Moved into the University Rome center yesterday afternoon after an adventure getting there from the airport with no directions. Incidentally, I'm a lot better at that great old game, "Guess what this gesture means", and my pidgin Italian is getting better.
Settling into my apartment. In the Piazza outside my window, I can hear the faint strains of what I'm almost certain is the theme from "The Godfather", although it could also be "Stairway to Heaven."
It hasn't quite struck me that I am actually, after months of preparation, in Rome. Turning down narrow cobbled streets, we literally stumble over Roman ruins, Medieval squares, or hidden fountains with marble statues. I live overlooking a plaza where, every morning at 4 am, they begin setting up the market for the next day, unloading trucks of fresh fruit and vegetables, cured meats and spices, fake purses, and fresh cut flowers. Normally, I prepare for travel manically, reading everything I can on the history and culture ahead of time in order to have some precedent, and idea of what I'm seeing. Due to finals and life getting in the way, I didn't have much time to research ahead, and I'm currently relying on what I remember from high school humanities classes, a surprising amount. So far, it's been an interesting and rewarding experience. Without expectations bred from careful research, I'm enjoying things at a slower pace. Things are surprising, enlightening.
This has been floating around in my head for the past week, far before I left it behind.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Monday, March 15, 2010
Symmetry and the Beatles
A (heavily edited) repost from an earlier essay I rewrote for a contest. Te
This is the farthest from home I’ve ever been. It is night, and we are on the roof of our hostel, watching the stars appear in a velvet sky over the Mediterranean Sea. I’m not just far away from home, from family and friends. I’ve left behind any trace of what I’ve used my entire life to define myself: the markers and keys I’ve used to map my position. I’m in uncharted territories, vast swathes of my own mind I’ve yet to explore. I haven’t slept much over the past few days, but a strange bubbling giddiness is keeping me wide awake. Across the Bosphorus, I can see the light slowly fading over the Asian shore of Istanbul.
A new Turkish friend has invited us up here to the roof. In the cafe, when he heard that we were from Seattle, his face had lit up. “We are cousins, then.” With no further explanation forthcoming, we followed him up the narrow spiral staircase.
A few days previously, I had flown alone to Barcelona. After spending the night on the airport floor, I took an early morning flight and arrived tired, hungry, and unwashed, but determined. It was my first time traveling completely alone, but I knew enough Spanish to get along, and I was not going to waste my first taste of independence. I sat down in a small café, determined to be an adult and hold it together. In this cozy sidewalk café, I was succeeding, until the familiar strains of “Yesterday” by the Beatles drifted on the Iberian breeze. Any dignity dissolved, and I retreated to a corner and bawled, a homesick teenager in over her head.
When we reach the roof, he is leaning over the rail, smoking. The stars are just beginning to appear. We watch in silence as he snuffs out his cigarette and explains to us that Seattle is not just another foreign city. Seattle and Istanbul are sisters. I smile politely, but I really don’t have any idea what he could mean. Seattle is the city I grew up in, the corners and cracks I explored when I was just discovering myself. In high school, I longed to be free of it in the same way one longs to be free of oneself.
He must have sensed my doubt, for he looked at me earnestly. “Seattle and Istanbul lie on the open ocean, but are protected by the sound. This harbor allows us the freedom of the open sea, but protects us from its brute strength.” He smiled knowingly in the dark, white teeth flashing against that indefinable black velvet sky. “We must be the same, with such hearts.” Asia, across the water, is now dark. I smile, but then wonder at my own doubt. Leaving Barcelona for Istanbul, I thought I would feel more out of place, but the opposite had happened. When I was walking down wide, sunny boulevards, or dodging crowds in towering spice markets, through it all was the ever-present smell of the sea, a comfort and memory.
He is humming a tune. When we ask him, he said it was a traditional Turkish song. Would we like him to sing it for us? We settle in with our warm cups of tea, and listen. He finishes, and there is a moment of silence. Then, with a knowing smile, he glances back at us. “Perhaps one you would know?” We nod. He clears his throat, and begins a refrain I learned too well. “Yesterday…” My own throat tightens. There is some mystery in the world, some symmetry, and some understanding. The last thing I expected to find on the other side of the world was family, friends, and home.
This is the farthest from home I’ve ever been. It is night, and we are on the roof of our hostel, watching the stars appear in a velvet sky over the Mediterranean Sea. I’m not just far away from home, from family and friends. I’ve left behind any trace of what I’ve used my entire life to define myself: the markers and keys I’ve used to map my position. I’m in uncharted territories, vast swathes of my own mind I’ve yet to explore. I haven’t slept much over the past few days, but a strange bubbling giddiness is keeping me wide awake. Across the Bosphorus, I can see the light slowly fading over the Asian shore of Istanbul.
