violetmills's blog

Time: 11:08PM January 25th, 2011; Location: Florence, Italy (at last!). What: En Route to new apartment in Italy...nbd ;)

I’m driving up to Piazza San Giovanni, 5 (Sinistra), with no idea what to expect from my new home. Sitting next to me is another NYU student, also a late arrival, equally tired from a long voyage from the States. 20 minutes later (or so it seemed) and I see the Duomo—finally, a familiar site. It somehow looks bigger, grander. I heard that the mayor of Florence was really concerned with conserving the art and culture of the city—not many cars are allowed to pass through the Piazza del Duomo for this reason. So, when I found myself parked in front of Piazza San Giovanni, 5, you can imagine my confusion. “Is it just around the corner?” I asked. Cab driver: “No, eet ees thees wan.” My jaw dropped. I had Google-mapped my new home, but never could I have dreamed I would arrive in front of this apartment (I thought the location was a glitch).

With two glaringly American-sized suitcases and my oversized Zebra-print computer bag slung over my shoulder, I frantically searched for a €20 bill and sent my fellow rider along her way (with her jaw dropped in amazement—I thought I’d let my overcharge slide, considering I’d just landed the ultimate housing option). I walk up to the front door, only to find that none of my keys work; now OSL isn’t picking up the phone. Great. Buzz all the apartments: no answer. Super. I have this fantastic apartment and no way to get into it. That is until, Marco, our first floor tenant who had watched all of this take place helped me move into the building. I still believe I would never have gotten in that night without him...

I can hardly believe that our adventures abroad have drawn to a close. It’s as unbelievable as the first day I moved into one of the best apartments I’ll probably ever own in my life. It’s just incredible how fast this time has gone. There are a ton of things that I’ll probably never be able to list in any one sitting that I am thankful for this semester. One of my greatest accomplishments, I think, is really realizing how lucky I am to be an American.

About three months ago, Egypt began rebelling against the government. February 11, 2011: independence was granted. Northern African countries were thrown into a state of turmoil. Old struggles resurfaced. NATO, UN, and international forces are now on constant high alert. A royal matrimony occurred on April 29th—we have a new British Prince/Princess duo. A few days ago, Osama Bin Laden was killed. The world has changed so dramatically in the past few months while I’ve been abroad and all I can think of is how lucky I am to experience it all from the perspective of my new home.

It is because I was born in the land of opportunity that a fisherman’s family was able to send a woman, three generations after landing in America, to one of the best universities in America. I’ve spoken with students: French, Italian, Spanish, German, and more while abroad and all of them concur—the possibilities in America are far greater than anywhere else. In fact it is because I am from America that these conversations even took place. If I take nothing else away from my semester in Florence (although I know that I have), it is that I love: experiencing new places, speaking to new people from different backgrounds, and getting to be in the nitty-gritty of world politics (instead of just reading about everything in the NY Times). All of this has been and still is true, but I definitely retain a staunch sense of pride as an American, Californian, and Los Angelean: I’m from an awesome place, what can I say?

Oh, all of that and I don’t think I’ll ever eat peanut butter again. Twice the price in Europe, but I suspect when this product (currently in limited quantities) becomes available for a buck a gallon, like in the States, my love for Nutella will resurface. What can I say, we seem to always crave what we can’t have ;)

To my fellow globe-trotters/self-proclaimed-adventurers: I hope you’ve had as epic a voyage as I have while abroad. All the best for future travels and a continued discovery of the ‘Art of Travel.’ Live long, prosper, and catch you Manhattanites back in the Big Apple, come time for the leaves to turn!

Time: 23,08 4 Maggio. 2011; Location: P.zza S. Giovanni, 5, Sin. Living room. What: Staring at the Baptistery, succesfully completing my last blog contemplating the Art of Travel.

Arrivederci!
xxx
VM

PS—I thought this picture would be fitting. Thinking about one of the first beautiful sunsets I saw from Villa Ulivi on campus, as the sun sets on this adventure, I look forward to the next and the next..........

After living in Florence for four months, there are definitely a few tips and tricks ‘of the trade,’ if you will, that I’ve acquired. Unfortunately for those who like to be as prepared as possible for travel, the biggest thing that I can tell you is that you have to prepare for the unpredictable. How, you ask? Simple. You can’t. When you’re living in a foreign country where people ‘work to live,’ you must know that the ideology is completely different. The Italian lifestyle is based on a culture of the unexpected. You can’t go out at 3 AM and expect to hop around the corner and grab a slice of pizza wherever. It’s just not possible. Nothing is convenient here. Which is not to say that everything is inefficient, but things certainly run on a different schedule. So, if you come here expecting to be able to ‘overnight’ some job application you forgot was due in two days, you better expect that application will be ‘overnighted’ over two weeks’ time.

That’s just life here—if you’re a planner, Italy will more than likely disappoint in the efficiency department, but boy do they know how to live. Everyday is an adventure, wandering familiar curved alleyways is a pleasure, but lugging groceries for ten back from Conad is a nightmare, and waiting a whole semester before receiving your actual Permesso di Sogiorno seems completely pointless. It’s not—believe me, the Germans are very thorough, even two weeks before your visa expires.

Nothing is pointless that you do here. Even though the 12:33 bus just left and it’s only 12:25, the fact that it left and you’re not having a heart attack because you need to be on campus early enough to finish your Italian homework (you’ll instead do it on the more crowded and bumpy bus-ride up)—that little instance will show you you’ve grown. Step One is the freakout; Step Two: Rolling with the punches is part of the growing process; Step Three: Not reacting to a missed bus, you’ll get there when you get there (luckily you’ve planned ahead and arrived an hour before you actually needed to)—you’ve transformed from anxious American in a new place to a less-apprehensive Italian resident. Bravo!

You should know before coming here that not one person in your Italian class will have more than one pen (BYOP to class, there will be no opportunity to borrow), invest in a monthly bus card (the quaint walk to campus turns into a 45-minute drudge from the centro quickly—I didn’t get one and wish I had), know that in the time you are here you won’t be able to see the whole European continent (despite what others might have you think), if you’re on a budget day-trips will be the best way for you to practice your Italian and see different places without busting your wallet. Frequent the mercato centrale if you can (eggs, cheese, cold cuts, produce are better quality and better prices...nomnomnom!). Avoid big streets by taking smaller viales and borgos (they’re more rustic and you can usually find more unique things to buy along these routes anyway). For the ladies—if a cute guy looks at you and you smile back, he will probably stalk you until you reach your next desitination (here a smile isn’t just friendly it’s flirtatious...be warned!). For the fellas—you’re in an NYU bubble here, the female:male odds remain in your favor, not to mention the amount of Italian girls...you’re set.

