New Dispatches From Italy
Monday, August 23, 2004

More fun: Naples and Pompeii

I have been terrible about keeping this journal. Since I last posted, I have not written a word.

Elana and the other students had their final critique last week. It went very well for Elana; she got a healthy combination of praise and constructive criticism.

This past weekend we drove to the south of Italy to visit Pompeii. The idea of a trip to Pompeii was hatched while we were still in Israel--the idea was to go with a group of people from there. The way it turned out, we ended up with some people from the American delegation to Montecastello instead.

We rented the car and picked it up on Friday night. On Saturday morning we packed up the car with our trip-mates and started driving at 7 AM. It was a long drive, first to Rome and then to Naples, where our hotel was. We had tried to get a place in Pompeii itself, but that proved impossible.

Naples, a friend of mine warned me recently, is quite a seedy place. Well, she was right; but it served its main purpose, which was as a jumping off point for a day trip to the ruins of Pompeii. We found our hotel with only a minimum of trouble navigating the city streets, which were designed for horses and have not been upgraded. The south has always been poorer in Italy, dating back hundreds of years, and after seeing Florence, it's pretty clear that this holds as true today as ever. Still, Napoli was not without its charm.

Our first order of business, seeing as how we were in Naples, after all, was to find a pizzeria. This we accomplished on our walk to the National Archaeology Museum; everyone was more or less satisfied with their pizza.

The Archaeology Museum exhibits most of the recovered objects from the Vesuvius eruption that buried Pompeii in such a way as to preserve the whole town for future tourists. The museum had a great collection (though it was disturbing to see spider webs on some Greek statues--upkeep must have been the victim of budget cuts). But the Pompeii section was awesome; most of it was mosaics, although there were some statues and frescoes preserved, as well.

After a brief break at a gelato place, we continued our tour of Naples by going to the Castle Nuovo, a 12th century fortress which now houses a museum of Baroque art and a commanding view of the city. Baroque art, I discovered, is not really my taste, but it was still fun to explore the castle.

By this point we were all actually pretty tired, so we returned to our hotel, where we relaxed until we took a walk through the town center at night. Then, we came back, collapsed, slept until morning, and, after a quick breakfast, we found our car and hit the road. Again with only minor difficulties, we found our way out of the city.

We hit Pompeii after about half an hour. Pompeii was spectacular. We split up from the rest of the group and wandered. We walked into the Amphitheatre through the gladiators' entrance, meandered through the town with Mount Vesuvious looming (threateningly, I thought, although I'm sure I had history in my mind when that particular idea entered it) and saw the "Villa of Mysteries," a home that was preserved with amazing artwork intact. It took us six hours, and we still didn't see everything. The size of this town, and the level of preservation, is absolutely astounding. I won't do it justice here, so I won't write more about it except to say that if you find yourself in Italy, you must go.

After we left Pompeii, we headed southward on the coast towards Sorrento, where our trip-mates hoped to relax on the beach. We ended up at a beach in a nearby town; they went swimming, while Elana and I, anxious to be out of the sun for a while, just sat and relaxed. We then piled back into the car and, after a stop at a steakhouse for dinner, we drove all the way back to Montecastello.

This Thursday we are going to go to Bologna with the group. I'll take pictures and post this entry after we get back. Ciao!

*****

Friday, August 27, 2004

Elana's Birthday, Bologna

Wednesday, the 25th, was Elana's 24th birthday. We introduced Mafia to the International School of Art, and it seemed like a big hit. A night of mafia and gelato is unlikely to draw too many complaints. The games wound down and everybody shuffled off towards their various residences to go to sleep; we ran into one of the townies, an older man named Gian-Marino, who remembers Elana (and her paintings) from three years ago and is quite fond of her. He wished her a happy birthday in flamboyant and jubilant Italian.

