Saturday, March 27, 2010

My Image of Rome

When I came home I immediately cracked open a can of Diet Coke, savored the crisp taste that soaked my throat with a burning sensation. I fell on to my couch and laid without movement for what felt like the entire day. I ate meats, watched American TV and talked to my family until the late hours of the night. This was everything I had wanted, it was what I imagined my first days back to be. It ws relaxing, it was simply and it was comfortable. Within a few days though I began to see what Rome had done to me.

I was out to eat with my parents and realized that as my meal came to an end I still had half of my original soda in my glass. I was use to savoring each sip so that I would have a few remaining to enjoy after my meal that I had nearly forgotten the wonderful "free-refill" policy here in the States.

When I was waking up in the wee hours of the morning, when my sleep had still not been adjusted to Seattle time I found myself lonely. I missed finding one of the girls up in the apartment awake and dressed to mentally encourage me to continue my morning routines. I didn't have 9 girls in the house anymore, it was hard.

When my dad and I traveled to Paris after our Roman experience unfortunately I was surprised to learn that my camera's awful malfunction had resulted in the lose of 53 photos consisting of the last week of the program, my trip to the Coloseum, Trevi Fountain and Campo photos. I was devastated. But this of course forced me to think, think hard about all that I had missed.

What helped me the most were my blog entries, I read them and re-read them and thought about each individual image that had created that thought or each moment that I had experienced that had cause me to view and explain something the way that I had. The loud noise that Trevi offered but the silence it created when you stood and stared in awe. Or the crowd that consumed the area around the Coloseum but how it had the ability to make you feel so small and alone in the shadow of the massive structure.

I could go on and on about the Italian food but I wouldn't even be able to describe it in words.I have found myself craving very unique things here that I never did at home. For instance, I have a new love of vegetables, I even go so far as to order sandwiches that have no meat and ONLY contain veggies. They all individually taste so incredible, when they are together its simply a melody in my mouth ;). The bread I think we all couldn't forget. Fluffy and thick and about a million different versions. AND the forno with its always fresh taste. AND the eggs! US eggs are farmed to have thicker shells to with stand time and smells, the eggs in Italy were so fresh (and cheap, 6 for a euro)!

I can live with out the cigarette smoke consistently blackening my lungs but I miss people sitting out after dinner for hours simply talking, thinking, smoking, just being people. I miss Italy but I am happy to be home. My life won't be anything like it was before I left but I feel older, wiser and I feel like I have the ability to appreciate the things I didn't before. I'm glad I went and I will never forget Roma.

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Independent Project: Bibliography

Bibliography

1. "Annual Reports." Caritas Italiana. Web. 01 Mar. 2010. .

2. "BBC NEWS | Europe | Italy's immigrants despair at new laws." BBC NEWS | News Front Page. Web. 20 Feb. 2010. .

3. "Immigrants Rally for a Nationwide Strike in Italy - NYTimes.com." NY Times Advertisement. Web. 04 Mar. 2010. .

4. "Italian minister calls for rapists to be castrated - Times Online." Times Online | News and Views from The Times and Sunday Times. Web. 01 Mar. 2010. .

5. Montuori, Maria A. "The Visible and the Invisible: Crossing Ethnic and Spatial Boundaries in Two Immigrants Neighbourhoods in Rome." Psychoanalytical Institute for Social Research, Dec. 2007. Web. 6 Mar. 2010. .

Independent Project: Immigration and the Perspective People Have

As modern day Americans we are fortunate enough to not have to flee for refuge in another country or be stereotyped into specific employment due solely to our nationality. Unlike in the United States, Italy is a country that is full of immigrants who are being forced into jobs, living situations and treatment that they do not deserve. Immigrants from Ireland and immigrants from Nigeria, all treated differently but still struggling with the immigration process in Italy.

When I first began to research the immigrant experience I found myself shocked with how much information was available. I wanted to know what each individual felt like when they came to Italy, about their experience, how they were treated and why they felt they were treated that way. I was also interested in looking into the other side of the experience, that of the Italian. What was an Italian’s experience with so many immigrants in the workplace, did they have certain reserves against specific nationalities?

My journey began with one step into the Esquilino Market. I looked around at the bright colors that surrounded the stands but more importantly the many different shapes, sizes and colors of the people that stood behind the stands. Smiling faces, some that looked tired but enthusiastic others that looked desperate and hopeless. It was a melting pot of nationalities with a wide array of selling tactics. Some of the vendors spoke no English and disregarded me; others showered me with compliments and followed me around with questions. After a few failed attempts I realized that my lack of Italian language skills were hindering me from progressing too far. I needed a little bit of help, so I went on a search of an English-speaking immigrant.

David is an Italian speaking, Irish born bartender. His experience in Italy has been one that differs from most of the immigrants I had encountered. He loves the city and all the people that he’s been lucky enough to get to know through his diverse experience as a bartender. When I asked him about other immigrants he interrupted me and said, “I haven’t got a baldy,” which in other words means he doesn’t have any idea and he doesn’t really care at all.