**EATS & TREATS: obviously the most important segment of our Florence for Dummies review. American hangouts (worthwhile). [1] Acqua al’ Due (Balsamic or Blueberry Steak is the bomb dot com. no joke.) [2] Dante’s Pizzeria (awesome for big groups) [3] La Carraia Gelateria (conveniently located next to Dante’s...a perfect dessert) [4] Vivoli Gelateria (legit gelato. enough said.) [5] Grom Gelateria (pretty good for a gelato chain, but I think the previous two are better) [6] Astor (iced coffees in the Spring...I promise you’ll be missing them when it gets hot out) [7] Il Pizzaiolo (FANTASTIC pizza) [8] Secret Bakery (won’t tell you where/when it is...that’s half the fun—pastries for €1-2) [9] Pugi (mentioned in earlier post—awesome for morning/afternoon pastries in San Marco) [10] Il Due Fratellini (sammies/panini to die for) [11] ZaZa Trattoria (most convenient for when you’re coming in off a late bus/train/plane and need a cooked meal for a good price) [12] Yellowtail (never been, but it’s always poppin) [13] On-Campus food: the Cafe has awesome chocolate croissants and cappucinos for less than €2 total; the lunch and dinner option is always pretty good too (although I hear the brekkie is the best option—I’ve never made it up in time to try that).

**TRANSIT: beware it’s never on-time, unless you’re late ;) So a good rule of thumb = being 10-15 minutes early means you’re actually on time.

**SHOPPING: there’s everything from designer to local, hand-made products—take advantage of the leather market early in the semester, as prices are harder to haggle down (and increase as tourist season picks up)

**MUSEUMS: PLEASE VISIT THEM! We have awesome cards that let us just walk in to all of the National Galleries without having to wait in line—the Uffizi & Accademia are open to you without a line—take advantage of it!


So, that’s my shpeel for now, if I can think of more to update my Florence for Dummies list, I’ll let you know :]

Take care for now!
A Presto!
VM
xxx

PS—foto from the "Picasso, Miró, Dalí" Exhibition at Palazzo Strozzi (because everyone should see more art during their stays in Florence ;)

“The Moon and the Yew Tree” is a poem written by Sylvia Plath during the time she lived in the English countryside (Devon) with her family. During the summer of 1961, Plath completed some of her most remarkable work—for which she would posthumously win a Pulitzer Prize. I find myself in a similar position 50 years later: in a new place, searching for inspiration. Not so much searching, as finding. I’ve had a ton of ‘Aha’ moments over the past few months—it’s pretty incredible what a new place can do for one’s self-development. I might not be the poetess Plath was, but I am no less affected by my surroundings.

Being an artist—visual & performing—as well as a student in Florence has meant that I have experienced my past few months three-fold. I live and study in this city; I’ve seen it from the perspective of a collegiate pupil. I dance in the city; I’ve experienced a different style of learning and technique in my professional ballet studies. I draw whenever and whatever I have time to draw; I’ve been inspired by Florentine people, art, food, smells. One of my first epiphanies I’ve already mentioned—that the places I love generally stem from similarities to my beloved home state of California. The greatest and most deeply impacting revelation I had in Florence (to date) was realizing my own potential. For those who don’t know, I’m a local titleholder for the Miss America Organization (surprise!). It’s not something I brag about—which is definitely NOT to say that I am ashamed of it, at all!! For the two years I’ve been lucky enough to work with the Miss California and Miss America Organizations as a local titleholder, I have learned SO much about life, the world, and myself. I’ve amazed myself in ways I never thought possible, so I think in going abroad, I never expected to get an even deeper understanding about who I am. Alas, I’m wrong once more.

My roommate and I were talking about how incredible our apartment is (honestly, it’s probably the most awesome apartment I’ll ever own—who gets to stare at the Florentine baptistery every morning when they wake up?), how unbelievable it is that we’re even able to study here, and how many world-renowned authors, artists, architects, and scientists walked these streets, and how lucky we are to experience all of this. Yesterday I got to go to an exhibition with my class called “SenzAtomica” (about the non-proliferation treaty to be signed by countries of the world in 2015 in Japan). It really struck home with me, how lucky I am. One of the figures was shocking—only 6% of the world’s population inhabits countries with fresh water/electricity/teachnological resources that first-world countries take for granted; 94% of the world’s population lives in poverty. Naturally, as a well-informed titleholder, I had a general concept of these figures (my calculations were a few percentage points off), but somehow seeing these numbers in bold, red print on huge museum panels really moved me.

Perhaps the exhibition plucked at my artistic/emotional side, but it was in this moment, and watching the screens for flashes of the Doomsday Clock, that I really felt confident in my purpose in life. Yes, I am still going into the field of Art Restoration, and will remain committed to my Service Platform of DV Awareness. But, after hearing and seeing foreign perspectives on world issues, I don’t I will ever look at myself as an ‘American’ the same way. There are a LOT of things that I take for granted—for instance the simple ability to have drinking water available daily. That’s a LIFE RESOURCE that everyone does not have. I’ve seen the poverty of the third-world, was raised in a household of World War II refugees who came to America with the hopes of escaping the absolute void of life in the destructive path of warfare, and myself even overcame domestic violence in my childhood. It’s not so much that I’m not appreciative, but I think going back to America I will definitely look at everything with a refreshed gratitude and recognition to my wonderful country—particularly in this time of turmoil in the lives of others (especially considering the Middle Eastern and Northern African state of affairs, which affect life and politics in Italy moreso than in America, sheerly based on Italian vicinity to these countries).

In any case, what I have drawn from [ and of ;) ] Florence has not been limited to understanding an ‘Italian’ cultural outlook. I’ve also learned a lot about myself, where I come from, and how important each of our roles is in life. Just as Sylvia invoked her surroundings, at one of the happiest points of her life, I have so absorbed mine and have come out on the other side a better person for it.

Spero che vi troverete la bellezza nelle vostre vite e nei vostri posti sul mondo (oppure che l’avete trovato gia’),
VM xxx

PS—image is of a guitarist at the Gaudì Parc Guell in Barca [ just one of many artists inspired by their surroundings :) ]

(*[not-so-]fun, but interesting fact: Sylvia Plath is my favorite poet/author...and she died [committed suicide] on February 11, my birthday. Probably not a very good omen, but I think she’s brilliant.
**fun fact: February 11, 2011 was also the day that Egyptian President Mubarak resigned. Hopefully will be a turn for the better future!)

When I first began my job at the Primaria Merlo Bianco, I was a little bit concerned. I had no direction, no idea where I was going, what I would do, or even if my children would take a liking to me. Sure, to them I would be a ‘cool American,’ but that didn’t mean that everyone would would enjoy my presence. There was still the matter of befriending the faculty, my site supervisor, the parents, and my own teacher that would determine how effective I would implement my service-learning project.