Yesterday, Thursday, we were up extremely early; the class was being bussed to Bologna, and it's a four-hour ride from here. Most everyone, including us, got some extra sleep on the bus. We had a list prepared of things we wanted to see, but we both agreed that our priority was to have a fun, relaxing day, and not to rush around and "see everything." It was a good plan. Our first errand was to get a map, which we did with ease at a newsstand on our way to our first stop, the Pinacoteca Nazionale.

The Pinacoteca is Bologna's piece of the Italian national artistic heritage. With works by Crespi, Titian, Raphael, and others (for those of you who get the joke here: "He's got his thumb over the name!"), the Pinacoteca was quite satisfying. It was small compared to Florence's various art complexes, but a lot was crammed into a smallish space. There was also a collection of religious art (with John the Baptist and Saint Jerome playing leading roles in Bolognese art, apparently) and an absolutely amazing collection of frescoes. Some of them were badly damaged, and the paint was chipping off, and (and this was fantastic) one can see the original drawings.

Elana stopped to sketch a beautiful painting by Crespi. When she was done, we continued on our way.

We were both pretty hungry by this point, and we actually ran into some of Elana's classmates all also looking for lunch. We decided not to wait around for them to agree on a place and quickly slipped off, and found a restaurant with a nice feel to it in pretty short order. We had a relaxed meal, and afterwards we headed to the second item on our list: the Museo Morandi.

Giorgio Morandi is Bologna's favorite son; his paintings are notable his play with form and space, and the freshness of his approach. He is most famous for his still-lifes, which seem to vibrate back and forth between one large shape and a collection of smaller objects, both being crowded in by the space and actively pushing out at it. Just about everybody from the class was in the Museo Morandi when we arrived. It was a very extensive collection, and included a recreation of Morandi's studio.

We slipped out of the Morandi Museum and headed next door, within the same building, to the Collezione Comunale, a gallery which advertised works by several important artists, including Artemisia Gentelleschi, the daughter of one of the first, and perhaps the most distinctive follower of Caravaggio, and who became an incredible and important painter in her own right--the only woman to be mentioned among the greats. The Collezione Comunale was a disappointment. For one thing, there was only one Artemisia painting, seen here. The picture is taken at such an extreme angle because it was hung so high and in such a place that to look at it straight on is to accept a blinding glare. There was, however, a large collection of work that looked as if it was the inspiration for "artists" like Thomas Kincaid. It was not at all inspiring to look it, but at least there was a lot of it, right?

At this point we were ready for a break, so we took a rather long walk (with the help of the map) to a gelato place that Elana's student sourcebook recommended. It was pretty good; the chocolate was quite rich, and they gave so much that we didn't finish our portions, and I'm not sure if it rated a special mention in the ISA sourcebook. Regardless, we were pretty satisfied with it; besides, the walk there gave us a chance to see more of Bologna, which is quite a wonderful city. It wasn't as touristy and glitzy and Florence; nor was it as seedy as Naples. It is, as the pre-trip lecture about Bologna explained, the most "lived-in" city we will have seen (Rome was obviously excepted, but I myself actually didn't spend any appreciable time in Rome, so Bologna was the most "city-like" for me). With only about an hour and a half left before the bus was scheduled to pull out from the other side of the city, we took the long route and stopped at a bookstore that sold rare art books. We poked around for a while and didn't buy anything; for one thing, the books were all in Italian (go figure!). We left and headed back to the bus, and arrived right on time.

All in all, we had a really good day in Bologna. With my expert navigation (which, thank goodness, was checked and corrected by a patient wife) we made pretty good time and saw the things that were important to see, given our one day there. This was the last trip the class will be taking. I will have more to write after the final students' show and as we prepare for our trip to the States: first to Denver for a week-and-a-half, and then to Los Angeles for about a month. We're looking forward to seeing a lot of you!

- posted by @ 11:25 PM

 
Dispatches from Italy
So I finally got a chance to get this up here. It's three long entries from my first week in Italy. Enjoy. I have.

*****

Friday, August 06, 2004

Buon Giorno!

I’m in Italy!

