SLA – Page 9 – SLA Profiles (2018)

Las Fiestas de San Fermín

¡Hola, buenas! I’m checking in after week three in Toledo and I feel completely at home. I don’t think I can truly explain how comfortable I feel with my host parents. Aside from the occasional (okay, more than occasional) communication difficulties, it is as easy as living at home. Pilar and Salvador have been such accommodating parents that I actually feel bad about leaving to hang out with my friends because I enjoy being at home so much. Pilar is a wonderful mother and would move heaven and earth to make me happy while Salvador is such a jovial joker that he never fails to liven up a conversation. Pilar has even begun to call me “niño” or “hijo”, which essentially means “my son”. I feel like I am truly part of a Spanish family.

In other exciting Spanish news, I spent my Tuesday seeing the Queen of Spanish music live in concert in Madrid. Yes, I saw Shakira with my own two eyes. Five of my friends and I somehow managed to obtain floor tickets for the concert and immediately jumped on a train to Madrid. Shakira has always been one of my favorite artists and she did not disappoint. That show was two and a half hours of pure joy to watch. She always seemed like she was loving every moment of playing for the crowd. For me, it was even more special to see Shakira in a Spanish speaking country. I feel like I got the full Shakira experience because she sang most of her songs with the original Spanish lyrics. I can honestly say it was probably the best Tuesday night decision I’ve made in my life.

This weekend was an eventful one for me. On Friday, my classmates and I all took a trip to Segovia, an old Spanish city about 45 minutes from Madrid. We first went to the castillo on the edge of the city. The view from the top of the Castillo is amazing because it is essentially situated on a cliff. From one side you can see the valley beyond the city, from the other you get a great vista of the whole city. After that, we proceeded to the Aqueducts. These are the only remaining Roman aqueducts in the world and measure almost 95 feet tall at one point. It is truly a unique marvel of human architecture that I had the privilege of seeing.

The day after Segovia was one of the craziest days of my life. It started with a trip to the Prado with my art class. That building is absolutely priceless. I was overwhelmed by the sheer number of works they have by masters such as Goya, Velázquez, and many more. After that, I met my friend from high school and jumped on a four-hour train to Pamplona. That train carried me to the Fiestas de San Fermín, better known as the Running of the Bulls. What I found there was by far the craziest, most fun fiesta in the world. The streets were jam-packed with thousands of people for the entire night. Neither I nor my friend slept so that we could secure a good spot to watch the running in the morning. When those bulls finally came thundering past, it was a sight to behold. Getting to participate in a true Spanish fiesta was certainly a unique experience I will never forget. Until next time ¡Hasta luego!

Blog Post #4: Hongdae Date

7/20/2018

Yesterday my roommate and I went to 홍대 (Hongdae) after classes. Hongdae is short for Hongik University, and if you take exit 9 at the subway station you will find yourself in one of the trendiest streets of Seoul. In Seoul, most of the “hot” places tend to be found at the entrances of universities. For example, 이대 (Edae) is the road leading up to Ewha Womans University (Yonsei University is also near this street). At SNU, there is a street that encompasses one side of the school called 샤로수길 (Sharosugil) which mimicks 가로수길 (Garosugil), a well-known “hipster” street.

We went to Hongdae to stop by 땡스네이쳐카페 (Thanks Nature Cafe), a sheep cafe. Korea is well-known for its animal themed cafes, espectially dog and cat cafes. However, they also have animal cafes with more unique animals such as sheep and racoons.

After seeing the extremely fluffy sheep, we went to the main street of Hongdae to watch some performances and do some shopping. We got to see various groups of boys dancing to popular k-pop songs. I have always seen these types of performances on social media or youtube, so it was extremely exciting to see them live.

We also decided to get temporary tattoos from a cart on the side of the road. It is really common for people to rent out spaces on the side of the road and sell things like jewelry and food.

Afterwards we went to a place where we got out palms and face read. It was always been on my bucket list to get my palms read, and now I finally get to check it off. It was interesting and surprising how well the lady was able to read my personality just by reading my palms and face. The lady told us a lot about our future and things to be cautious about. I’m not sure how much of it to believe, but I guess it wouldn’t hurt to be a little cautious.

P. S. Here is a picture of a carrot cake with a real carrot on top of it. I didn’t try it but thought it looked extremely funny.

Moscow State of Mind

Billy Joel sang in 1976 that “I know what I’m needin’, and I don’t want to waste more time”, and nearly six weeks into my summer abroad I have a similar sentiment. Instead of New York, however, I’m in a Moscow state of mind, and I want to make the most of my remaining opportunities to progress in Russian. Between classes, homework, and explorations, the past two weeks have been a whirlwind of activity and learning. Nonetheless, life has seemed normal, giving me confidence that I can succeed in most daily tasks. Hearing and understanding spoken Russian in the classroom is easier and no longer exhausting. Next week will be my final week of classes, and I will post an update about my upcoming adventures for the following two weeks.