This was not my first experience teaching or tutoring young children, but as I would soon find out, it was a completely new experience, as I had to teach completely on my own. So, you can imagine my apprehension, plunging into the unknown. After the first session with the children, I got a better sense of how to get through to them—using my trivia and pop-culture knowledge of America. While we generally have a lesson plan, other days, I use music, art, sports teams, and site-seeing to give a ‘grand-tour’ of America. I think that I have certainly made strides since day one, but never could have done so without the coaching and approval of my wonderful site supervisor, Barbara.

Over the past few months, I’ve come to realize that some of my favorite places in the world are driven by something I never expected—my love for my home. It’s as much a part of me as the Croatian culture and language with which I was raised. Southern California is in my blood; it only makes sense that my favorite cities resemble (in some form) my favorite things about my home. Zablaće, the village my family came from in Croatia, is a favorite for obvious reasons—it is my heritage. Senchi Ferry (Ghana) and Tutova (Romania), the villages my mother and I volunteered in when I was in high school, are favorites because they remind me of some of the best times I’ve spent with my mother. Barcelona, a city I fell in love with on my spring break last year, is more like SoCal than I can say; its carefree attitude, beach culture, and love of freshly prepared food remind me so much of the California I grew up loving. And now, Florence: my home for the past four months. With the arrival of springtime, it is more like home than ever in this city. A major part of that is the people that I’ve met through my program, but particularly because of Barbara.

Although not a native Florentine, Barbara has fallen easily into the slow-moving pace of Florence. Her love for the children she teaches is apparent in her every interaction. Even when she gets frustrated with bad behavior from the kids, Barbara’s caring spirit overcomes her anger. Of all of the people I have encountered thus far, I have learned the most from her. A busy mother and wife, Barbara is constantly running around trying to make end’s meet. She has two jobs and is heavily involved in her son’s life. She sacrifices so much to attend to her family and her adopted family (pretty much everyone else she meets). Her dedication and strength remind me so much of my mother, which is I guess why I’m so comfortable in her presence. There’s something about being around a mom so often that has a calming effect on a person. With Barbara, it’s even more pronounced.

I remember on my first week, Barbara told me something on our coffee break in the teacher’s lounge that I thought to be sort of a funny thing. She asked if I wanted a coffee, which I graciously accepted (caffe‘ italiano, of course, no caffe‘ lungho for me!). Next she took out a packet of sugar, which she tore open and poured into the espresso she handed me. As she stirred it, she stated, very matter of fact, “Because life is already bitter enough.” I never thought that I could hear something deep over an espresso, but there it was, like words out of a novel, ever so cleverly and casually inserted in routine discourse. I’m sure she didn’t know that this phrase struck such a chord with me that I would be quoting her months after the fact, but I couldn’t help but admire her sage observations and pleasant ways.

Even though she is always in a hurry to get to the next place, Barbara always calmly and cooly collects herself and bucks up for the next ride. She saddles up and rides off without a thought, and confidently plunges into the next activity. It’s confounding that she is able to balance it all and still retain her sense of humor and understanding. When she said that life could be ‘bitter,’ it was not in the dreading sense that other people would express. I can’t imagine anyone else with her schedule remaining so content with life. Sometimes things are ‘bitter,’ but just as she added sugar to curb the bite of my Jolly Caffe‘, Barbara always finds a way to look at the brighter side of everything and rise up to the challenge even in the most trying of times. I have been privileged to have her as a mentor, especially when the person I look to for guidance (my own mother) is even further away than usual (when I’m across the country in New York).

In any case, I hope that everyone has found someone like Barbara to enhance their experience abroad, because she is truly a blessing (as are my students) in my life. :]

Buonagiornata!
VM

PS—thought I would include a picture I took of the cliffs near my house in this entry...so to take a break from Italy, here’s a little bit of Cali!

Life under the Tuscan sun has ripened into a sweet fruit. The streets flow with the succulent nectar of apricots, juice of tomatoes, and zest of lemons. Taking it all in as the blossoming primavera descends the city walls, each breath you take gets you closer to the beauty of Florence. Bustling tourists, flashing camera bulbs, walks along the Arno, music filling piazzas at night—it’s true that as the frost of winter melts away, so does the apprehension of daily encounters. People—natives and tourists the like—are more open, more friendly; the city is an open book for you to explore.

Before coming to live in Florence, my impression of it (having visited twice before) was that it was friendly enough, one of the biggest shopping centers I could find in Europe (excepting the Champs-Elysées), and that it had one of the most beautiful cathedrals I had ever seen (even if it did take three hours to climb that tower). The Galleria dell’Accademia and Galeria degli Uffizi of course spoke to my interest in art, but did not quite confound me until I really began to learn the history behind the structures and creation of the Medici/Lorena Dynasty in Florence.

What I also did not fully understand was that although this city is packed with tourists, it still has the cozy fit of a small-town suburb. Whether you are in centro storia (you don’t get any closer than my apartment in P.zza S. Giovanni) or working across the river (I also commute to teach English at the Primaria Merlo Bianco), the warmth of a neighbor is never out of reach. Common courtesy is not a privilege, it is an expectation. Florentines are a proud people, but though they are well-mannered and always well-groomed (at all ages, through all stages of life), the winter months act as a hibernation of sorts. The cold weather seems to bury something, a part of everyone, during the bitter months of the year. Suddenly, when the sun comes out in April, it is as if the dormant parts are rejuvenated—everyone springs back to life and their ‘missing parts’ are resurrected.

I suppose you could say that the true Florentine spirit is not something that can be fully incapsulated by a person or an idea, but is transient. The true feeling of Florence cannot be captured in a book or a work of art, but rather is a sensibility of spirit that is driven by the seasons. A typical Florentine does not smile with his or her face, typically, but rather with their hearts and actions...or so we were told. But as the sun encourages spontaneous growth of nature, so does it nurture the soul of the city: her people. Understanding that it is always there, smiles come more easily, mistakes are more easily forgiven, and the buses are even less reliable. Such is the carefree nature of springtime and the true meaning of Florence, lascia fluire il vino come vuole, mangi tutto, divertirti ed essere orgoglioso dei risultati del tuo lavoro...

Buonanotte tutti :] xxx
Milena

PS—picture if of flowers at the Boboli Gardens (Palazzo Pitti)

“They say that Florence is just such a breath-taking city, I can’t believe you get to live there! And YOUR VIEW?! What a dream, you are so lucky!” What a funny way we have of expressing reputation, ‘they say.’ No matter how free we might think ourselves, we are somehow always constrained by the desires and expectations of others. In E.M. Forster’s A Room With a View, the protagonist, Lucy Honeychurch begins her journey to Florence as a sheltered youth on the verge. What she cannot predict is how entirely the place will change her.