I asked him if he felt stereotyped by Italians at all, he thought for a moment and smiled widely after a long pause. “Hell’s yes I do, I’m an Irish bartender, what do you think?” he laughed loudly. He even told me a story of when he first left Ireland for London and how nervous he felt of being judged or hated.

“I remember when I arrived in London, when I was 19 for the first time, and my f*ing shoulders when up to ere eh [shoulders up to his ears] and I was so tense! I couldn’t figure out why I was so tense though, it wasn’t that I had aye bad experience o’ nothing...I just felt everyone was watching to see if the Irish kid f*ed up.”

He went on to talk about how in Italy it doesn’t seem as bad for him as others. I had the impression from the way he talked about Italy, the Italians he knew, or how the people walking in and out spoke to him that his experience wasn’t a bad one. He seemed to adapt into the environment very well. When I mentioned this observation after his short speech, it was almost as if he had changed his mind completely. He went on and on about how ‘I don’t have it nearly as bad as some other people have it, I came for a good time and ended up staying, their coming for bad reasons.”

I didn’t know at first what I thought about his answers. At first he mentioned that he felt stereotyped as well as an innate fear of being judged, later he talked about not having it as bad as others and that he loved being in Italy and seems to have no problems with the people here. I imagine that the latter is truer. If someone has an extremely difficult experience I would assume that they would be very consistent on their views of the ‘immigrant’ experience.

Before my next interview I decided to try and find some valid information in regards to the opinion of immigrants through the Italian perspective. I didn’t come up empty handed. I first came upon a few articles in the Encyclopedia Britannica online archives. The article mentions that, “the Italian political context during the 1990s the institutional responses to immigration in Italy were generally reactive and delayed, involving a number of amnesties allowing illegal immigrants on Italian soil to become legal residents…” it goes on to explain that this tactic of awarding residency stopped and with that halt came, “reluctance to accept the presence of immigrants.” Employment problems doesn’t seem to be causing these hostel feelings towards immigrants because of the jobs that immigrants tend to take such as, “subordinate, heavy-duty and low-paid jobs that Italians do not want to do.”

With this knowledge I decided to dig a bit deeper into these opinions. An article found in the Italian paper, Wanted in Rome, talks about the difference in how Caucasian, or non-western European immigrants are treated compared to immigrants from other darker nations. Caritas offers that 20.5% of the Italian immigration population has migrated from Romania while the highest Western European population is Germany with only 1.1%. The article explicitly states that treatment, “often depends on country of origin and skin color.” Is also mentions that many western European immigrants come to Italy for professional reasons or to experience a new culture while, “For so-called immigrants [non-western European] the stimulus is usually only economic: the need to secure a better future for themselves and their family back home, and eventually to return to their country of origin.”

In Esquilino specifically, I was able to find a case study that was focused on the immigrants in the market. I found one specific quote that caught my attention, it was from a Bangladesh store owner who said that, “ In this area [Esquilino], for various reasons, the Italians do not think well of the foreigners, they think we have stolen their place, their work, their social life.” I thought this was important to even more so further the point that David had mentioned, Italians treated distinct nationalities poorly.

I was also able to get an opinion from Alex, a Naples native who took us all on a tour of the city when we visited. When I asked him what he thought about the poor reputation that Naples has in Rome he was very concise in his answer. He quickly said that, “all of the immigrant come to Naples, learn the language, head up to Rome and tell everyone they are Neapolitan. That is why they all think that Neapolitans are crude and dumb, because all they have are immigrants that claim to be from Naples.” He put all the blame on the immigrants for the untruthful reputation that Naples has.

While Italy is still working to create bills that help immigrants have more of a say in the government, elected officials and laws passed on both state issues and immigration issues their efforts seem to be very lax. Italy seems to be making progress but still seems to be far behind in truly accepting immigrants as Italians.


Razvi, a Romanian immigrant that now works as a waiter here in Rome in a small restaurant along Via Corso was the next person I was able to sit down and talk with. I was able to talk with him about his impression of Italians based on their treatment of him. He started by saying that he, “could write a novel about how badly Italians treat Romanians.” He also explained that of all the people that reside in Italy, Albanians, Moroccans and Romanians are treated the worst. He explained using an example of a recent incident in Rome that has been overly discussed in the Italian news. The story was of a 14-year-old girl who was raped by a Romanian immigrant. This story was discussed for months following the event as well as spurred conflict amongst all the immigrant groups. An Italian cabinet minister even, “called today for rapists to be chemically castrated, amid a growing row over vigilante attacks on immigrants,” according to the Times Online.

The story continues to discuss the attacks that have resulted in this story becoming a primetime Italian news. Meanwhile Razvi commented that when this same incident occurs with an Italian attacker it is a two-day broadcast. This perpetual cycle of emphasizing the negative events surrounding immigrants only continues to feed into people’s wrongful stereotypes. We can also see this occur with the race riots in the south of Italy and how the media attention only spurred more negativity and furthered racial tensions.

When Razvi mentioned his own experience he explained that when he began working at the restaurant Italians appeared to be nice, over time though, as they realized he would be remaining as an employee the “jig was up…” and their true colors were shown when they began to treat him, “terrible.” They only, “like Italians and they make it clear to everyone, they are all racists.” His point was even more evident in the a new bill that is being passed in Italy that will force, “Doctors…to report illegal immigrants to the authorities, something which has been banned on privacy grounds since 1998.”