I left Jerusalem for Ashdod after packing up the apartment (which took longer than one would expect!) and spent the night there. I went with Tova and a few of her friends to a huge concert on the beach, where there was a lineup of Israeli singers singing songs I recognized from Galgalatz radio; Sarit Haddad was the only one I had heard of, but the others sang songs I knew.

I went to bed late, and woke up early; did some last minute packing, and was on my way to the airport! It was hard to believe that a year had already gone by. I was in no way mentally prepared to leave Israel; I was talking with Alla (who drove me) on the way about how the original plan had been to stay for only a year. I saw very clearly at that moment that one year would not have been nearly enough for either me or Elana.

I arrived at the airport early, which turned out to be a good thing. After saying goodbye to Alla and Liat, who had accompanied us, I got in line…only to be told I had to clear security in section D once I reached the checkpoint, by virtue of my non-Israeli passport. Gritting my teeth ever-so-slightly, I knew it would not be too long before I cleared; once I had, I went back to the original line. There was a new screener there, and, upon seeing my passport, he started waving me immediately to section D.

“Non-Israeli passports, go to D,” he said. I attempted to point out that I had been through this process already, but he apparently was ready for anything. “I don’t care how long you stood in line, just GO TO D!”

I smirked slightly at him—at least I tried to—when I showed him the yellow tag on my bag which indicated that security had already deemed my luggage fit to ship. To his credit, he laughed it off and apologized, and told me to go right ahead. Still, I thought, How high strung. That incident, more than anything else, helped me to realize that I was, in fact, leaving Israel, that I was going on vacation, and that I was really ready for that.

The plane flight was uneventful until the landing. It was cloudy most of the way once we hit Italy, and we descended out of the clouds, and the landscape was just stunning. Deep and light green fields checkered the countryside, hemmed in by rows of forest. Here and there little drops of white-and-red poked out; villas and farmhouses. And the weather was beautiful.

Aesthetically beautiful, that is. Ominous grey clouds with piercing sunshine flying through here and there, lightning, thunder, heavy wind butting the plane and pouring rain made it less than ideal for landing. I was glued to the window. Two simultaneous lightning strikes about 100 meters from the plane. Gorgeous and terrifying all at once.

We finally landed in Rome, quite smoothly, actually, and I was, for the first time in my life (the layover at Hamburg airport in 5th graded doesn’t count) in continental Europe.

Luck was with me; I reached passport line early. About three minutes after I got in line (behind about ten people) the line had grown to a substantial crowd, a mix of Israelis, Russians and Japanese (three planes had arrived at the same time, it would seem). I passed through with no problem, and, as my luck continued, I had to wait a grand total of seven seconds before I got my bag at the baggage claim.

That’s when things started to turn slightly south. First of all, I was too late for the last bus to this area, so I walked what seemed like a kilometer before I got to the Metro station, from which I took a train to Termini station. Termini station is a gigantic network of shops and train departure platforms, and it took me about twenty minutes to walk from the Metro exit to the ticket counter. At this point I noticed the weird guy following me. He was wearing a blue shirt and dark jeans, with crazy looking bug eyes. He was with me on the train from da Vinci airport; whenever I turned around he was standing there. I resolved to keep an eye on him, but wasn’t terribly worried; it’s hard for a thief to rob you if you know he’s there. I got into the line at the ticket counter, only to realize that these trains were international; the guy was three people behind me. When I realized my error and left the line and went to look for the local Italian trains, he left the line, too. Not in a particular mood to play this game, I walked straight up to the first policeman I could find, shot ol’ bug eyes a very purposeful look (which he met—he was watching me) and, as he walked by quickly without paying attention to me, I asked the policeman, “Scuzi, ah, dove…compre…biglietti…per…uh...” (at this point he smiled sadly) “per…trane…en Italia? No per Germania, o per Franzia, uh…” I was reduced at this point to wildly gesticulating with my hands, hoping that all the stereotypes about Italian communication were true and that he could understand that “Where can I find the ticket counter for the intra-Italian trains” is expressed in gesticulation as “trying to dislocate one’s rotator cuff.” He giggled slightly and shook his head. I started to try again, and he again shook his head and waved his finger “no.”