Once again, I want to start with another survey of an important cultural and political issue – and no, it’s not the Putin-Trump summit. All of you in the United States can debate that as you wish, but I will say nothing about that here. Instead, one of the hottest issues of the summer here in Russia is the introduction of legislation to raise the pension/retirement age. Currently, Russian women are eligible to receive pensions at 55 while men can receive pensions at 60. Under the new plan, through incremental increases in the age requirements, the new age of eligibility will be 63 for women and 65 for men.

For Russians, this news comes as quite a shock and brings important social consequences. Given that multiple generations of families often live together in one house or apartment, families rely on pension income for extra income. Many believe that current salaries are insufficient to support extra years of work, including a Russian friend of mine who was critical of the proposed reforms. When we talked about the issue yesterday evening, she informed me about the basic workings of the pension system – similar to the United States, citizens pay into the system throughout their working lives but through an automatic tax on purchases. She believes that lower pay combined with more years of paying into the system will strain families’ financial resources.

Furthermore, there are the issues of child care and life expectancy. My host mother and host sister both emphasized the impact on families when we discussed the pension reforms, and they could not believe how Americans do not receive their pensions until their mid-60s. Both of them stated the importance of mothers and grandmothers caring for children, who are often the center of family life. With more years of

Cathedral Square, Moscow Kremlin. To the left is Archangel Cathedral, and in the background behind me is the Annunciation Cathedral.

work required before receiving pensions, women will have to spend more time away from home and from children, leaving questions as to how to care for them. Their fears make more sense within the context of a strong dependence on the nuclear family, especially on mothers and grandmothers. Additionally, as we discussed, Americans tend to marry later and start families later these days than Russians.

Finally, life expectancy – especially for men – is lower here than in the United States: according to data from 2017, women can expect to live to about 77, which is similar to figures for American women. However, Russian men have an average life expectancy of only 66.5 years. As a result of the new reforms, some Russians are afraid that they will barely live to see their pensions. All of these factors have created significant opposition to the reforms, exemplified by demonstrations in cities across the country this week. Just as in the United States, Russia faces an issue of how to properly care for aging citizens while managing spending.

Nonetheless, I still want to point out some highlights from the past 10 days and a look at things to come.

Moscow Kremlin (Московский кремль): This past weekend, I was finally able to purchase a ticket to explore the churches
The Tsar’s Cannon, Moscow Kremlin. Constructed in 1586 but never fired a shot. Also, the cannonballs do not fit in the cannon properly.

and territory of the Moscow Kremlin. Though the weather was not terribly cooperative, I was thrilled to see the interiors of churches such as the Assumption Cathedral (Успенский собор, 1475-79, the site of the coronations of the Russian Tsars), and Archangel Cathedral (Архангельский собор, 1505-08, burial place of Grand Princes and Tsars up to Peter I The Great). The artwork and icons on display in these churches were often several hundred years old, including a famous icon of Christ dating to the early 12th century. Успенский собор is quite possibly the most beautiful church I have ever seen, as the walls are filled with icons and scenes of early Russian history. The Moscow Kremlin is full of history, and before I leave I hope to see the Armoury Museum – the site of hundreds of Tsarist artifacts and priceless treasures.

Cosmonaut Museum (Музей космонавтики): For those of you who don’t know, I had a fascination with space in my childhood that still manifests
“In the name of peace and progress”, Cosmonaut Museum.

itself in a genuine appreciation of space exploration. As a result, I was excited to have the chance to explore the Cosmonaut Museum in the city, which is the equivalent of our Smithsonian Air and Space Museum. Inside were various reconstructions of rockets and the original rocket head used to send the two Soviet dogs, named Strelka and Belka, to space. Interestingly enough, I also thoroughly enjoyed Soviet propaganda posters encouraging space exploration.

Conversation and Learning: Most of my past two weeks has been me focusing on learning vocabulary, completing assignments, and practicing speaking. Given everything to do here, the tasks before me have seemed intimidating at times. However, I believe the work is starting to pay off – my host family last week complimented me on the fact that my speaking ability is “much better” from when I first arrived. Additionally, my conversation partner told me that I was understandable and that her corrections were simply some grammatical and technical ones. I still make plenty of mistakes, but total breakdowns in communication by this point are becoming increasingly rare. I want to improve even more in the next three weeks, but I am proud of what I have done so far.

This weekend will be full of excursions and adventure – our group will visit Tolstoy’s estate in Tula tomorrow and Sergiev Posad (a Russian Orthodox monastery) on Sunday. Additionally, some of my friends and I will travel to Vladimir, an ancient Russian city about 100 miles northeast of Moscow, on Saturday. More to come next week regarding those travels and other updates.

If you’re still here, thanks for reading this far and supporting my journey! I love that you take the time to read about Russian culture and every day life. I can only hope that this blog has helped you to understand and appreciate the Moscow State of Mind.

One Last Day

My first week spent in Tours felt like a year. However, as I finished my last couple of weeks it seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. As I (admittedly) came in late to my last day of class with a pain au chocolat in hand (my guilty pleasure in France) I looked around and realized it would be the last time I would climb the creaky stairs to the third floor of the Institute and I started feeling nostalgic. The friends I have made, the teachers I have had, and the amount I have learned makes me want to rewind my time to my very first day when I walked in and Lara (my first friend) and I took our oral exam together.