I was again finding myself in a conflicting situation. I had learned that Italians definitely treat separate immigrant groups differently but I was beginning to become confused as to how Italy was dealing with these issues. I had in the beginning found myself believing that while there were serious racial tensions the Italian government was making an effort to correct them and give immigrants a larger impact in the government. After talking to Razvi and reading articles about the race riots and the rape incident I found myself thinking that Italy was a country much in need of racial reform.

When I first began this project I intended on interviewing Italians to hear their opinion on the immigration in Italy. I had a hard time because every time I brought the topic up in a conversation I would either get no response or I would receive something that seemed to be untrue. I was under the impression that Italians didn’t want me to think of them as racists and gave me a false idea of their true feelings toward immigrants. I remembered when we were fortunate enough to hear from an Italian film director. He made it very clear that while he loves his country it “saddens” him to see their actions towards immigrants.

A recent strike in Milan was covered worldwide by the media, the strike allowed for people to speak up about the issues with racism that occur in Italy, some people didn’t have positive things to say. According to governmental research, “nearly half of Italians between the ages 18 and 29 express varying degrees of xenophobic or racist sentiments.” The New York Times also printed information about a recent campaign in Milan that consisted of a, “Native American Indian chieftain with the slogan: ‘They put up with immigration, now they live on reserves’.” The Italian opinion on immigration is loud and clear; it’s Italy for Italians and only for Italians.

Through my interviews, research and experience I was able to come to what I believe is a thorough conclusion. While Italians may be making efforts to improve their immigration issues and are aware of their own biases, essentially, I still think there is a lot of room for improvement. Most Italians still carry a negative and false impression of the immigrants that come to their country. According to the novel “Blacks Out” this country would not function without the help of its many immigrant residents. Hopefully Italy will continue on the path it is slowly trekking on now and find itself in the future with a more diverse culture and an open mind towards incoming foreigners.

If we look back into the history of the United States we can still find evidence of the horrible treatment we induced on African Americans. Just like any change, things take time; Italy needs time to adjust to a new culture that is taking over their country, a mixed, multi-ethnic culture. While what is happening isn’t right or fair, people need time to adjust and allow for change, Italy simply needs time and people with willful hearts.

The one thing that this project has made me realize above all is that I am very fortunate to live in a country that accepts people from all around the world as members of the American family. We truly are a melting pot of nationalities, religions and cultures and I would not want to live anywhere else.

Sunday, March 7, 2010

Assignment #9: An American in Italy

I want to do something I little different this time. I am going to write this as if I am writing a letter to an incoming Rome Abroad student; I think it would be the most helpful this way.

Hi Joey,

You’re going to love it here. I am actually writing to you on my laptop as I sit peacefully over looking the Campo Di Fiori Piazza. It incredible, the lights of all the stores are still shining brightly and littered with people and it's already 2:00am on a Sunday. You’re going to be shocked by everything here. The people aren't what you expect though so try and be prepared. Up north in Italy (Rome) the people aren't exactly what I would consider to be friendly or even nice for that matter. The further south you go though the smiles get bigger and the people more willing to talk to you. Learn the language as much as you can, even though they might ignore your attempts, try anyway, in the end they may not act like it but they do appreciate it.

Your coming in the spring and so you won't have to deal with the cold and rain that I've had to but bring an umbrella anyways. You never know when the sky will turn dark and clouds will roll in and you'll be stuck in an unwavering storm that won't let up until of course your covered then it suddenly seems to stop. Bring extra socks because I can't tell you how made these washing machines are, I think they not only are slowly ruining my clothes but they are definitely wearing things down till their dying point. Bring running shoes if you want to exercise but also remember that once you go on long runs past the Pantheon and the Colosseum you may never be able to enjoy an outdoor run anywhere else. Pack lots of adapters and permanent pens to label all of your food, clothes, and electronic appliances.

Prepare for large food intake for the next 3 months of your life. Don’t try and lose weight, don't plan on not experimenting, simply don't plan anything. You will be introduced into a whole new world of food, pastas, sauces, meats, breads and veggies that seem almost new but somehow familiar, don't be frightened though, they just tastes better here. Even if you don't like crème brulee or tiramisu try them here because they really are incredible and there is a reason that they are on every single Italian menu.

Travel if you can! Although Rome has enough beauty to last anyone a lifetime, nothing compares to Amalfi Coast or Naples. The food is different and the people are incredible. Those are places that are worth every penny to see. Don't forget to get Pizza in Naples...thick deliciousness.

Another thing that you may not understand is the unfortunate viewpoint that Italians hold against immigrants. They don't value them, appreciate them or recognize them for everything that they do. It’s extremely unfortunate but I encourage you to not fall into that way of thinking. Go to Esquilino and indulge yourself in the prices at their market, go to the Porte portese market and relish in all the incredible, foreign, unique things that are offered there. Show the Italians what American's learn long ago, we are all equal and no one should be treated otherwise.

