October 17, 2006
Last Days in Italy (one year + 19)
There really isn't anything motivating me to write at this particular moment. If there is anything I can think of to rant about it would be the fact that I will be on a flight home in a week but to be honest I don't want to think about that just yet. The week before I started this trip people kept asking me how I felt and if I was excited etc. and most of the time I had no answer because I was numb. I couldn't even begin to comprehend what I was about to embark on just as now I cannot and do not want to comprehend my return home.
So instead I'll concentrate on Italy.
Italy has proved to be a delight but not a delight in the sense of a light puffy cream filled eclair, but more in the sense of a very large bowl of saucy carbonara. So maybe delight isn't the best word. It is a rich and vibrant country that often leaves you feeling overwhelmed and overstuffed. It's in your face yet at the same time relaxed and unobtrusive. Like a compari spritzer it's a mix of the sweet, bubbly and bitter.
Right now (as usual when I write) I'm on a train, but this time to Nice or Nizza as the Italians call it, although it does seem more appropriate to call it by it's French name since it's a French city. I'm sad to be leaving Italy and a language I can kind of understand if people speak slowly. I have enjoyed tripping along the cobblestone streets and munching on 5 euro pizzas. Strolling the sprawling gardens and examining the fading frescos. Being entranced by the villages perched on treecovered hill tops and drooling over heaping mounds of gelati, yet I am excited to get to a new place.
I spent the last week in Treviso, a city ouside of Venice, with Vallé, a close family friend of the Oakes who lived with them her senior year in high school as part of a foreign exchange program. I had an amazing time chatting with her and her friends over spritzers and quick yet fabulously tasty Italian meals. She was an amazing hostess yet I will say that I think there was an element of relief present as we said our goodbyes outside the train station early this morning. She ran herself ragged entertaining me and wouldn't let me pay for anything let alone do a dish. She was the hostess of hostesses and in many ways an Oakes in her hospitality yet after 5 days I'm sure I was somewhat of a burden. I definitely didn't feel as if I was carrying my own weight. I'm sure she will release a sigh of relief when she opens her front door and I'm not sitting on her couch eating cheese and watching a Quentin Tarantino film.
I was very happy not to stay in Venice since it is totally overpriced and overtouristed. The first day I roamed the narrow vias crossing canals and piazzas knowing that each step was getting me more lost. But I embraced the mazelike city especially since getting lost meant finding less touristy areas. Oddly enough I quicky found myself bored with the wandering and made my way back to the couch.
My second visit we went to the Guggenheim museum and saw and exhibit by one of Vallé's work collegues. It was a compilation of her son's artwork who unfortunately passed away last year at the age of six. As the youngest artist ever submitted to the Guggenheim I looked a bit closer than I would have had we been sitting in his livingroom, and with what little I've seen of childrens' doodles I did recognize some talent. Spaceships, spiders, snakes and brightly colored hectagons. It was a beautiful exhibit to see and although it had a cheerful feel and was full of children playing and painting, I couldn't help but find it depressing. Sometimes a "celebration of life" doesn't feel like much of a celebration.
Other than those two visits I found little more of interest in Venice. It is a beautiful city and I can understand it's allure, but no matter how magical a place may be, if you add that many tourists there's not enough pixie dust to go around. At this point in my journey, knowing I still have the burning desire to be trekking my way across the unforgiving African countryside, being herded along behind chatty oblivious tour groups isn't exactly my cup of tè.
I'm excited to escape the crowds but sad to leave the culture. Hopefully France will prove to be a little less attractive to tour groups and I'll be able to find myself a nice little bit of uncrowed beach.
So instead I'll concentrate on Italy.
Italy has proved to be a delight but not a delight in the sense of a light puffy cream filled eclair, but more in the sense of a very large bowl of saucy carbonara. So maybe delight isn't the best word. It is a rich and vibrant country that often leaves you feeling overwhelmed and overstuffed. It's in your face yet at the same time relaxed and unobtrusive. Like a compari spritzer it's a mix of the sweet, bubbly and bitter.
Right now (as usual when I write) I'm on a train, but this time to Nice or Nizza as the Italians call it, although it does seem more appropriate to call it by it's French name since it's a French city. I'm sad to be leaving Italy and a language I can kind of understand if people speak slowly. I have enjoyed tripping along the cobblestone streets and munching on 5 euro pizzas. Strolling the sprawling gardens and examining the fading frescos. Being entranced by the villages perched on treecovered hill tops and drooling over heaping mounds of gelati, yet I am excited to get to a new place.
I spent the last week in Treviso, a city ouside of Venice, with Vallé, a close family friend of the Oakes who lived with them her senior year in high school as part of a foreign exchange program. I had an amazing time chatting with her and her friends over spritzers and quick yet fabulously tasty Italian meals. She was an amazing hostess yet I will say that I think there was an element of relief present as we said our goodbyes outside the train station early this morning. She ran herself ragged entertaining me and wouldn't let me pay for anything let alone do a dish. She was the hostess of hostesses and in many ways an Oakes in her hospitality yet after 5 days I'm sure I was somewhat of a burden. I definitely didn't feel as if I was carrying my own weight. I'm sure she will release a sigh of relief when she opens her front door and I'm not sitting on her couch eating cheese and watching a Quentin Tarantino film.
I was very happy not to stay in Venice since it is totally overpriced and overtouristed. The first day I roamed the narrow vias crossing canals and piazzas knowing that each step was getting me more lost. But I embraced the mazelike city especially since getting lost meant finding less touristy areas. Oddly enough I quicky found myself bored with the wandering and made my way back to the couch.
My second visit we went to the Guggenheim museum and saw and exhibit by one of Vallé's work collegues. It was a compilation of her son's artwork who unfortunately passed away last year at the age of six. As the youngest artist ever submitted to the Guggenheim I looked a bit closer than I would have had we been sitting in his livingroom, and with what little I've seen of childrens' doodles I did recognize some talent. Spaceships, spiders, snakes and brightly colored hectagons. It was a beautiful exhibit to see and although it had a cheerful feel and was full of children playing and painting, I couldn't help but find it depressing. Sometimes a "celebration of life" doesn't feel like much of a celebration.
Other than those two visits I found little more of interest in Venice. It is a beautiful city and I can understand it's allure, but no matter how magical a place may be, if you add that many tourists there's not enough pixie dust to go around. At this point in my journey, knowing I still have the burning desire to be trekking my way across the unforgiving African countryside, being herded along behind chatty oblivious tour groups isn't exactly my cup of tè.
I'm excited to escape the crowds but sad to leave the culture. Hopefully France will prove to be a little less attractive to tour groups and I'll be able to find myself a nice little bit of uncrowed beach.