My time here in France has been characterized by meeting groups of people who I would never have the opportunity to meet who are all united by a desire to learn French but each having a different motivation. My time in Tours has also been characterized by one incredibly important event- the World Cup. After watching the first France game of the tournament in Place Plume I was hoping that France, a team that wasn’t supposed to go far, would somehow end up in the finals. The World Cup became such a significant social activity for everyone in my friend group and for really everyone in Tours (and I suspect across Europe). Having never been a fan of watching soccer I was shocked how captivated and invested I became in watching the tournament. My friends and I would look forward to watching the games at 4pm and then going home for dinner and then coming back at 8pm to watch the game after that. Our lives started to revolve around watching the World Cup games together. One of my most fond memories from my time in Tours was when France was playing Uruguay in the quarter finals. My friends and I knew we would have to get to a pub early to find a seat for the game so we decided to get there 1.5 hours early. By the time the game started the pub that we were in was jam packed with people and everyone had abandoned the idea of sitting. It was so hot in that room that when you turned around to look at the mirror it was so foggy that you couldn’t see out of it and when you put your hands on the cement walls there was water dripping down them. Yet, no matter how hot and sweaty we were it felt like we were in some type of dream each time that France scored. Everyone in the pub was chanting, singing, jumping, there were water guns being sprayed at people trying to cool them down and 18 year olds who were pouring water down each others necks. When France won that same to go into the semi-finals the streets were jam packed with people wearing france jerseys, holding France flags above their heads, and singing “La Marseillaise” (the national anthem).

Fast forward and France is in the finals against Croatia. At this point I am in Paris and it is one of my last days in France. That is a game I will never forget and an evening after that is even more ingrained in my brain. After France won against Croatia to win the World Cup every single person in the city of Paris crowded the streets. It seemed like all 7 million people who live in Paris and every single tourist that was there were taking up the characteristically narrow French roads. The Champs-Élysées was jam packed with fire crackers going off, people driving in cars with passengers hanging out the windows and sitting on the tops of the cars, and people walking in the road to give the car drivers high fives. Nothing else in the city seemed to matter except for the fact that France won the World Cup!

If you had asked me six months ago if I cared about the World Cup I would have asked you when it was going on. But, if you asked me today how I feel about the World Cup I would tell you it was the perfect reminder of the times I had in France during the summer of 2018. À toute à l’heure, France (& thank you for taking a piece of my heart)!

Halftime in Sorrento

Ciao!

I’m about half way through my time in Sorrento as of today, and I’ll jump right into the cool stuff this time – this past week, I had the chance to visit the triple combo of Pompeii, Herculaneum, and Mount Vesuvius – check out some pics:

The streets of Pompeii (bonus snap chat filter)

It was very interesting to compare the huge city of Pompeii to the smaller city of Herculaneum, and then to visit the volcano that preserved both of these cities in history. One thing I found interesting in Pompeii was the Amphitheater that still remains there – one of the oldest Roman arenas that predates the Coliseum in Rome by 140 years (although it’s much smaller of course, but it was very interesting to put it in perspective like this, since I have seen the Coliseum in person as well.) The ruins in Herculaneum, on the other hand, are actually even better preserved than those of Pompeii, and it was also really interesting to see the ruins of Herculaneum sitting alongside the modern city of Herculaneum today. The most fun for me ended up being the journey up to the top of Mount Vesuvius. A bus took us almost all the way to the top, and then we hiked the rest of the way to get a great view overlooking the city of Naples, as well as getting to see the crater of Mount Vesuvius itself.

To make this site seeing possible, I’ve had to find my way along the train system in the Sorrento area as well, and I’m definitely getting more comfortable with the public transport. The trip to Pompeii was interesting because there was a train strike that day (a common occurrence apparently), so we had to fit our trip in about a 4-hour time slot while the trains were still running. I’m also still enjoying my “quick Italian-speaking moments” throughout my travel experiences, like ordering my train tickets, or asking some questions to the bus driver for my Mount Vesuvius trip – it always depends who I’m talking to, but whenever I leave those short conversations without either sides having to say anything in English, I get pretty excited.

Also this week, I watched the World Cup final with some friends from school in town on Sunday. I’m a big sports fan and of course I have been watching many of the games up to this point, but I have also been enjoying listening to the Italian commentary of each match and picking up on whatever I can understand – for instance, “un gioco pericoloso” when a player makes a dangerous play, which is often followed by “gialla per lui” as the referee shows the yellow card. Back in week 1 when I spent the day in Rome with Francesca’s family, I also realized that the word for a “soccer goal” in Italian – “porta” – is also the same word to mean a “door”. We were talking about soccer, and they kept referring to “the door” as they explained something in English, as if I would know exactly what they meant, but it took me a minute to realize they were just describing the goal. It is always interesting to find fun little differences between our languages like that!