Bask in the architecture that surrounds the city both old and new buildings. You have the historical pieces that you stand in front of, take your photo and admire for the rest of your life then their are the other building that you stumble across. The yellow and orange apartment buildings that are lined with laundry and Christmas lights but have blossoming trees framing it's exterior, take a photo there too.

Take in all of Italy for as long as you can. Don't fight with your roommate, what they do you can't control but you can control what you do and how you act/react. Don't waste time fighting, more on, go out and dance on tables at the discos. Enjoy every second you have there because you may not be coming back anytime soon and you don't want to regret not going to St. Peters because it was a long walk and you didn't sleep well. Eat at restaurants that look weird but are filled with people. Those ones are always the best!

Pass this on the next person, they will appreciate it the advice also. Work hard and don't forget that you’re still in school while your here. That was hard at first for me but you don't want one quarter away to ruin your academic life when you return. Trust me.

Good Luck

xoxox

Natalia

Monday, March 1, 2010

Rione Project

The word Trastevere itself means Trans Tiber or “across the river.” Its very identity comes from it being separate from the city center. It’s the countryside, where real Romans can afford to live and breathe, and the true diversity of Rome shines through. Here the street grid transforms into a labyrinth and reason no longer applies. Here menus suddenly are two Euros cheaper than the tourist price for a better plate of lasagna. Here is a refuge for artisans, musicians, even Chigis apparently when they elect to entertain Popes and dignitaries in their pleasure palace.

History
In ancient times, the bank along the Tiber River was home to the Etruscans. It was also nearby where Jewish and Syrian communities established their centers of worship. In the 13
th century, this area was incorporated into the city and became the 13th rione, and in 1642 it was integrated into the city’s defenses as portions of the Aurelian wall were joined with those of the Vatican.

Atmosphere: A countryside village, where the true Romans still reside. Winding alleyways with laundry hanging on lines. The people still retain their fierce independence and pride. A cultural refuge for artisans and musicians. Some semblance of catering to tourists who are brave enough to venture from the historic center but much more true to the city’s permanent inhabitants.

Our Route:

  1. Crossing Ponte Garibaldi
  2. Piazza Gioacchino Belli: poet known for satirical sonnets and popular verses in the 18th & 19th centuries.
  3. St. Crisogono: Competition of the Papal Nephews to refurbish existing churches→ Borghese
  4. Ospedale S. Maria e S. Gallicano: Established in the 18th century to deal with the cities contagious and lethal skin diseases like leprosy.
  5. Circulo S. Pietro: Cucina Economia: Community di SantEgidio
  6. Piazza Santa Maria in Trastevere Home to 12th century mosaics, the first church dedicated to the Virgin in Rome.
  7. Porta Settimana & Via S. Dorotea: Villa Farnesina, John Cabot University: Porta Settimana was one of the 3 gateways in theAurelian walls on this side of the river. This section of the wall, no trace of which remains, created a triangle with the top of theGianocolo hill and included the whole of Trastevere. This portal, which now connects the some of the most important roads in the area, was originally used by the pilgrims that arrived in Rome through the Trastevere port. They would walk through this previously decedent arch toward St. Peter's. It is also said that Raphel's love "the fornisina" once lived in a house at number 20 Via S. Dorotea near where the "Romulus restaurant" is today. This restaurant was also a favorite hang out of the poet Trilussa.

  • Passeggiata di Gianicolo: not technically one of Rome’s 7 hills, served by bus 115 to a hilltop park with panoramic views of the city and of the backside of the Vatican. Also houses the Spanish Academy
8. Piazza Trilussa
Trilussa was Carlo Alberto Salustri's pen named. He was a Roman born poet that received little to no education but was a natural artist with his words. Trilussa's fame grew in the 1920s and 1930s, though he was not a part of any literary circle, preferring to be in the streets and taverns, which were the source of his inspiration. His poetry features the petite-bourgeoisie of Rome: the housewife, the store clerk, the servant, but also contain strong satirical denounces against
governments and the vices of rich people. Some of the sonnets are Aesop-like moralistic fables.
Trilussa's own sketches and drawings were featured alongside his poetry.

My Experience in Trastevere

Trastevere is a beautiful place but Trastevere is the most confusing place in Rome. I get lost on each and every winding road that leads to another piazza or hidden restaurant. There were times when I would stumble upon an incredible little restaurant and then never be able to bring anyone back, because I had no idea how I got there.

Feeling like the 'outsider' was never so apparent then when wondering around the cobblestones in Trastevere. I was lost, nervous and completely scared that I would never get home again. After a few hours and some "almost-crying" moments I had returned to my apartment exhausted and overwhelmed. As tiring as that day was I feel in love with the quaint little rione.

I never was able to visit the hill that over looks the Rome, but I do plan on adding that to the list of things to do with my dad when he arrives next week. I can't wait to show him the restaurants I found there and simply walk around and take photos. Its the perfect place to wonder around on a sunny afternoon.

Sunday, February 28, 2010

Assignment #7/8: Napoli and Immigrants

Welcome to Naples, the land of the lost. The place where people come on their way to somewhere else. Welcome, watch your pockets and keep your purse close, all hands and legs inside the car please. Welcome, have your passport available, it will be checked and open your eyes WIDE a car might hit you. Welcome, I hope your not uncomfortable if I kiss your cheek or yell at you, both might happen within the next few moments. Welcome to Naples.