After arriving in Florence on their first day, Lucy and her cousin/chaperone, Charlotte, encounter the Emersons, who offer to exchange rooms with them to appease their desire for a view of the Arno. In their initial findings of the Emersons, the Lucy/Charlotte duo did not quite know how to react to the ‘imposition’ of their offer (and general presence).

Our first impressions of people are not always as they seem. Politely sitting under the statue of Donatello’s Perseo in the Piazza Signoria, there I was minding my own business after a late night workout. Although I knew it would make me stick out like a sore thumb [for the social-network-junkies: #totaltouristmove], I [mindfully] sat under the sculpture, closely examining the detail of the base, the expression of the decapitated Medusa, Perseus’ eyes. Suddenly someone came up to me and asked me whether or not I had noticed his friend. The guy, Luca, said that he was waiting for him and that he was wearing a white jacket. I replied that I had not and the boy seemed satisfied.

“An Italian can never be ignored, least of all when he has a grievance...he did not leave them until he had swept their minds clean of all thoughts...” Minutes later, Luca came up to me again asking what I was doing, to which I replied honestly—contemplating the Perseo. Why I seemed to answer all of his questions so normally baffled me. Even as the words spilled out of my mouth, I felt they weren’t my own—my good New York street sense had never before faltered, but was wavering. Although Luca kept on in his pursuit (because he knew I was American and he wanted to go to America), I knew nothing would become of this one-way romance (entirely fashioned by Luca—come on, we met in the middle of a Piazza...not the way I’d like to meet my future husband, especially one who had interrupted my nerdy observance of sculpture). As we parted ways at the Duomo, I felt completely bamboozled. What had just happened?

Much as Lucy was swept into George’s open arms, Florence seemed to embrace me and I it (albeit not literally). The idea that Lucy’s life was changed forever by her time spent in Florence seemed no more apparent to me than at this moment (when I had to shoo off a random Italian). She had changed, not only because of this place, but because of her encounters in this city. While I have not shared any experience like Lucy’s (and certainly will not be sharing a kiss on the Arno anytime soon), it is true that although this city can be ‘magical,’ real life occurs as well.

Moving past the fresco-covered walls, ceilings, and corridors, Florentines live their daily lives. Vendors, students, shop-keepers, lawyers, businessmen—people buzz around the city in a constant hurry as they have for centuries, completing daily tasks set before them. Historical structures are museums; schools; apartments. Lucy’s observations about the world around her are as multi-layered as the relationship between Florence as a city, idea, and persona.

A dopo!
xxx
VM

PS—picture taken outside the Uffizi [graffiti over advertisement of Uffizi restoration]

Food is language, love, and commerce in Italy. There are too many hotspots to name. Whether you are Italian, American, a tourist, young, or old, everyone communicates through food. When you meet for lunch, you go to a cafe; dinner, a restaurant...But in the morning, the warm smell of pastries beckons. Waiting for the 7AM bus to Primaria Merlo Bianco (where I volunteer 3 times a week, across the Arno), I’ve caught on to some of the local (and tourist) faves—namely le pasticerie. Some are good, others are convenient, but ‘Pugi’ in Piazza di San Marco is a must. Housing some of the city’s best, most convenient, and quickest flaky treats, Pugi is a buzzing morning hotspot to hit before bussing it to work or school.

Of course, pastries are not a mid-afternoon food, so for lunch, a great place to check out is ‘I fratellini,’ a small shop off of via dei Calzaioli. With some of the best panini in the city, the fratelli have been in business since the late 1800s! In terms of dinnertime and nightlife, this is where the biggest divide comes between natives, students, and tourists. Students prefer to go to places, such as the notorious ‘Acqua al Due’ (amazing Balsamic or Blueberry Steak) ‘Dante’s Pizzeria’ (by Ponte alla Carraia) and top it all off with a trip to ‘Grom’ for some gelato goodness. Local Florentines, however, must have dinner with their families (regardless of age or status, but on special occasions will eat at ‘locals-only’ places like ‘Il Pizzaiolo’) and subsequently will go out to ‘fare un giro’ around the city, while students will hit up local pubs like ‘Joshua Tree’ or ‘The Lion’s Fountain’ and clubs like ‘Space’ and ‘Twice.’ Tourists usually deviate from both of these routines, by eating dinner at some of the more expensive restaurants lining any of the major piazzas in town.

Depending on your perspective, you can fall into any of these categories, but there is one place that everyone shares a mutual appreciation for—the Arno. People from all walks of life stroll by the river. Couples, young and old; athletes; Italian and American students the like; tourists—everyone passes the river at some point (especially in the morning to get out of the Centro Storico to get to work. Although the river serves as a geographical barrier for two parts of the city, it also serves as a link, a guide. Everyone stops by the river at some point, and it’s a wonderful point of reference for all. I guess you could say Florence’s ‘Best’ Good Place is the stretch of water that poses a seeming blockade, when in fact it unifies everyone.

There are so many ‘Great Good Places’ all around Italy. Every city has its Pugi, and what I’ve noticed is that it’s not so much a ‘local hotspot’ that is established for some sort of prestige (unless it’s a historical cafe, like Barca’s “Les 4 Gats”), rather it is a difference in culture that dictates the location one elects to frequent. When peering into windows of these establishments, it’s not as easy as one might think to discern what kind of place you are entering (although the price tag is a bit of a tip off), but I have found that generally speaking, we students gravitate to some of the same places (probably because we search for the faimliar). Along these lines, I’ve tried to enter restaurants in parts of the city that I’m unfamiliar with and that I would not enter on the daily. So far so good—I discovered ‘Il Pizzaiolo!’ Next time, we’ll probably take a cue from the locals and not order the second round of pizzas and cappucini after dinner though...

A domani!
xxx
VM

PS—The picture of the pasticceria is unfortunately not of Pugi, but of another hotspot in Bologna, “Colazione da Bianca” :]

Duomology Pt. II  When thinking about Florence, there are a ton of paintings, sculptures, Piazzas (often accompanied by tasty pizzas), and structures that come to mind. Ponte Vecchio, The Uffizi, Piazza Michelangelo, Palazzo Medici, Boticelli’s La Primavera, Santa Maria Novella, Donatello’s Perseo, Dante’s House, Fortezza da Basso…some of the greatest landmarks in Europe are housed in this city. But when I peer out my window thinking of what one piece encapsulates Florence to perfection, the Duomo di Santa Maria del Fiore is what comes to mind. More specifically, the set of doors that face its Western façade—Ghiberti’s “Gare di Paradiso.”
 
The Gates of Paradise. What name could better summarize this town built in layers upon layers of art. The Medici’s fingerprints are all over this town, the footsteps of immortal genius are forever imprinted in the cobblestone: Dante, Michelangelo, Leonardo, Vasari—but it is seen nowhere better than in he view of passersby of the Battistero di San Giovanni. Although the original Gates are officially housed in the Museo dell’Opera del Duomo (although they are not currently on view, as they are undergoing restoration), the replica doors they have been replaced by never cease to draw in throngs of tourists from all over the world.
 