Lastly, one example of a local experience I am trying to do regularly now is visiting with the local summer camp for kids that I was introduced to last week. I got to visit again just briefly this week, and I’m slowly getting better at jumping into conversation when I can. It was a little easier at least when I got to talk with some of the younger kids, maybe 11 or 12 years old, at the camp this past visit. And it’s funny to hear how they are interested in things just like any American kid would be – they asked me things like who my favorite soccer team is (they were disappointed I am not a Napoli fan), and or if I like to play the video game Fortnite (according to one of the girls I met, there isn’t a single boy she knows that doesn’t play Fortnite, which sounds a lot like America to me). I’ve also picked up a few tips about the local dialect – one thing one of the camp counselors shared with me was that a common way to say the word “now” (which I learned as “ora” or “adesso” in Italian) is to say “mo” instead; then, if you want to say “right now”, you just repeat it and say “mo mo”. There’s even a restaurant in Sorrento with that name, and now I know what it means!

Hopefully the second half of my stay in Sorrento will be even better, (and maybe I will improve on my picture taking quality too), but until next time, ciao!

Dom

Impromptu Adventures

It was the morning of Peru’s second game in the World Cup and the excitement throughout Cusco was palpable. The city was flooded with people wearing their jerseys; I even saw a handful of dogs sporting them. My university had planned an excursion for us that morning to clean up trash along some of the Incan trails outside of the city. We were set to return to the school by the start of the game, but unfortunately we encountered a couple setbacks along the way and our chances of making it back were not looking good. Some other students attributed our bad luck to the “cursed” bus we were on; they had been stranded for 6 hours on this bus the weekend before while returning from a jungle tour. Little did we know about the fate of this cursed bus.

After cleaning up the Incan trails for a few hours in the morning, our professor took us to a guinea pig farm. I have to be honest, I am not sure if this is an experience I would like to relive given the chance. Upon entering a building filled with pens and pens of guinea pigs, we were warned adamantly to avoid the alphas. I still have absolutely no idea how one determines which guinea pig is the alpha and my confusion contributed to the apprehension I felt during our visit. Also! These guinea pigs were not of the Petco-sort I was used to; they were gigantic. And it was disheartening to know that these were not fated for the life of a pet but rather someone’s (potentially our) lunch.

The guinea pig farm: 3 cheers if you can figure out which one is the alpha

This guinea pig farm was located in the poorest district of the Cusco department (Peru is divided into 10 departments: independent regions of governance). The government had previously helped to implement guinea pig farming in this area to compensate for the infertile land and the lack of agriculture. As a result, guinea pigs had become the main, and in some cases the only, source of income for the families in this village.

Shortly into our visit, we learned that our bus had a flat tire. It really was living up to its reputation of being cursed! We would have to stay in that village until the bus was fixed, and with this revelation our hopes of returning to Cusco in time for the game were gone. Luckily, we were able to watch the game with the residents of the village, all of us cheering on Peru together huddled around a small TV in someone’s living room. During halftime, we played a game of soccer with the children from the village; sharing snacks, playing soccer, and teaching each other new words while waiting for the game to come back on. It was especially exciting because not only were we able to communicate with them in Spanish, but also they taught us some soccer-related Quechua words. Throughout my time in Cusco, moments like these have been my favorites: moments when we had the chance to interact with rural communities and learn from the people we met.

I have been consistently amazed by how much there is to do in and around Cusco. The number of hiking trails and ruins right around Cusco is unbelievable, it’s impossible to see it all even with 5 and a half weeks to explore. In the past two weekends, I visited Machu Picchu and Lake Humantay. Both of these trips were paired with some unlucky weather conditions, but it just made them more of an adventure!

Fog obscured most of Machu Picchu when we first arrived

When we visited Machu Picchu, there was torrential downpour and thick fog all morning. Unfortunately, this made it nearly impossible to actually see Machu Picchu at first, but we were able to explore the ruins and hike the nearby trails. As we were starting to leave the site, all coming to terms with the fact that we wouldn’t get the chance to actually see Machu Picchu or any of the surrounding mountains, the fog started to clear with 15 minutes to spare! Our first glances of Machu Picchu were super exciting and everyone was relieved that we got to really see one of the 7 new wonders of the world before we returned to Cusco.

We had this same kind of experience at Lake Humantay, except in the reverse order. Lake Humantay sits at the top of a mountain, nearly 15,500 feet above sea level. The hike up to the lake was grueling and freezing. Lake Humantay is famous for the snow-tipped mountains that surround it and the scenic views. When we made it to the lake, all breathing heavily from the challenging hike and the altitude, we were amazed by the view in front of us. It started snowing heavily as soon as we reached our destination and by the time we caught our breath, we realized that a thick fog accompanied the snow and was starting to block the view of both the mountains and the lake. We enjoyed our view of the lake while it lasted and soon began our descent back down the mountain. We had expected our return trip to be significantly easier, but we were mistaken. The snow had made our entire trail slick. I don’t think I have ever laughed as much as I did watching everyone slip and slide back down the mountain, taking a few tumbles myself on the way down. By the time we reached the bottom, we were all covered in mud with frozen fingers and cheeks flushed with laughter. This was definitely the hardest hike I’ve ever completed and I’d love to do it again one day, even if the snow and fog are a packaged deal.