I was terrified when I first arrived in Naples. All I could manage to do was hold my belongings as close to my body as possible, check behind me every five minutes and stare. Stare at the honking cars, the yelling women, the signs on every corner, the car that almost hit me, the motorcycle that almost hit the car or the pizza steaming out of the store fronts. I was so scared of everything around me. The impression I had prior to arriving was that I would be coming to the Compton of Italy. That every move I made had to be calculated, well thought-out and monitored. My purse was always zipped and my hands would constantly graze the back of my bag to make sure no one else's hands managed to come near it. I was aware, maybe to aware.

Two days later I loved Naples, I would walk the streets buying horned necklaces and not think twice about my bag. I would talk to the man behind the counter at the bakery because I simply COULD. I would tell him about Seattle, my family and anything else he was willing to know about. I was at home in a city that I had spent only days in. I felt more comfortable in Naples in two days then what took me a month to feel in Rome. The people were so willing to know me. They wanted to participate in the going-on's of my day. They were loud, but I loved it. They were nosy, but I wanted to tell them everything, it was the perfect city for me.

Naples was also the first time that I had ever felt I was seeing the truth. We are so fortunate to be living in the circumstance that we do in the incredible city that is Rome. But do we recognize this blessing at all? I don't think I realized how fortunate I was until Naples. The excursion we took with Alexander Valentino (whom I will discuss later) was the most eye opening, revolutionary moments I have had in Italy thus far. I saw something besides the life of the rich and famous in churches and museums. And please, don't misunderstand me, there is an importance in seeing what has occured in the past and learning why it happened at all but there is something so refreshing about witnessing something so honest in the present. while with Alex we were able to explore and learn about a squating zone, a temporary living space for people who don't have another option.

The space was completely obsqure, the shapes were wrong, the execution was incorrect and above all nothing really worked. Lives had even been lost because of the poor effort that had gone into this building that at one time stored 1,500 lives. This number to me is even more unbearable considering the circumstances that these people were living in. The building had never been cleaned in the nearly 10 years it had been standing. The garbage piled in the lower level for years in closed off rooms. It was disgusting, but it was honest and apparently right in the mist of what was considered the 'suburbs'.

Gianni, a man simply walking by who happened to have had knowledge on the building asked what we were studying. One thing then led to another and we had a second tour guide who knew everything there was to know about these Canadian disasters. This is just one of the many examples of the people I came across in Naples. People kindly wanting to be involved, participate in another person's life. He didn't know us, he wasn't getting paid and yet he spent the next 30 minutes of his life sharing information with a mostly interested group of students. He received no benefit to the time he spent, but we received everything! I learned about the creation of the building, it's inhabitants and the plan the city has for it's future...he only learned my name.

For a city that is to be so feared, I fell in love with it.

During our walks from one place to another I was fortunate enough to talk with Alexander (alex). He told me about what he does and his family that lived close by (his aunt who is near 80 years old but still active) and his girlfriend who lived in rome whom we visits often. He told me that Naples was his base, his true love above all else. I was lucky enough to even squeeze a little bit of information for my independent study out of him.

I had mentioned how much I loved Naples and how the people seem to be so much kinder here and much more willing to help/communicate. He immediately assumed I had heard otherwise (which I had) and explained himself in a very interesting way. He told me that often immigrants come to Naples on their way to Rome. That they learn the Neopolitian language and continue their journey to Rome claiming to be from Naples. These immigrants, he said, are the reason that Naples has such a negative stereotype. The immigrants create this Neopolitian impression that is completely false. interesting. I didn't know whether to think that was a negative dig at immigrants or whether he was defending his home and indifferent to the immigration issues. Either way, it was quite eye opening information.

Beyond this food. My opinion on food has changed completely as well, cheap, thick, delicious food. Fried potatoes, pizza, seafood and everything else was available by mass amounts and always ready for my consumption at any time of the day. Perfection.

The castle that we were able to visit on the second half of our tour was something that was well worth the wait, time, and sweat it took to arrive there. High above everything in the city you were able to see the gentle rolls of the water at the edge of town, colorful buildings drizzled over an uneven landscape. A barely visible setting sun laying behind rain clad clouds, it was incredible. I love visiting places like this, it makes me feel like I'm standing amongst history. I stood where people before me have stood and done things, accomplished things or maybe even solved problems that affected millions.

Coming back to Rome, after my short but beautiful stay in Amalfi, was bitter sweet. Besides dealing with my own personal issues I was exhausted. I recognized the feeling as what I had felt when returning from florence. It felt good to come back to a safe haven, a place of my own with my belongings and familiarity. But I noticed things that I had noticed when I first arrived in Rome but have, over time, forgotten and failed to appreciate. Rome is glorious and Rome is beautiful. While I feel that it lacks the life that flows so passionately through the people of Naples, it has such a sophistication. It has a dignified beauty that is untouched and unchangeable.