“Where do you need to buy tickets to?” he asked.

Five seconds later and about six steps away, I was back in a line. Once I got to the front of the line, I got some bad news. The last train for Terni (my transfer point) had left about the time my plane was landing, and the next one left at 11:30 PM—and the local trains had stopped, so they wouldn’t get me to where I needed to be until 6 in the morning. With no way to get in touch with Elana, or anyone, really, I knew that wasn’t an option. Which meant the expensive option was the only one left. A taxi.

I bared my teeth against the rain and wind outside. The taxis were all looking for a price that I really hoped to avoid paying. Then, a grandfatherly man (around 65, perhaps) came up to me and asked me where I needed to go. I told him; he had never heard of Montecastello, so I showed him on a map. He ran his own private car company (he said) and would take me for about half the price the taxis were asking; he wouldn’t charge me double outside the city limits. I took it. But not before bargaining him down a few more Euros. Not that I’m a great haggler, by any means (although, one would think…), but just so he’d know I wasn’t a fool.

The back streets through Rome made me think otherwise, however; I was a fool. He was no doubt going to drop me off somewhere in the city and steal my luggage. But, no, he didn’t. He introduced himself: “Pascaule!” He cried. “I am Romano. Romano first, Italiano after. Roma, my city, before Italia, my country. Pascuale!” I didn’t respond with, “Ari! I’m too complicated to reduce myself to a geographic loyalty to city or country or religion! Ari!” although I was tempted. His English was not as good as his original bargaining had led me to believe. But his cellphone conversations were fantastic; way too Italian.

“Pronto,” he’d answer. Then, louder, “Pron-to.” Then, quietly, “Pronto.” Finally, loudly, almost singing, “PRON-TO!” And then, the ritual complete, he’d be ready to talk, il signiore di quattro pronti.

It took us about an hour and a half to reach Montecastello, during which it was dark and I got no picture of Italy, but I did get to hear about Pascuale’s six grandchildren (the eldest is seven years old), the very joy of his life. We reached the town and I had no sense of how to find Elana; he helped me unload my bags from the car, and as I was paying him, I heard a clap-clap-clap of running feet on stone. It turned out that I didn’t need to find Elana; she found me. Our reunion was sweeter than I could have imagined it would be.

She walked me a little around the town and showed me the school; it was about 11 at night, and I wanted a drink. I was amazed by the town. She said that it was nothing; wait until daylight.

She walked us to our place, which is a little below and outside the town. When I woke up this morning and looked out the window there was a wall of white fog; she said it was the first day that the view had not been crystal clear. The fog lifted ever so slightly, allowing me a taste of the landscape, just long enough for me to snap a few pictures before it clouded back up again.

We walked up to the town, bought some supplies, and came back down for breakfast (fresh baked bread with young garlic and tomatoes—the perfect breakfast for the first Italian morning). We relaxed for a while and the fog cleared, offering this absolutely stunning view (below) from our window.

This afternoon we went back to the town for Elana to go to class, and I took the opportunity to snap some photos of the town. But I want to save those for dessert, so I’ll give them to you later. Of course, since I’m writing this on Word with the intention of loading on several entries at a time, that means that you won’t really have to wait at all.

This place is like paradise on earth. Gorgeous views, great town, clean air…I find it hard to believe I’m actually here. And I landed only about twenty-four hours ago. I’m going to love the rest of this month…

*****

Monday, August 09, 2004

The Days are Just Packed: Life in Montecastello, trips to Todi and Florence

Life today is bound to slow down, since Elana has classes and I, for the first time, will be left to my own devices. That’s okay; I could use the break after the monstrously busy but absolutely incredible few days we’ve had.