Feeling accomplished at the end of our hike to Lake Humantay

Fáilte go dtí An Cheathrú Rua!

Dia daoibh! I’ve been in An Cheathrú Rua for almost a week now and it’s still hitting me that I’m here – In Ireland, in Connemara, in Carraroe. An Cheathrú Rua is more beautiful than I ever could have imagined. The houses are nestled into the rocks that line the hills and. I’ve fallen in love with the stone walls that line the roads and crawl through the fields.

I started the program out in the Elementary course. I was a bit rusty to start and didn’t feel quite confident that I would be at the right level to move up to the intermediate. I started out staying in the elementary. Based on the course description, I thought that the course would be a good way to perfect my grammar, and there were a few topics that I hadn’t covered yet. However, after a few days in the course, I wasn’t feeling challenged and decided to give the intermediate class a try. I moved in after lunch on the second day. I didn’t exactly get off to a great start when I was asked by the teacher what I had for lunch today and promptly forgot the word for sandwich. When she asked what was on said sandwich (after I was kindly given the word by a classmate), I also managed to forget the word for cheese, so there was ham on my sandwich and “sin é.” Since getting over my nerves, the class is at my level. I feel challenged by some of my classmates who are more advanced than me, but not intimidated. I look forward to learning from them, especially the many linguists we have in our class (It is not uncommon to hear a conversation in Spanish, Portuguese, French, or even Bulgarian pop up even though most everyone’s first language is English). While no new grammar concepts have been introduced, I am being challenged with new vocab and to use my Irish in a way that allows me to live in the Gaeltacht.

On Tuesday, we had sean-nos dancing classes. I was tripping over my feet the whole time, but it was a great time. Lots of craic to be had. I look forward to learning more steps and more about the history of sean-nos. It was interesting to hear that of the 18 last Oireachtas winners, 16 were male. Most styles of dance seem to be dominated by females. It doesn’t look like I am going to be changing that trend any time soon. On Wednesday, we had sean-nos singing. I wasn’t much better at that either. The teacher was a great singer, and although he didn’t claim to be a “true” sean-nos singer, he is going to bring his daughters next week, who he says are sean-nos singers.

Besides the cultural experiences, the studying, and the classes, the most important (and arguably most difficult) part of this experience is my conversation with the locals. Our house has a mix of levels from beginner to advanced, so we haven’t been using Irish with each other at the dinner table or around the house, which is disappointing. We can’t converse together all in Irish, but we’ve started working together to use Irish phrases for “pass the _____” and “I would like the ____” in addition the hundreds of “go raibh maith agat’s” we shower our bean an tí with. I’ve tried to linger around the kitchen a little longer each night and try to add something to the much more astute and grammatically correct conversations that the advanced students have with her. As I’ve used more of my Irish, she has been super encouraging.

My proudest moment so far was the conversation I struck up with a local on our walk to the beach on our afternoon off. We went to Trá an Dóilín. I had stopped to pet a horse at the house next to his. My group had walked ahead and so I was straggling behind a bit. He was standing out by his fence in knee-high wellies. I returned his “Dia duit” with “Dia is Muire duit” and from there we had a short-lived conversation that went something along the lines of

“Are you going to swin?”

“I’m not swimming today, but its lovely out”

“It is lovely, such a nice day”

“Are you on holidays”

“No, I’m learning Irish at the Acadamh”

“Oh, how great, Have a nice day!”

“Goodbye for now!”

It may not sound like much, but I’d like to think it sounded more impressive As Gaeilge. Even though the coral beach was painful to walk on and I was sunburnt, this short little conversation made the hour long walk more than worth it.

Il quarto

Dear reader–

Today marks the halfway point of my time in Italy. As I look over my two-and-a-half weeks here, I see several signs that my Italian has improved, even in such a short amount of time. First, I’ve finally started dreaming in Italian. (These dreams usually involve me speaking broken Italian to native speakers and not being understood, but the Italian is still there!) Second, last night when I went to Mass, I understood a whole sentence said by the priest. This excited me, because I usually only understand individual words or phrases. Following a whole sentence is much harder. Finally, last night I tried to speak in Italian to the employees at our favorite take-out pasta place. They were delighted that I was trying to speak Italian (which was gratifying) and very complimentary of my speaking skills (which was encouraging).

I remain painfully aware that my sentences are awkward and my vocabulary is limited. It is still difficult for me to understand a native Italian speaker. However, I am greatly encouraged by the progress I have made in the first half of my trip.

Meanwhile, I continue to notice more and more about the people and culture of southern Italy. One thing I love to do is explore all the churches here. As many of you know, I have a passion for sacred architecture. The chance to visit old Italian churches in person was one reason I was so excited for this trip. Sure enough, the churches here are vastly different from the ones I have seen at home. If I had to pick a word to describe the Italian style, it would be “rich”.

The crypt–that is, the small church under the main one–is just as elaborate as the main church

Every church, from the Cathedral to the smallest parish church, has marble floors and columns, massive paintings on the ceiling, an abundance of statues, and elaborate altars.

