, but of course that didn’t stop me from taking the most touristy photo of all.

Yes, there I am, happily grabbing Juliet’s… ahem… right bosom. Legend has it that if you want good luck in love, you go for the right. For those of you who would rather get some sweet moolah, go for the left. Apparently, at one point in time so many people had grabbed her right breast that there was a hole in it, hehe.

Moving on, we walked to L’Arena, which is estimated to be around the 5th oldest arena in the world. Built in 1 A.D., this stadium was once home to gladiator fights, but now hosts concerts and operas in the summertime. Stepping out on to the sand and imagining being a gladiator, fighting for my life, looking up at a rowdy crowd (and perhaps some royalty) was really surreal. Needless to say, the History Major in me was geeking out a little bit. I mean, this thing is wicked old!

What better way to follow up some historic sightseeing than with a historic meal! Following our viewing of the Roman arena, we went for lunch at an excellent osteria. We had four courses, my favorite being the dessert sampler, of course. After this lunch of epic proportions we climbed/took the elevator to the top of Torre Lamberti… and man, were those some incredible views. Seeing over the landscape of Verona and the surrounding area really gave me a better appreciation for where I am. I felt like the Queen of the World (Move over, Leo)!!

To round out the day there was some free time and, to top it all off, a beeee-yootiful pink sunset/moonrise. In a way, that ending summed up all of my feelings for Verona. While Italy is often viewed as a romantic country, it’s often not true. People here are like people everywhere who have normal people problems and stuff. But in Verona? From what I experienced, Verona was truly a romantic city. In a way, it seems impossible not to feel the love in the air there. I left Saturday morning not knowing what to expect, but returned to Ferrara understanding fully well why Verona is La città dell’amore. To me, Verona is the quintessential Italian city, and it’s definitely on the list of places I hope to return.

A presto!

Mackenzie

Getting Familiar with Ferrara

The Beginnings of a Semester-Long Journey

In Italian, there is a mouthful of a word that means adventurous, daring, and nail-biting. That word is rocambolesco. It has no precise English translation, but it seems to capture the essence of what I felt as my flight took off from Boston. Once the wheels left the ground, I was completely on my own. It is a scary feeling to know that you are an ocean away from basically everything you know; at the same time, though, that fear makes the adventure worth having. So now here I am to make the most of it: another American girl vs. Europe.

So far my time in Ferrara has been easy, and I probably have my study abroad program to thank for the seemingly effortless transition. This entire past week has been orientation, which is not much worth writing about. For those of you who are not too familiar with Ferrara, it is a small city off the beaten path for tourists. I chose to come here for this exact reason. Because not many of the locals speak English, it provides a more immersive experience. This is good, since my Italian is at the level of a fourth-grader (Seriously… I watched my house mother help her 9 year-old grandson with his grammar homework and I learned along with him). My proudest moment so far language-wise, though, had to be my trip to the pharmacy. In Europe, pharmacists are basically doctors who recommend medications to customers. In the U.S., we have doctors send us to the pharmacy for certain medications. Here, you describe your symptoms and the pharmacist picks out just the right stuff. I described to her my sore throat, runny nose, and allergies, and out she came with a few boxes to get me feeling back to my good ol’ self again!

Another fun fact about Ferrara? It’s wicked old. Yes, most of Europe is, but to see with my own eyes buildings that are centuries older than my country is mind-bottling (Please note my Blades of Glory reference). Ferrara itself is noted for its mix of medieval and Renaissance architecture. So, one part of the city on one side of the castle is from the 1100’s onward, another part on the other side is from 1400’s onward.In fact, it was a major city during the beginning to middle years of the Renaissance. I’ve still got a whole semester’s worth of learning to do on this, though, and I just can’t wait!

A street in the medieval section of town

Piazza Ariostea

One view of the magnificent Castello Estense

The moat surrounding the Castello Estense

The main Cathedral of Ferrara dating back to the Middle Ages

Just some cool frescoes on the ceiling of the Lion Tower of the Castello

A statue dedicated to Girolamo Savonarola, a Dominican friar born in Ferrara. #GoFriars

Feeling very small next to a BIG castle

The history of the city is only second to the food, of course. I have only been here less than a week, so maybe I’m not super in tact with the food culture yet, but from what I’ve tasted I LIKE IT A LOT. My favorite dish so far is one unique to Ferrara: cappellacci di zucca. They’re basically just ravioli filled with pumpkin. It might not sound especially appetizing at first, but trust me, they’re pretty darn good. The biggest adjustment food-wise, though, would have to be breakfast. Italians do breakfast very light. Whereas at home I might have a bagel, donuts, or cereal, here I eat prosciutto with cheese and toast every morning. Oh, and I can’t forget the coffee (it’s no Dunkin’s, but it will do).

During the week to come I will be starting my intensive Italian classes (4 hours a day… wish me luck!) and visiting the city of Shakespeare’s forbidden lovers, Verona. I will keep you posted!

Ciao!

Mackenzie