Although the competition for the commission of the Baptistery doors occurred in 1401 (Ghiberti’s unparalleled skill in gilding won out over a field of contestants including Brunelleschi and Donatello), the composition of ten biblical scenes mesmerizes everyone who gazes upon its shimmering surface. You could be casually strolling around the Piazza, or examining the exterior of the Duomo, when suddenly, you turn your back and discover this gem—like a siren’s call, it is undeniable.
 
The beauty is in the details—that is what ensnares the victims to the Florentine machine. This city is filled in its every nook with statues, Corinthian columns, a fresco here or a garden there. It is not hard to stumble on something breathtaking (and when it happens, believe me, your breath really is snatched) and even though it happens often, I find myself seeking more. That’s what the art is about. That’s what it was made for. We are encased in a fortress of art and the art quenches our thirst, but only for a short while, to keep us coming back for more.

A Presto :]
VM

PICTURE: 'Adam & Eve' Panel #1 (Upper Left)

“Touristic consciousness is motivated by its desire for authentic experiences, and the tourist may believe that he is moving in this direction, but often it is very difficult to tell for sure if the experience is authentic in fact.” (MacCannell 597) Walking around Florence, I have many a time thought to myself ‘If only these tourists would move! Don’t they realize they’re standing in the middle of Via Cavour?!’ much like when I’m on Broadway rushing to class at Silver. But the fact of the matter is, I’m not in NYC, nor am I in my native LA, where I can complain (with some justification) about those people who cause traffic by not turning right on a red light (in CA it’s perfectly legal). I believe that there is certainly a trap that we students abroad can fall into, in thinking that we are residents. For the time being, of course, we are. But, we will never be from here—because obviously we’re all from somewhere else.
 
The places that we come from influence everything we do, even if we may not realize it. Our actions, our reactions, the way we walk, the clothes we wear (most noticeable at the gym, when Europeans wear the slim-fit Puma sneakers and all of the Americans rock the wider Nike kicks), even the way we smell (hey, fragrance preference is different here!). All of these minute details contribute to our American identities, even when assimilated in another culture. That is why, when we ‘feel’ like we’re finally fitting in, or that Italians (Brits, Spaniards, Frenchmen, etc.) are treating us like the ‘locals,’ we are really just kidding ourselves. Sure, for a split second, we might fool the woman at the grocery store [ “Hai bisogno d’una busta?” “Si, grazie” ] any longer than that (even whipping out that EU Cash Card and punching in a PIN number) and they know something is up.
 
My first day at the Mercato, I was buying dried fruit with my suitemates from a really charming woman, who offered us some free nuts and pineapples as a sample. I thought, how sweet of her to do that, when she didn’t have to! A few weeks later into my stay, I returned to buy some veggies and fruit from the same woman. With a little more Italian under my belt, I overheard a conversation between her and another merchant who accused her of taking his vegetables. I was taken aback a bit, but pretended not to hear the minor squabbles of the vendors. Upon making my request in Italian, she curtly handed me my bag and demanded €5 for my purchase. I completed my transaction and later left both proud and disillusioned—she thought I was Italian so she treated me as she would any other Florentine, she also happened to charge me half of what we paid two weeks prior. The other vegetable man, simply shook his head and went back to his truck to retrieve more produce. I felt awful, as if I had wronged a good person (not that I could possibly know that, I was wrong about the nut lady after all).
 
When you’re abroad, what you think might find to be ‘easy access’ or an ‘insider view’ of life in whatever city you might be passing through, most of the time is not. I was able to fool her for just a second (my €5 thanked me for doing that later) and even though, I was perceived as a ‘local,’ it made me realize how dominating a checklist of things locals do, there will forever be things I cannot grasp because I am not marked with a Florentine upbringing. Reading through the 6 Stages of the ‘Authenticity,’ I realize that I can relate to a lot of what MacCannell has delineated in this discourse. What I might at times think is the ‘real deal’ is not, and while it could be, I will never know because I will forever be an outsider peering into this foreign world.

A Presto :]
xxx
VM

PS—the above is a disillusioned picture of the nut lady's scallions for sale (*sigh*)

Books [1] When in Tuscany...
Don’t, for the life of you, assume you’re in a fairy tale.

Well, that’s what Severgnini says in La Bella Figura. He explains the connection that tourists feel with Tuscany as one of bewilderment. People experience the region as if bewitched by their own preconceived notions, rather than through the reality of the place. One of my favorite architectural phenomena that seems to occur most often in Europe is the exposed brick aspect inside and on the exterior of buildings. What I hadn’t thought of was that although this appeals to a modern American aesthetic, for centuries, brick has been covered by multiple layers of plaster and paint to disguise imperfection of color, shape, and form.

Severgnini writes about this American obsession with the bare bones of a structure “[s]till, removing plaster is not a new idea...The ancients couldn’t stand the very thing that fascinates us—those subtle differences in the color and finish of exposed brickwork. Why should we deprive walls of plaster’s protection? It’s as if we ourselves were to go around in our swimwear in winter.” (88) The idea that these objects must appear more beautiful is only better in comparison to the lack of caring represented ‘in compagna’ (the countryside), where all is fenced in and the scenery bears flesh pock-marked by abrasive reds and Listerine blues.

In this venture into the perversion of nature, according to Severgnini, we tourists are not alone. He argues that Italians must learn more to appreciate what they have—that is, Italy. Rather than catering to modernization, in this respect, Italy should remain steadfast in its ideals. Although we are tourists, in some respects, we are also residents of the cities in which we all are studying abroad. As such, I am neither American nor Italian and I’m certainly not nearly as Tuscan or Florentine as I would like. Reading Severgnini’s commentary on the various aspects of the life I’m feigning abroad is quite the eye-opener. My obsession with European window shutters which I once thought a passionate love affair has been reduced to a kitschy, fledging infatuation. My craving for the exposed brick and peeling walls, broken arches, and incomplete alleyways now seem misguided. My attempts to assimilate have failed.

Or have they? Although Severgnini provides native opinions on the beauty and elegance of form are not the definitive answer and should be (as even he proposes) taken with a grain of salt. Although La Bella Figura certainly has made me more aware of my surroundings as they are experienced by the Italian mind (while also considering foreign perceptions), it also recognizes that as a global culture, we all share both fault and praise in our desire to preserve, shape, and re-shape the past. As a society, Americans, Italians, Tuscans, Florentines, and the mongrel of the foursome (the temporary inhabitant), alike progress and regress and in idealization and metamorphoses.

What I gather as the most important aspect of this lesson is that we are simply more conscious of the cross-cultural web and how our interactions with our environments, native or foreign, affect international- and global-ization.