Detail of the railing of a side chapel in the Cathedral of Sant’Andrea

America has plenty of beautiful churches, but I have not seen any to match the sheer ornateness of the Italian churches. It is almost overwhelming at times.

Even side chapels, like this one, can be elaborate

The bishop’s chair in the Cathedral of Sorrento

Wood-prints illustrate the Creed on the interior side doors of the Cathedral of Sorrento. Wood-print is a traditional form of art in Sorrento

Paintings on the ceiling of the Cathedral of Sorrento. All the churches I have seen, including the smallest, have ceilings with paintings like this.

I realize that I have to “get to know” the Italian churches just like I have to “get to know” the Italians: I need to get accustomed to their way of presenting themselves, the language they use, and the things they value.

In a similar vein, I have been fascinated to compare the way Italian Catholics worship as compared to American Catholics. On the one hand, there is a lot in common. Even though I can’t actually understand the Italian spoken in the Mass, I always know exactly what the priest is saying because the liturgy is the same. On the other hand, certain Italian customs have surprised me. For example, in classic Italian style, the “line” for communion is really more of a movement en masse towards the altar. Whoever stands up the quickest gets to the front first. In the end, such an approach still gets the job done; nevertheless, it shocked my organized American sensibilities the first few times.

Another tidbit of life here is the street performers. The fact that the streets (and trains) have performers is not so exceptional. What is exceptional is that they all play the same song. Every. Single. Time. The song is called “Despacito”, a slightly raunchy but very catchy Spanish song about love and summertime–for which, not coincidentally, Italy is famous. In my opinion, the prevalence of this song is another example of how important tourism is to Italy. Even street performers try to make a living by selling the dream of Italy: love and endless summer.

On the other hand, I’ve started learning more and more about Mussolini and Italy’s fascist period in my Contemporary Literature class. I already knew about Mussolini thanks to my World War II history lessons in high school, but Fascist Italy was always a side story to Nazi Germany. Living in Italy, even for only three weeks, has changed that. The history itself is very painful, and the passion and urgency with which my professor speaks about fascism indicates that the pain is still relevant today. I am catching glimpses of how much Italy has suffered in the past century. It’s yet another reminder that Italy is a real place, with both grand achievements and tragedies in its story.

Here, at the halfway point, I see that every day I spend in Italy makes it more real to me. I find that the more I learn about Italy, the more I begin to love it. I’m truly so lucky to be here and see the world with new eyes. As ever, I thank you for accompanying me on this adventure.

Until next time,

Beatrice

Vive la patrie !

A Review of my second week in tours, france

« On est champion ! » // “We are the champions!” – the French people of Tours // Freddy Mercury

Another very warm week has come and gone in France and what have I learned?

Abbreviations and fillers : So, uhh, English isn’t the only language with words that don’t mean anything and shortcuts, ya’ know. For example, j’suis (meaning “I’m,” pronounced shwee), j’sais pas (meaning “I dunno,” pronounced shay pah), ben… (meaning “well…,” pronounced bah) typically said at the beginning of a statement to get your words rolling and you can throw a quoi (meaning “what,” pronounced kwah) at the end of a sentence for emphasis, although it has literally no significance to the context… While all these all may be commonly spoken, grammatically they are most definitely incorrect and I won’t put them in a French paper at the risk of a bad grade. However, once you know the basics of the language and enough vocabulary to stay afloat in an inundation of French words and cultural references, it’s the ability to add these into a conversation that makes it seem like you really know what you’re talking about. I’ve been trying out this nuanced communication method at the vending machines with my morning coffee: “Bof ! J’suis trop fatiguée, moi !” ( meaning “I’m so tired”, pronounced bowf shwee troh faahteegay mwah). If my accent didn’t give me away and maybe I wore stripes and a beret and carried a baguette*, I’d like to think people would believe I was French.

*side note: French people don’t actually wear stripes or berets on a daily basis, but I have seen more than a few carrying baguettes through the streets*

Anglicisms : OK, c’est super cool, ça ! The French and English have a history in trading with each other, especially with regard to language. From what I’ve been hearing in conversations, it’s fairly commonplace to have at least 5 English words every 30 seconds (this is a rough estimation, I haven’t recorded any actual data). While the intent is to complement the language with words that don’t quite translate into French and adopting them with the lovely French accent, this “slang” that the younger generations like to use is not always appreciated by their elders. I’ve talked to professors and other adults who are completely opposed to these shortcuts which are, in their opinions, invading the French language. I’ve even seen advertisements that promote the protection of the French language as one of the purest symbols of the French culture. From this point of view, every English phrase absorbed by the French culture should be immediately replaced by a French equivalent. Others like my host mom, Chantal, really don’t mind these anglicisms. For her, it’s a question of having known a good amount of English already and the frequent usage is really more in the language of “les jeunes” (young people). So it’s just as critical for her in the context of intergenerational communication with her son or her neighbors, for instance. However, at the end of our discussion on this topic she finished by saying, “really though, some words you just don’t need English for.” This was, of course, stated in French. The bottomline is anglicisms aren’t always appreciated, but they are used in just about every conversation.