I mentioned this in my Florence entry but, it is even more obvious in my experience in Naples, how it takes being away from home or familiarity to realize how much you love, appreciate and care about a place. I love Rome, but I have learned about the country as a whole. Rome may not be my favorite place I have been to but it is the only place that I feel confident in calling home. The only place that I have had enough experience with to truly admit rightfully how I feel.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Assignment #6: Trastevere

I love Trestevere, but really what isnt there to love about this country side town. I wouldn't exactly describe it as country side anymore but maybe back in the day. Now I look as see elaborately colored buildings, yellows, browns, reds, bricks, its such a beautiful area. I took a few twists and turns earlier this week and found myself a bit lost amongst the tall, colorful buildings. The roads, in the familiar cobblestone seem a bit more straight and flat compared to the Campo. The people seem to move a bit slower and smile more often. The food seemed to even taste better and the drinks seemed bigger. Ok, at this point I think it might just be my imagination grabbing me and convincing me of things to justify my love for this neighborhood.

The Campo to me seems like city living whereas Trestevere seems to be where someone would raise a family, have a small home that was comfortable and cute. Have a narrow backyard with tall trees. Granted this is the case for the entire area, but a bit deeper into the city I saw what I imagined to be homes, there is a small chance that it was a business with a home exterior but who am I to judge? With color, churches on every corner, and enough fountains to satisfy anyone, what's not to love about Trestevere.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Multicultural Reading Notes

Multi-cultural readings

The Egyptian Lover

I don’t quite know what the true meaning to this tall tale might be. It began from the perspective of a young Cleopatra from Egypt but quickly changed to the man she was meeting in Italy. He told of his life with Cleopatra and the struggles he had with his wife. Wanting to leave her but not wanting to really be without her. An accidental mix-up of love letters caused his to lose both women. So what is the moral of the story then? He mentions one quote that seems to tie each characters struggles together though, “what life do we lead, and above all, what life do we learn.” This man made many mistakes over and over yet never learned from them. Both of the women seemed to know of these problems with his fidelity yet allowed it to happen over and over again. Therefore I believe that the idea that the author is trying to get across is that we must learn from the life we lead as to live a better one. Or in other words we can have a wonderful, full and beautiful life but we must learn from our mistakes in order to live it.

Home…Sickness

I loved this story. It seems to relate so much to one of our older writing assignments. It talks about feeling so far from home, missing all the simple luxuries that we take for granted and barely realize we have. But it also discusses the opposing argument, what it is like to return home and miss all the small pleasures that we learned and gained while in our ‘new’ home. In the end the author talks about the feelings you get when you finally return home and you aren’t the same, the things your thought you missed you don’t care about and you begin to noticed what your missing there. This characters entire perspective changed from Africa to Italy and back. I imagine that this is the same sensation that we will experience, the same feelings of happiness and lose when we return home. I think everyone should read this story because I honestly LOVED it.

Independent Project Outline

Natalia Valle

Independent Research Project

I am planning to explore the life of immigrants through Italian eyes. I want to know how an Irish immigrant feels stereotyped by Italians or if he doesn’t feel any stereotypes. I want to know if a Romania immigrant feels forced to work at the market because of his background or if that seems to be his only option. I would like to research if certain immigrant nations are looked down upon more then others. Lastly, I would like to see if language, skin color, accent etc plans a part in these stereotypes and which one is judged more. These are all things that I plan to look deep into through people I find and meet within the Esquilino Market.

Outline:

  • Interview Sean (Irish immigrant bartender) works in the Campo, fluent in English and Italian.
  • Interview a market vendor (Find out nation, how they feel integrated/stereotyped and what their impression of Italians are).
  • Interview a native Italian (Find out impression of immigration in Italy and/or immigrants in general vs English speaking immigrants).

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Assignment #5: Venice, Florence and Back Home a remix

Home: 1. the place in which one's domestic affections are centered.
2. any place of residence or refuge: a heavenly home.

Home. When I think of home I think of my mom, I think of curling up in her bed on sundays when my dad makes us the most delicious eggs and we sit for hours watching our DVR shows together. That to me is the most basic sense of home. My grandmother bringing Havana over to accompany Chico, giving everyone in sight warm hugs and kisses all over our faces. My brother head locking me and laughing hysterically as my little sister tries to pry him off of me. This is home, my home, no one else's impression or description would be the same.

Since coming to Rome my description of home is different. I look toward my home here for inspiration, I think of the Campo market, the vendors, the one Euro case of eggs and my pocka-dot sheets. I think of opening the door/windows and letting the cool air in and allowing the warm sun to fall across my face as I lye in bed. I think of long walks in the cold and cappuccini that warm me to my bones. This is my current home and this is what makes me feel comfortable, feel safe, feel at ease. It's funny how you don't understand the importance of these things until your away from them. You can't describe the things that you consider home in Rome until your AWAY from Rome.

Florence was incredible, but florence was far and cold. Far meaning far from home, from Rome. Cold because its northern and cold because you don't know anything. You don't know what street your on when your late for class or which left it was to the vendor that gave you the great deal on scarves. Its new and new can be great but new gets old. It gets old fast and you can't decide whether you want more new or if you want home. I wanted home.