A new Turkish friend has invited us up here to the roof. In the cafe, when he heard that we were from Seattle, his face had lit up. “We are cousins, then.” With no further explanation forthcoming, we followed him up the narrow spiral staircase.
A few days previously, I had flown alone to Barcelona. After spending the night on the airport floor, I took an early morning flight and arrived tired, hungry, and unwashed, but determined. It was my first time traveling completely alone, but I knew enough Spanish to get along, and I was not going to waste my first taste of independence. I sat down in a small café, determined to be an adult and hold it together. In this cozy sidewalk café, I was succeeding, until the familiar strains of “Yesterday” by the Beatles drifted on the Iberian breeze. Any dignity dissolved, and I retreated to a corner and bawled, a homesick teenager in over her head.
When we reach the roof, he is leaning over the rail, smoking. The stars are just beginning to appear. We watch in silence as he snuffs out his cigarette and explains to us that Seattle is not just another foreign city. Seattle and Istanbul are sisters. I smile politely, but I really don’t have any idea what he could mean. Seattle is the city I grew up in, the corners and cracks I explored when I was just discovering myself. In high school, I longed to be free of it in the same way one longs to be free of oneself.
He must have sensed my doubt, for he looked at me earnestly. “Seattle and Istanbul lie on the open ocean, but are protected by the sound. This harbor allows us the freedom of the open sea, but protects us from its brute strength.” He smiled knowingly in the dark, white teeth flashing against that indefinable black velvet sky. “We must be the same, with such hearts.” Asia, across the water, is now dark. I smile, but then wonder at my own doubt. Leaving Barcelona for Istanbul, I thought I would feel more out of place, but the opposite had happened. When I was walking down wide, sunny boulevards, or dodging crowds in towering spice markets, through it all was the ever-present smell of the sea, a comfort and memory.
He is humming a tune. When we ask him, he said it was a traditional Turkish song. Would we like him to sing it for us? We settle in with our warm cups of tea, and listen. He finishes, and there is a moment of silence. Then, with a knowing smile, he glances back at us. “Perhaps one you would know?” We nod. He clears his throat, and begins a refrain I learned too well. “Yesterday…” My own throat tightens. There is some mystery in the world, some symmetry, and some understanding. The last thing I expected to find on the other side of the world was family, friends, and home.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Only you can prevent forest fires (by putting out your damn cigarette)
In Portland this weekend, I was was walking with a friend on a search for Voodoo Donuts. A man started screaming at us after I failed to adequately return his compliment on our physique. He stalked us for about a block before returning to his post, presumably to educate more women. I was shaken; my friend was less so. We talked about it, and she's had it happen to her- she's even been chased down when she didn't respond. I was in Portland for only a a weekend, but it happened a few more times, never as dramatically as the first one.
Safely back home in Seattle, where no one talks to you or looks you in the eye for too long, I shared this story with a friend, who promptly lead me to this site on how to avoid this kind of situation. Borrowed from Katherine:
Preventing sexual assault: Tips guaranteed to work!
Please distribute this list. Put it up in your place of work, in your university’s library or wherever you think they might be read:
1. Don’t put drugs in people’s drinks in order to control their behavior.
2. When you see someone walking by themselves, leave them alone!
3. If you pull over to help someone with car problems, remember not to assault them!
4. NEVER open an unlocked door or window uninvited.
5. If you are in an elevator and someone else gets in, DON’T ASSAULT THEM!
6. Remember, people go to laundry to do their laundry, do not attempt to molest someone who is alone in a laundry room.
7. USE THE BUDDY SYSTEM! If you are not able to stop yourself from assaulting people, ask a friend to stay with you while you are in public.
8. Always be honest with people! Don’t pretend to be a caring friend in order to gain the trust of someone you want to assault. Consider telling them you plan to assault them. If you don’t communicate your intentions, the other person may take that as a sign that you do not plan to rape them.
9. Don’t forget: you can’t have sex with someone unless they are awake!
10. Carry a whistle! If you are worried you might assault someone “on accident” you can hand it to the person you are with, so they can blow it if you do.
The school I attend is not in the safest part of town; e-mail notifications of criminal incidents were a daily event, now reduced to weekly. People get assaulted- mugged, stabbed, one incident of pistol whipping- with regularity. And it's almost sad how quickly regularity is reduced to normalcy. How, when something happens with enough frequency, it becomes a mere fact of life.
Safely back home in Seattle, where no one talks to you or looks you in the eye for too long, I shared this story with a friend, who promptly lead me to this site on how to avoid this kind of situation. Borrowed from Katherine:
Preventing sexual assault: Tips guaranteed to work!