Formal letters and basic anatomy, a lesson on cultural context : As I’m approaching the date of my DELF B2 proficiency exam, I’ve been spending a significant amount of time learning the organization of several types of common French documents like formal letters, the essay, commentaries, blog posts, and letters to the editor. These common, written means of communication, which I normally don’t think twice about, have been my main focus. At first I thought, sure, I shouldn’t have any trouble writing a letter to a mayor or director of a company and maintaining an opinion, but as I went through the review, I realized that the French culture had its own particular way of presenting this kind of information. The level of formality is especially accentuated by the use of vous, the formal “you”, which is at the base of such correspondences. Practicing this skill of writing a letter in and of itself isn’t terribly difficult, but it took some work for my mind to readjust and accept this different representation of something that was familiar to me in the context of my own culture. Similarly with learning basic anatomy and the run-down of a general medical consultation in French, I feel as if I’m starting again at square one. In this case, the medical field in French is shaped not only by a different vocabulary, but also a different healthcare system than what I’m accustomed to. While I’m essentially just learning a new vocabulary that allows me to communicate via a written statement or in a medical setting, the lessons go beyond that. If I truly want to understand the words I’m saying, I have to understand the culture that they stemmed from and then I can apply them in a letter about the importance of les pauses (breaktime) in France or in an exchange with a patient to determine the cause of her mal au foie (liver pain).

Risotto à la française (AKA with French wine)

The food is phenomenal and Tours is a walking city : Good thing, too. I think I’ve eaten my weight in baguettes and cheese sinceI’ve arrived. Well, maybe not that much, but I’ve definitely been appreciating la nourriture française. Fun fact: French gastronomy is recognized as a symbol of cultural heritage in France and I can attest to that. While I love a good meal loaded with carbs and butter, getting some exercise is not a bad idea. Moderation and balance are key! Given that I am struggling to figure out the summer hours of the public transportation schedule, I take at least two 30 minute walks everyday. The apartment I’m in is located in the part of the city closer to the Cher river on the south side of town while the institute where I take classes is in the center of Tours and nearer to the Loire river. It’s a scenic walk especially if walk through the park (Jardin des Prébendes d’Oé), so I don’t mind getting my steps in this way. Apparently, Tours has become more and more of a town focused on non-car transportation. According to the locals, the city removed the parking spaces in the middle of town a few years ago to install a tramway. Also, I’ve seen lots of purple rental bikes called “indigo weels” which are reminiscent of the many “lime bikes” I’ve seen around South Bend. Anyways,
Les fleurs du trottoir // sidewalk flowers

there are a good number of individuals who don’t depend on gasoline to get to their destinations whether that’s school, work, or a marketplace where shoppers usually tote a wheeled grocery caddy behind themselves to make hauling groceries easier. Coming full circle back to the food, I’ve noticed that the French will go to grocery stores and markets more frequently than us Americans. They tend to purchase less given that they take multiple trips throughout the week whereas we, or at least my family and I, purchase groceries like we are preparing for Armageddon. Maybe it’s because the stores are relatively closer to people’s homes in the more densely packed French cities making it more convenient to get to a grocery store, or maybe more of a priority is given to fresh food preparation? Whatever the cause is, this is a cultural difference I’m beginning to notice.

My attempt at getting a good picture of the fireworks

Patriotism and football : This past week, especially the weekend, was filled with bleu, blanc et rouge (blue, white and red… it feels strange reversing the red and the blue) for the colors of France. It really has been an extended celebration of this country starting with the first stages of the Tour de France, continuing on with Bastille Day (la Fête Nationale), and wrapping up with the final game of the Soccer World Cup where France beat Croatia 4-2. The Tour de France is an iconic race between cyclists from around the world to bike about 3,500 km/2,200 mi around the country it’s named for. This began Saturday, July 7th, and exactly one week later, July 14th, France celebrated its unification around the revolution during 1790. I had the chance to see the fireworks which were displayed over the Loire river near one of the favorite, local hangouts, the Guinguette. My friends and I stayed on the upper part of the pathway along the river’s edge for a better view above the trees and because there were so many people in the lower part that you couldn’t see the ground! But if I thought there were a lot of people for le 14 Juillet, there were even more for the final game of the World Cup on Sunday. I went to another preferred meet-up spot of the Tourangeaux (people of
Allons enfants de la Patrie, le jour de gloire est arrivé !

Tours), Place Plumereau, where the streets were filled with spectators draped in flags and covered in face paint hoping to catch a glimpse of the game on one of the TVs of the many cafés on what was arguably the hottest day of the summer. When France scored a goal, the crowds erupted with cheering, jumping, and singing of the national anthem, the Marseillaise. When France won, this energy was amplified one hundred times. The songs and general sense of fraternity went on for hours; drivers honked there horns and shouts of “on est champion” rang out till the early hours of the morning. Apparently, this victory is supposed to raise the presidential approval rating of President Macron by at least 8% and one of the most remarkable statements I heard after the game was that no other event has had the same efficiency in bringing the French together on the streets since the end of World War II. There’s nothing like a good soccer game to unite an entire country.