My mom always tells me I'm the home-body in the family. Wow, was she right. I would much rather sit cozy on a coach with a book or some online TV then go out and explore. But I'm trying, I'm trying to get the most out of this trip without killing myself over it.

When we were in florence things were so different from Rome. The people were much more excited about Americans. But maybe excited is the wrong word, maybe understanding of American's in better. With so may English speakers and even more American universities it makes sense that they are used to "our kind." The vendors at the street shops were pushy, much more then the Roman vendors, they even got mad a few times when I looked at something but decided against it. It was sometimes even uncomfortable to glance at something to long as you walked past it.

After a few days of easing (as much as thats possible) into Florence, we made a quick day trip to Prato. Prato is a darker city, smaller, and a bit sad. It was a gloomy day out, granted, but I found the area sad. Everything was dark, no street lamps, no beautifully paved streets, a lot of larger, unexciting buildings and fewer people. The shopping was good if you had some money to spend, which of course I didn't after my amazing leather jacket purchase. But the moment we stepped off the train the atmosphere around me changed. The feelings I had in Florence melted away as Prato took over me. It was an immediate difference and immediate change.

Skipping forward a bit I find myself on a weekend trip to Venice. Oh, Venice the city that is sinking and the city that screams romance and beauty. But it was wet and raining and it was a familiar seaside town, and it was an older version of Seattle. How I seemed to forget what rain for hours felt like. It rained and it rained, the wind blew in my face until I was perminently shivering down to my bones. But this feeling, unlike in Florence was at least familiar. I could remember how to react to a bus riding by about to hit a puddle or what to wear in a what can only be described as hurricane rains. I was finally, since December, in familiar circumstances.

So while Venice may have been more of home it still wasn't Seattle and it wasn't Rome. It was an hour on a plane, 30 on a bus, and 40 on a boat until we were even within in a 15 walk of the hotel. A restaurant was always a boat trip away and Saint Marc's was separated by bridges and alleys from every direction. It was the most confusing city I had ever seen. It had cobble stone roads that were covered in green algae from years of being covered in water, the stairs to the stream would be covered to nearly street level within and hour and half of raining. It wasn't home and even though for a brief moment it may have been confused for such, it simply wasn't in the end. I loved Venice, even more then Florence but home had become Rome since arriving here in January.

It was odd that when I was in Rome all I wanted was to escape to Florence. Then when in Florence, all I wanted was to return home to Rome. Prato was an even more extreme feeling. I not only was desperate to return to Florence but I was mentally exhausted from everything outside of Rome. Venice, while it was in the race, slowly faded out into a wet abyss. My home had shifted. I NEEDED Rome. I even cancelled my trip to Cinque Terre in order to return to Rome sooner.

After a long 3 and half days and a few delays I arrived on the train headed to Rome. It was around 4:45 and I was excited for my return and my mind was jumping from plan to plan for the rest of night. With a bit of confusion we realized that our train was certainly not an express. It would be a four hour trip with frequent stops in between Florence and Rome. I pushed away my sadness and realized it didn't matter because I was going home and I was with, what I could imagine to be, the perfect traveling companions. Here we go.

After some games of Moxie, reading of the The Time Travelers Wife, some iphone games in which Marisa plastered lips and goggly-eyes on my photo, I was a bit anxious to arrive. I wanted my stiff bed and my 39 cent pasta. I was sweating a little, the train was a little bit to warm and everyone was getting tired of traveling. We heard the word Roma sing over the intercom and all of our faces turned red with happiness. We were here, we were home. I could take a hot shower for as long as I felt like!

We were wrong though. We jumped off as soon as the train pulled to a halt. Our luggage was already in our hands and jackets zipped up. We began to walk to our right as soon as our feet hit the pavement. Within the next 30 seconds the train pulled away and my mind felt lost. Where were the bright lights of Termini? Where were the people running to catch trains, the McDonald's that served breakfast?

It was the wrong stop, we had jumped off one stop to early. No. No. No. It couldn't be. I was tired and all I wanted was to go home. Julie with her soothing motherly voice calmed everyone done. She smiled sweetly and just as any mother would do took care of us. She got us home. We took a metro to Termini and then a car from Termini to the house. Thank God she was there because Mick would have had to deal wth my tears and stress and he already knows by now that that is normally unavoidable.

After the long trek with our bags up the many flights of stairs, I was home. It smelled of dust and stale air, but I didn't care at all. I opened some windows and sat on the couch with nothing unpacked, listening to the guitar player in the Campo playing his familiar song. Here I was finally and all I wanted to do was close my eyes and sit here, not even move an inch. I wanted to relish this smell, this feeling, this utter relaxation. I was in Rome and until I left I didn't know how important it was to me. I didn't know that Florence was great until Prato was lonely. I am now in my bed writing about Rome, I am warm under my covers and I am full of pasta in my belly, I am happy.

I miss my real home a bit though. I guess now that I am back in my current home I miss my old home. But I know that I am only weeks away from my moms bed and DVR with my dads eggs. I can probably do without the headlock but I don't think I want to do without it. Funny how that works.

Monday, February 1, 2010

Assignment #4: Home Away From Home

Home : 1. the place in which one's domestic affections are centered.
2. any place of residence or refuge: a heavenly home.