Baci da Firenze!
VM

PS—picture is from Siena, but it shows my love (and the 'modern' Italians') for exposed brick, which, though not intended to be seen (ancient underwear, if you will) we are somehow attracted to :]

La Vita Fiorentina

Well, not quite. One of our roommates had family here this weekend, which was awesome! We got a little taste of home, while giving a tour of our new home. What Nic’s mom said really stuck with me*: “You have to remember that no matter what you’re doing or however long you’re here, don’t get to comfortable, because at the end of the day, you’re still a tourist here.”

So true. I thought I would preface this post with that because everyone runs the risk of feeling all to comfortable with anything that becomes the new routine. I’m LOVING every second of every moment, but with that, I am only a student here and my time is short, so my typical day here is nothing like your average Fiorentine, I’m a hybrid: un’americana chi viva comè una fiorentina.
Three days a week I’m an American student (Monday: Lunedì, Wednesday: Mercoledì, Saturday: Sabato). I get up at 8:30 AM to roll out of bed, chow a little bit, and head to ballet rehearsals at the Florence Dance Center. Then I have class at 1:30 PM on campus (a 45 minute walk to explore side streets), then I’ll hit the books, ‘mini-gym,’ and head home to cook dinner and either do some more homework or catch up on TV back home (shout-out to Megavideo!). Three days a week I try to live as Florentine a life as possible: waking up at 06,00 to get ready for school, but not my school: I teach English at the Primaria Merlo Bianco (Tuesday: Martedì, Thursday: Giovedì, Friday: Venerdì) for Classe I-V (08,30-12,20). After that, I head to the Mercato Centrale to pick up some fresh food for the week before heading to Villa La Pietra for Language Class. After school, I walk home, usually running errands along the way and help prepare dinner for myself and some friends. After this we usually stroll around to check out local hotspots or just to get some fresh air in our lungs. Sunday (Domenica) is my day to be nothing and everything all at once. The way I see it, if the Italians do nothing, the Americans in Italy do nothing. Va bene.

So that’s my routine routine (if there ever was such a thing as a double entendre)...somewhere in between I volunteer with the La Pietra Policy Dialogues too, promoting women’s rights/issues awareness and advocacy in conjunction with the Università e Commune di Firenze).

My Apartment? Can’t complain about it in the least. I have an overview of the Piazza San Giovanni/del Duomo. It’s pretty great at night (not late at night when the drunks are out, but around 7-8 PM is hilarious!) to observe the setting—tourists have just arrive; they have stumbled upon the Duomo; viewing and snapping their first pictures of the jewel of Florence; then they see what appear to be Ghiberti’s “Gates of Paradise” and it’s all over from there. What they don’t realize is that the Gates aren’t the actual entry to the Baptistry...and they’re not located on this side [they’re the shiny ones around the corner! ...which aren’t even the original, but a replica]...CLASSIC tourist mistakes!! It’s great to watch from this view—as other students in my shoes must have watched me, as an eighth grader, embarking on my first trip to this magical place. I think it’s at this time of day that I feel most at home here—in my home [away from home]. When the city is getting ready to go to sleep and everyone is going to their hotel rooms or out to dinner: I get to watch the main crossroads of the town as they intersect.

Another perk to my location: Il Mercato Centrale. The cheapest produce, fruit, legumes, fine chocolates and liqueurs all in one spot—not to mention the AMAZING Cappucini and Panini! Everything is wonderfully affordable! You can eat for 5€ a day! I LOVE IT! But, it doesn’t have everything—well, it doesn’t have toilet paper. So, I also go to the super market to pick up other incidentals like paper towels, laundry detergent, soups, cereals, etc...even so, with all of this fresh, beautiful organic food, I spent a FRACTION of what I spend in New York on groceries in a week. It’s easy living in NYC to spend over $100 on groceries, even if it’s at Food Emporium (although I’ll admit to being a Whole Foods-er on most accounts), but here, I spend about $60...on your average week in NY (including nights dining out), that’s less than half of the money I spend!

Laundry is also much cheaper here...in fact it is free (unless you count utilities in tuition, in which case, it’s still $1,000 cheaper than living in NY). The only difference—we air dry our clothes: a small sacrifice, as I just let it sit out at night to dry (which isn’t an inconvenience, unless you study abroad in Washington and don’t sleep at night). Everything about our location is convenient, as we live in centro città. The Piazza del Duomo is great because it leads to most major exhibits and museums that you need to go to for class (today my Museology class met at the Duomo, which would have been convenient, had I not been sick as a dog for a week :/), not to mention it’s the Duomo. It’s tall. You can’t lose. Not even if you tried.

I think one of my favorite parts about the rustic atmosphere is seeing old and new side by side. My building is super old, as is evident by the ceilings (the photo with this post), but renovations to the structure demanded a few updates, so there are metal support beams in some places and the walls are clearly plaster layered over years of plaster before covering stone. The uneven edges and crooked levels make it all the more beautiful. Our doors? The outermost door is a huge heavy wooden door with a gigantic golden knob at the center—all for looks, of course, because on the inside, the door is reinforced with sheet metal and an electric locking system. Likewise, our apartment doors are a slightly updated 1970s wooden panel with thick metal interior. This building is great; and did I mention the shutters on the windows? I have a strange obsession with European window shutters, and now I actually get to use them, not just for a visit, but they’re temporarily mine! Along with real glass-paned windows.

La vita fiorentina e` magnificente, alas, I am but a guest in this city, but I get to see through eyes of a true Florentine through the windows from which clothes are laid out to dry, where small basil and cooking herbs grow, where pigeons stoop, and where I am permitted for four short months to preside over the daily activities of passers-by.

*I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I look at life as a movie with events unfolding...and I like to pick out my favorite lines and quotes from people I know.

Sorry for the long post, but I’m loving life here so much, I can’t contain myself (and I’m sick and can’t do anything from bed but write). Oh, and since I am living as Florentine a life I can...I saw a doctor who was so sweet and understanding, she helped me right away [had a fever of 39ºC, yikes!] and all of my meds only cost €20,10!

I have always loved the exotic—infatuation doesn’t cut it. My mom took me on my first trip to Europe when I was six. I just saw the newest Disney flick (being the cool, trendy kid I am), The Hunchback of Notre Dame and my mom asked me if I wanted to see the real place. I remember calmly responding “Uh-huh” with an unknowing grin on my face. My mom has travelled everywhere in Europe and even got married and lived in Croatia (fyi: don’t know if I mentioned this, I’m full Croatian and fun fact, didn’t speak English until I was about six or so—all of the tape recordings my mom kept from this trip feature a young Millie with a really funny Slavic accent)...so I was in good hands in the culture department—my mom knows what’s up.