Please distribute this list. Put it up in your place of work, in your university’s library or wherever you think they might be read:
1. Don’t put drugs in people’s drinks in order to control their behavior.
2. When you see someone walking by themselves, leave them alone!
3. If you pull over to help someone with car problems, remember not to assault them!
4. NEVER open an unlocked door or window uninvited.
5. If you are in an elevator and someone else gets in, DON’T ASSAULT THEM!
6. Remember, people go to laundry to do their laundry, do not attempt to molest someone who is alone in a laundry room.
7. USE THE BUDDY SYSTEM! If you are not able to stop yourself from assaulting people, ask a friend to stay with you while you are in public.
8. Always be honest with people! Don’t pretend to be a caring friend in order to gain the trust of someone you want to assault. Consider telling them you plan to assault them. If you don’t communicate your intentions, the other person may take that as a sign that you do not plan to rape them.
9. Don’t forget: you can’t have sex with someone unless they are awake!
10. Carry a whistle! If you are worried you might assault someone “on accident” you can hand it to the person you are with, so they can blow it if you do.
The school I attend is not in the safest part of town; e-mail notifications of criminal incidents were a daily event, now reduced to weekly. People get assaulted- mugged, stabbed, one incident of pistol whipping- with regularity. And it's almost sad how quickly regularity is reduced to normalcy. How, when something happens with enough frequency, it becomes a mere fact of life.
Monday, March 1, 2010
With Such Hearts
The farthest I’ve ever been away from home. It is night. We are on the roof of the hostel, looking out over the Mediterranean sea, twinkling under a velvet sky. I have never been so far away from the things that I use to define myself with- the markers and keys I use to map my position. I’m in uncharted territories, vast terrains of my own mind I have yet to explore.
It is evening, and still cold, although it is close to May. Kay and I are holding warm small cups of tea, and listening.
His face lights up when he hears that we are from Seattle. Seattle is not just another foreign city. Seattle and Istanbul are sisters. I smile politely, but I really don’t have any idea what he’s on about. Seattle is the city I grew up in, the corners and cracks I explored when I was just discovering myself. I longed to be free of it in the same way one longs to be free of oneself.
He must have sensed my doubt, for he looked at me sharply, with all earnest. “Seattle and Istanbul lie on the open ocean, but are protected by the sound, small harbors that allow us the freedom of the open sea, but protect us from its brute strength. We must be the same, with such hearts.” He smiled knowingly in the dark, white teeth flashing against that undefinable black velvet sky.
I wondered at that. Are we defined by the land we grow up in? I know that my soul is probably imprinted with green pine and hemlock trees, laced with morning fog caught in the tree tops like sheep’s wool caught in branches. Is that why I felt so at home in Istanbul? Walking down wide, sunny boulevards, or dodging crowds in towering spice markets, through it all the smell of the sea was present, a comfort, a memory.
I’m only the first generation to live in Seattle. Before that, my mother lived in California, and my father on the East coast. Generations and generations before that, my ancestors sailed from all over Great Britain, and before that, Europe. Before that, ages and ages back, Africa. 20 years marks the time my genes have been imprinted with the image of Puget Sound at night, rocky shores and gray waters that feel like a part of me more integral than fingerprints or DNA. I know I place too much emphasis on blood, that we are truly freer then that.
Sometimes I think Americans suffer from a lack of a culture. But no time do I feel more American then when I am abroad.
It is evening, and still cold, although it is close to May. Kay and I are holding warm small cups of tea, and listening.
His face lights up when he hears that we are from Seattle. Seattle is not just another foreign city. Seattle and Istanbul are sisters. I smile politely, but I really don’t have any idea what he’s on about. Seattle is the city I grew up in, the corners and cracks I explored when I was just discovering myself. I longed to be free of it in the same way one longs to be free of oneself.
He must have sensed my doubt, for he looked at me sharply, with all earnest. “Seattle and Istanbul lie on the open ocean, but are protected by the sound, small harbors that allow us the freedom of the open sea, but protect us from its brute strength. We must be the same, with such hearts.” He smiled knowingly in the dark, white teeth flashing against that undefinable black velvet sky.
I wondered at that. Are we defined by the land we grow up in? I know that my soul is probably imprinted with green pine and hemlock trees, laced with morning fog caught in the tree tops like sheep’s wool caught in branches. Is that why I felt so at home in Istanbul? Walking down wide, sunny boulevards, or dodging crowds in towering spice markets, through it all the smell of the sea was present, a comfort, a memory.
I’m only the first generation to live in Seattle. Before that, my mother lived in California, and my father on the East coast. Generations and generations before that, my ancestors sailed from all over Great Britain, and before that, Europe. Before that, ages and ages back, Africa. 20 years marks the time my genes have been imprinted with the image of Puget Sound at night, rocky shores and gray waters that feel like a part of me more integral than fingerprints or DNA. I know I place too much emphasis on blood, that we are truly freer then that.
Sometimes I think Americans suffer from a lack of a culture. But no time do I feel more American then when I am abroad.
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