Well, that’s all for now! I’ll keep working on my listening comprehension, speaking and writing abilities to get to the goals I’ve set for myself, but I was so glad I got to be present for such a culturally significant week in France.

À plus tard ! // See you later!

Никто не забыт и ничто не забыто

Никто не забыт и ничто не забыто

“no one will forget and nothing will be forgotten” written on the wall in the Piskaryovskoe memorial cemetery

As I sit here, in the sunlight shining through towering birch trees gazing out around me and the hundreds of graves and mass graves holding hundreds of thousands of people, I would like to get a few things out in the open about Russia, things that are now easily forgotten.

When people in the US think about and talk about Russia, it’s about Putin, and Bears wondering the Russian streets, and about alcoholism and the evil soviet army. I’ve not yet seen a bear here, no I don’t know how Putin is doing, TVs advertise non-alcoholic beer, and the Soviet army wasn’t always evil. That doesn’t mean that this country doesn’t have its problems. There is still a population crisis and alcoholism is still a problem, especially in the older generation, but even my expectations, formed by years of studying Russia and speaking with Russians and people who live there, were not exactly accurate. There are certainly cultural differences, but the Russia of today is not even like the Russia of 10 years ago. And even when thinking and talking and making fun of Russia’s soviet history and the strange, almost otherwoldnesss of Communism with a capital ‘C,’ things are easily looked over, to make a prettier picture of the American stereotype.

In 1941, the German Nazis attacked the city of Leningrad, now known as St Petersburg. From that time forward ensued an 872 day long blockade of the city, which most people know as the Siege of Leningrad. Now the siege was mentioned during high school as one of the battles that took place in Russia, but from my Russian classes in college and now from my time in the city itself, and it’s memorial, I realize that what I knew about the event was greatly underemphasized. A city of over 2 million innocent people was subjected to the German wish to wipe the city out. The casualties of the Siege of Leningrad exceeded those of the battle of Moscow, Stalingrad, and the bombing of Tokyo. The German Army cut off almost all flow of goods to and from the city, save a sliver of ice that as many people died on as were evacuated. People died from starvation, dysentery, tuberculosis, as an entire city was subjected to a winter with an average temperature of -22F on 200 (125 if you were elderly or a child) grams of bread a day; bread that consisted of 50% sawdust. Every person suffered. Children were left without families. One girl, Tanya, famously wrote in her diary after all her family were killed “all are dead, only Tanya remains.”

This is a human tragedy on par with the holocaust. It is widely known that over 1.5 million people died, but not all the information was released by the Soviet government, and the number could be much higher. It was an ethnically determined attempt to utterly wipe out an entire city. And it wasn’t supposed to end there. Adolf Hitler planned to follow his destruction of Leningrad with the destruction of the Donetsk Basin, and finally Moscow. He wanted to thus wipe out an entire country, but he didn’t get the chance. He didn’t get the chance because of the resilience and bravery of the country he was trying to evaporate. The people of Leningrad never stopped fighting. Stepping over dead in the streets, soldiers held the blockade. When spring came the entire capable city gathered to plant vegetables. Libraries still functioned, the theater was open. Even after a winter during which the 2 kilometer walk to get food was as deadly as the starvation without it, the city survived and fought. I’ve hardly heard a greater success story than that of the survival of this, then communist city.

But this is forgotten when we joke about drunk Russians and soviet repression, during which, by the way, soviet people suffered psychological and real terror as they and their sons and daughters were made slaves to the gulags for “political crimes” they knew nothing about. Russia is far away so we laugh it off. We think of Russians as cold oligarchs and ruthless abusive mafia, while almost every person in this city is a descendant of one of the mothers and daughters and brothers and fathers who suffered and survived this immense tragedy.

People in DC avoid Russians, don’t trust them, and look to lessen our President because of his involvement with them. I’m not saying it’s wrong, but we as a country, liberal or conservative, have decided to categorize an entire nation based off of its leader and his politics. I myself am guilty of bashing communism and its countries. I very rarely hear Russians spoken of in terms of the repression they’ve suffered ethnically, it’s much more common to hear stories about evil Russian spies or hackers tampering with our elections in service to a completely authoritative and iron-fisted leader who rides on the backs of bears. We can’t seem to wrap our minds around Putin’s popularity, despite the fact that Russians are living better than they have in their entire history. After suffering centuries of subjugation as serfs and a century of terror and poverty under the soviet fist, people here are now freer than they’ve ever been, and living comfortably. But we ignore that, we refuse to pay attention to it as we loudly and assuredly claim the repressiveness of Putin’s regime, because it isn’t identical to what we have at home.

Walking past the graves and feeling thе weight of what is around me, the bickering about Russia that goes on in our everyday media seems so very small. This is a place of people, of strong people who have endured tragedies we couldn’t even imagine. People, who then were Communists with a capital ‘C.’ I’ve gotten a chance to reorient my perspective here and add a little humanity to the narrative touted in our country, and perhaps reading this you might do the same.