Home. When I think of home I think of my mom, I think of curling up in her bed on sundays when my dad makes us the most delicious eggs and we sit for hours watching our DVR shows together. That to me is the most basic sense on home. My grandmother bringing Havana over to accompany Chico, giving everyone in sight warm hugs and kisses all over our faces. My brother head locking me and laughing hysterically and my little sister trying to pry him off of me. This is home, my home, no one else's impression or description would be the same.

Since coming to Rome my description of home is different. I look toward my home here for inspiration, I think of the Campo market, the vendors, the one Euro case of eggs and my pocka-dot sheets. I think of opening the door/windows and letting the cool air in and allow the warm sun to fall across my face as I lye in bed. I think of long walks in the cold and cappuccinos that warm me to my bones. This is my current home and this is what makes me feel comfortable, feel safe, feel at ease. It funny how you don't understand the importance of these things until your away from them. You can't describe the things that you consider home in Rome until your AWAY from Rome.

Florence was incredible, but florence was far and cold. Far meaning far from home, from Rome. Cold because its northern and cold because you don't know anything. You don't know what street your on when your late for class or which left it was to the vendor that gave you the great deal on scarfs. Its new and new can be great but new gets old. It gets old fast and you can't decide whether you want more new or if you want home. I wanted home.

My mom always tells me I'm the home-body in the family. Wow, was she right. I would much rather sit cozy on a coach with a book or some online TV then go out and explore. But I'm trying, I'm trying to get the most out of this trip without killing myself over it.

When we were in florence things were so different from Rome. The people were much more excited about Americans. But maybe excited is the wrong word, maybe understanding of American's in better. With so may English speakers and even more American universities it makes sense that they are used to "our kind." The vendors at the street shops were pushy, much more then the Roman vendors, they even got mad a few times when I looked at something but decided against it. It was sometimes even uncomfortable to look at something to long as you walked past it.

After a few days of easing (as much as thats possible) into Florence, we made a quick day trip to Prato. Prata is a darker city, smaller, and a bit sad. It was a bit of gloomy day out, granted, but I found the area sad. Everything was dark, no street lamps no beautifully paved streets, a lot of larger, unexciting buildings and fewer people. The shopping was good if you had some money to spend, which of course I didn't after my amazing leather jacket purchase. But the moment we stepped off the train the atmosphere around me changed. The feelings I had in Florence melted away as Prato took of me. It was an immediate difference, and immediate change.

It was odd that when I was in Rome all I wanted was to escape to Florence. Then when in Florence, all I wanted was to return home to Rome. Prato was an even more extreme feeling. I not only was desperate to return to Florence but I was mentally exhausted from everything outside of Rome. My home had shifted. I NEEDED Rome. I even cancelled my trip to Cinque Terre in order to return to Rome sooner.

After a long 3 and half days and a few delays I arrived on the train headed to Rome. It was around 4:45 and I was excited for my return and my mind was jumping from plan to plan for the rest of night. With a bit of confusion we realized that our train was certainly not an express. It would be a four hour trip with frequent stops in between Florence and Rome. I pushed away my sadness and realized it didn't matter because I was going home and I was with, what I could imagine to be, the perfect traveling companions. Here we go.

After some games of Moxie, reading of the The Time Travelers Wife, some iphone games in which Marisa plastered lips and goggly-eyes on my photo, I was a bit anxious to arrive. I wanted my stiff bed and my 39 cent pasta. I was sweating a little, the train was a little bit to warm and everyone was getting a bit tired of traveling. We heard the word Roma sing over the intercom and all f our faces turned white from happiness. We were here, we were home. I could take a hot shower for as long as I felt like!

We were wrong though. We jumped off as soon as the train pulled to a halt. Our luggage was already in our hands and jackets zipped up. We began to walk to our right as soon as our feet hit the pavement. Within the next 30 seconds the train pulled away and my mind felt lost. Where were the bright lights of Termini? Where were the people running to catch trains, the McDonald's that served breakfast?

It was the wrong stop, we had jumped off one stop to early. No. No. No. It couldn't be. I was tired and all I wanted was to go home. Julie with her soothing motherly voice calmed everyone done. She smiled sweetly and just as any mother would do took care of us. She got us home. We took a metro to Termini and then a car from Termini to the House. Thank God she was there because Mick would have had to deal wth my tears and stress and he already knows by now that that is normally unavoidable.

After the long trek with our bags up the many flights of stairs, I was home. It smelled of dust and stale air, but I didn't care at all. I opened some windows and sat on the couch with nothing unpacked, listening to the guitar player in the Campo playing his familiar song. Here I was finally and all I wanted to do was close my eyes and sit here, not move even an inch. I wanted to relish this smell, this feeling, this utter relaxation. I was in Rome and until I left I didn't know how important it was to me. I didn't know the Florence was great until Prato was lonely. I am now in my bed writing about Rome, I am warm under my covers and I am full of pasta in my belly, I am happy.

I miss my real home a bit though. I guess now that I am back in my current home I miss my old home. But I know that I am only weeks away from my moms bed and DVR with my dads eggs. I can probably do without the headlock but I don't think I want to do without it. Funny how that works.