There was a little problem—I was bilingual, not trilingual. I remember trying my hardest to pronounce the nasal and throaty tones of the French language, but ended up rolling my rs and throwing in a few ‘buenos’—again, I’m from SoCal so I know some Spanish (now that you know me better, I’m sure you could guess they have to do with food...quesadilla/burrito/bueno/mas salsa por favor). In the language department, I was totally lost but for a child, it’s forgivable, for an adult, not so much (I have since learned French). Luckily my roommate/one of my best friends is fluent in Italian and I’ve picked up a few handy phrases over the years. Too bad Italian isn’t spoken in Austria :/ where we spent my birthday this past weekend!! :]

One of my favorite parts of traveling is that most people are friendly and willing to teach, so long as you’re willing to learn. Between our bittes, dänkes, guttentägs, das goods, and wündebars, there weren’t many things we could explain. Asking for directions was a little daunting. We ended up slipping into Italian, French, Spanish, and Croatian without even really realizing. Thankfully, people understood from our rainbow of languages and our attempts to explain what and where we needed to go (in fact I met a Serbian man who was able to give me directions to the Kunsthisthorische Museum lickity split once I explained in Croatian)...

Both my roommate and I are completely fascinated with German (as both of us need to learn it for grad school), so we tried to pick it up as best we could. Here’s what I’ve got so far: Alles gute sum Geburtstag! Happy Birthday...but please don’t ask me to pronounce it ;) I haven’t felt so lost abroad since I was a kid! Even though it may be a little awkward, I LOVE the feeling. I embrace it because, just like Flaubert, I love the foreign, the exotic, the new! Having unique experiences—conversing with complete strangers in five tongues and finding things in common offers a chance for not only cross-cultural exchange, but also a chance to find out how quickly I can adapt; what I like, what I don’t like, how I can be a better communicator (emotionally/verbally/intellectually), and who I am as an individual.

It sounds super cheesy to write out, but finding out these things at my age is important. I’m learning how to be happier, how to be more welcoming, how to react to the opinions and actions of others. not that I’m not tolerant or accepting, but having to think on my feet and make things up as I go while abroad, instead of being stuck in my comfortable bubble back home in California—even in NYC—where everyone can understand me and why I think a certain way/do certain things/react certain ways has totally forced me to uncover another layer of myself.

I think that this is true regardless of where you are. I’m not in my home country, but I feel totally at home. The primaria I volunteer at is run by nuns, and on my first day there, I had to explain, gesture, do crazy motions with my hands to express myself because the nuns didn’t speak any English. What one of the sisters said to me really stuck with me and I don’t think as long as I live I’ll ever forget how she spoke to me, she said, “I understand, when you speak from the heart anyone can understand your words.” She gestured to her heart and led me where I needed to go to meet my site coordinator, Ms. Barbara. If you speak honestly from your heart, if you know who you are, and if you are confident in yourself, people understand your intentions regardless of whatever language barrier is in place.

Bog. Ciao. Auf Wiedersein.
VM

PS--this pic is of the sidewalk in Vienna, featuring my roommate’s feet & super cute Vera Wang flats :]

AIUTO: Sono perso!!

...but not really. Florence is a BIG place, but let’s be real, I live in Piazza San Giovanni [[aka Piazza del Duomo]]. It’s pretty hard for me to get lost, because you can’t lose the Duomo--wherever you go, there it is! I guess you could say that my best landmark is my home ;) [[definitely blessed to have that place...we are so lucky to be there, even if drunken students--Italians and Americans the like--wake me every night]].

To the North (? actually it could be South, East or West and I wouldn’t know the difference: sorry guys, I’m from California, we use minutes to gauge distance and left/right for directions...so straight ahead from my apartment) is the Arno river and the Ponte Vecchio. Two bridges to the right (East?) of that is the Ponte alla Carraia (the bridge that leads to one of the other dorms, on via Maffia; my dance studio, the Florence Dance Center on Borgo della Stella; and one of the best pizza joints in town, Dante’s Pizzeria! It’s kind of funny to think about, but as we have gone out and explored more, I’ve noticed that even though I’m pretty good with directions, I always seem to reference them to the Duomo (of course), but in more specific terms outside of the city center, restaurants are the landmarks of choice. For instance, if you want to go to the via Ricasoli dorm, from the Duomo, you would go straight (opposite the Baptistry) toward Yellowtail (never ate there, but heard it was good), make a left towards Il Volpo e Il Gato (on via Ghibelina), then continue down the road and make another left toward Restaurante Il Teatro (via Ricasoli) and find yourself at the apartment located next to Angelika’s bar (via Ricasoli, 96).

(I wasn’t kidding when I prefaced this blog with the fact that I’m a food vacuum) I’ve found that a majority of my experiences in the city (other than the art) revolves around food and BIG meals—not in the sense that Americans think of the concept though. By big meals, I mean big groups of people gathering places to decompress and de-stress. It’s probably my favorite thing to do just to sit and talk about Florence and other cities we’re visiting over a delicious meal.

At home, my mama and I ALWAYS eat out, and it’s not because we can’t cook (she boils water, I make toast), but being out and about after a rough day of class/ballet/work for the two of us gives us a chance to hang out and gossip about all of the goings-on in our lives. I’m really big on this kind of ‘family’ style dinner and find that we have so many things to talk about abroad. In New York, the pace is go, go, go...I hardly have time to breathe, let alone think about organizing dinner with friends and family. Here, life is simple. You wake up, you study, you exercise (usually the walk up that hill will suffice, but for the extra ambitious there’s a mini-gym on campus), you eat, you socialize. The beauty of being here is that the education is the socialization and the homework is delicious.

It’s fascinating exactly how important it is to de-clutter your life by experiencing the beauty in what Americans consider the ‘little things in life’—meals, walking, talking, atmosphere. Because of this, I’ve determined to make my main means of transportation my feet. In the mornings, I volunteer at a school called Primaria Merlo Bianco over the Arno river (and for that I take the bus, as I have to get there at 8:30 AM...YIKES!) and walking around there I haven’t really had to ask for directions, but I have run into several people who have asked me for directions (I guess I don’t stick out that much...except that while Italians wear puffer coats in 50º weather, I rock my Cali gear sans Rainbow flip-flops—a cardigan, and tank)—unfortunately I’m not really a native and have to respond ‘dispiace...non lo so.’ Once I’m in more familiar territory though, I generally have an hour or two to kill—usually spent sipping a cappuccino/espresso at the Mercato Centrale before heading up to campus. The walk to La Pietra from the Duomo takes about 45 minutes, but I try to take a slightly different route everyday so that I can scope out my surrounding streets and alleyways. And have found several incredible panoramic views on the way back (I like to change up the return trip too—hey, 45 minutes is a long time!)

I have a pretty good idea of the places I volunteer in, but I feel like the map of the city in my head is still a little fuzzy—like it’s got gigantic swiss cheese holes in parts I’ve never been too (a majority of the city)...That’s why I’m keeping a record of my time here as a cartographer—I’m working on a big map that shows my idea of the city...the way I see it/have seen it. I’m trying to find my way around without looking at a map, so I’m going to draw blindly and at the end of the semester will post a pic comparing my map to the actual map of Florence.

A presto,
VM

PS--picture is of a cappuccino I got one of my first days in Florence
PPS--sorry for the late post!! I had not internet :[

"If we are inclined to forget how much there is in the world besides that which we participate, then works of art are perhaps a little to blame, for in them we find at work the same process of simplification or selection as in the imagination."––pag. 13, "The Art of Travel" 

Ciao tutti! Arriving in Florence brought a welcome feeling: a heightening of the senses. Although it's not my first trip to this city (in fact, I have travelled to Europe loads of times) it is my first time living abroad. The familiar clammering of heels on the cobblestone (and subsequent drunken heap of American collegians), the smell of freshly baked pizza, the glistening Arno in the morning light, the clean (comparitively) air whipping my face...all integral parts of the daily Florentine life rushed back to me as if I never left this magical place. My dorm (situated on the south-west corner of the Piazza di Duomo...yeah, that's right, Piazza San Giovanni has a view of the duomo!!!!!!!!!) allows me to wake up and walk by the Gates of Paradise every day. It's insane. That's why the passage above is so ironic to me. While Italy is definitely more than just a painting (or millions of them)...my experience here has taught me that Italy is nothing but art––the food, the architecture, the clothes, the men––everything about this land is art, but it's not just limited to the scope of a canvas.

The experience of this city is what you can bank on. I try to take a different route from campus everyday so that I can really experience all that I can. I've stumbled across some of the most breathtaking views and other views and smells that take my breath away (out of shock or fear that noxious fumes might overwhelm me : / ). I've even been able to incorporate my love for ballet into my stay here (taking lessons from AMAZING staff at the Florence Dance Center tutto in italiano. I'm going to be fluent in no time!).

When I started reading "The Art of Travel," I tried to think back on my first visit to Italy (age 14). I thought back on how I felt––completely overwhelmed by everything. Even though I had grown up traveling and seeing new parts of the world, Italy is so much older and...just more in every way, here, it's sensory overload on the daily. Getting here: non-issue, barring financial difficulty; understanding the language: you could teach yourself from a book; learning about the Italian state of mind: go read some Dante; becoming a native: whole other story. I've studied so many different works, memorized bio after bio after bio on artists, yet somehow eating a gelato under the duomo and having Italian tourists ask me where S. Maria Novella is, nothing compares. Where anticipation is concerned, each day that I am here leaves me more excited than the night before my first solo voyage in the 8th grade. The prospect of something new is always around the corner, over the bridge, or in my own apartment (my roommates and I have already hosted several dinner parties).

If food is culture, I'm in love with every sensation experienced by the Italian Palette (especially that of gelato, Nocciola e' la chiave a mio cuoro...still learning sorry for the horribly broken Italian). This place makes you sing prose and bleed poetry, it's insane. I found myself staring at a splatter of tomato sauce on the street near my dance studio (Borgo della Stella) thinking it was the most profound random splatter I'd ever seen––thinking on Pollock...I honestly cannot wrap my head around the thought of hating travel. Baudelaire's 'boredom' au Voyage is, in my opinion, a snobbish disregard for the true beauty in travel––experiencing something out of one's own comfort zone. I suppose he didn't travel 'properly' because the whole idea is to immerse yourself and uncover a new layer in the process of self-growth and betterment. It might sound totally hokey, but why else bother? I'm enjoying all of my classes, but the real education isn't at the Villa, nor is it in a book, it's in the buzz of the mercato and in the contemporary lives of Italian youth (went to a fabulous exhibition of Vintage art/clothing/conoisseurs of nick-nacks and what-nots at the old Stazione Leopolda––vai qui: http://vintageselection.blogspot.com/)...

I think that's all for now :] Can't wait to hear everyone's first week reactions!
A presto!
VM (e' pronuncire: vu-emme)

Ciao a Tutti!!

Hey everyone! My name is Milena (or Millie, if you prefer) and I’m a Gallatin Junior studying Art Restoration, specializing in Mediterranean Art of Southern Europe/the Near East/Northern Africa (no spiffy title as of yet)...I’m from sunny and gorgeous all the time LA (a little port town called San Pedro) so moving from SoCal to nippy and grey NYC was a major culture shock, like whoa. I come from a Croatian household and was raised in a house of four generations. My life is like My Big Fat Greek Wedding (replace Greek with Croatian and that’s a perfect description)...fun facts: native language = Croatian; first extracurricular = Croatian school; second extracurricular = Croatian Cultural Dance Club (called “Kolo”); church = attended in Croatian since...birth (...see what I mean?)

So that’s background, here are the essentials: I’ve tried everything from Tae Kwon Do to horseback riding to b-ballin and finally decided to stick with ballet. Faves—
[1] Drive: Mustang
[2] Food: pizza
[3] Ice Cream (needs own category): pumpkin
[4] Gelato (^ditto): amaretto, nocciola, stracciatella, and pistachio are tied for first :]
[5] Song: “Suspicious Minds” by Elvis Presley
[6] Place in the world: family village in Croatia (called Zablace)
[7] Piece of Art: anything by Cezanne
[8] Movie: There Will Be Blood
[9] Icon: Miss America 1955, Lee Ann Meriwether
[10] Concert I’ve Ever Seen: tie between Coldplay ‘Viva La Vida’ Tour Summer ’09 + JM3 Las Vegas NYE ’10

I’m not a total loner, but my mom is my best friend. We have no secrets, gossip tons, and when I grow up (if it ever happens) I want to be more like her :] I’ve been to over 15 countries on 3 different continents. When you count the amount of cities I’ve travelled to, the number is definitely a triple digit (maybe more) between 200 and 999. I have an uncanny sense of time and can pretty much pinpoint what time it is to the minute. Ironically I suffer from chronic tardiness.

I seem to always be sick with something/have freak injuries (like the time my freshman year I pulled an all-nighter and burned myself with the hot water in Hayden and had to take an ambulance to St. Vincent’s, only to find out I burned 10% of my body—my whole left arm). I love volunteering and have done so in Romania and Ghana (soon to be in Italy as well!)

I’m super excited for my semester abroad and can’t wait to hear about all of your adventures too!!

Ciao Ciao,
VM

PS--my mom and I are obsessed with films/film history...sooo my username, violetmills is my ‘screen name’—a combo of my middle and first names :]
PPS--I'm not that clever and the 'duomology' reference is to SpongeBob and was coined by some friends that I made here in Italy (Jeff and Paul, if you ever read this, don't hate me!!)