Shortly after I finished my last entry, I walked up to the town with the intention of making some phone calls, and ran into Elana. After we had finished making our calls, we got roped into a game of ultimate Frisbee with some of the other students. Neither of us were dressed for it, but we went along anyway, and had a great time. The game did not become competitive, which would have robbed it of its fun, and we wore ourselves out running. We ran back to our apartment for a quick shower, and then returned to the town for a lecture on the way painters influence each other, the “discussions” that artists have in their paintings.

The next morning, Saturday, we rented a car for the weekend with the intention of going to Rome. However, by the time we got everything squared away, it was already getting close to 11; with Rome an hour-and-a-half to two hours away, we elected to put off the trip to Rome for one day and plunge ourselves into Italian motoring with a baby-step trip next door, to the nearby town of Todi. That was fine with me, as a short drive was perfect to reacclimate myself to a stick shift.

Todi and Montecastello are both towns that predate the Roman Empire, and were Etruscan settlements. You can look across the valley from either city and see the other a few miles away. They used to fight wars with each other, which is oddly amusing. But now they are cordial neighbors, and the trip to Todi was an easy one; parking was, surprisingly, somewhat less so, but after a trip up the mountain, through the narrow stone streets of the old city, and out of the gate at the bottom, we found a parking lot. We trudged up the hill, and once we reached the main square stopped in the church. It was beautiful, the first of many great churches I intend to—and will—see here in Italy. We didn’t snap photos, because it was a working church; we did, however, go down into the basement, where there was a museum that included the old cathedral.

We stopped for a lunch, and then we walked around the town some more, stopping in various shops, buying gelato (a must in Italy; a day trip is not a day trip without some Italian ice cream), and generally enjoying the weather and the views. We came back, preparing for the trip to Rome.

Sadly, or, rather, happily, the trip to Rome was not to be. Our intention had been to see the Vatican. But, it was Sunday, and everything was going to be closed, something we hadn’t considered when we put off our trip to Rome in favor of Todi the day before. Not to be discouraged, we changed plans in true Israeli style—instantly—and within five minutes we were out the door, heading in the opposite direction on our way to Florence. Florence is Elana’s favorite city in Italy, and we are going there again with the group on Thursday—but there is so much to see there, that I am glad for the two days we will have there. Had we gone to Rome, we would have seen not enough, and then the same would have happened with Florence on Thursday. Now, I think, we will actually get to see a fair amount of Florence. Florence is higher on my list, anyway; it’s worth skipping Rome to do Florence “right.”

The signage in Italy is very good and clear, a far cry from the hobbit-sized (and often deceptive) signs that Israel boasts; plus, if you miss a turn in Italy, there is no danger of accidentally driving into enemy territory. I got on the highway, followed the signs for "Firenze" and, two hours later, there we were. There was never a sense that if I followed the signs for Florence I would accidentally end up in, say, Gaza. We parked on what turned out to be the other side of the city, but it’s a small city, and it was an easy walk—it turned out to be a smart decision, since parking very close to everything would have been difficult. We walked through a stone gate, found a little shop and bought a map, and walked about ten-fifteen minutes, just across the Arno River, and found the Uffizi Gallery, the most prestigious museum in Europe after the Louvre. There was a two hour wait to get in; the Uffizi boasts works of Leonardo, Michelangelo, Caravaggio, El Greco, Rembrandt, Raphael, Chardin, Rubens, Mosaccio, Artemisia, and so on. It was like an art overload. I have some complaints about how they used the space—the paintings were often covered with glass and reflected light from windows, thus impairing one’s ability to see and appreciate them—but I have no complaints about the collection. The level of art, the tradition, which existed in that small palace, was breathtaking. It was also exhausting—as you’re exiting, your path takes you through several rooms with white floors and walls and no art at all, which Elana called “the recovery rooms.” Then, just when you start feeling like you can breathe again, there is more art. When you finally walk out the door of the Uffizi and back onto the streets of Florence, you do so with a mixed sense of awe at what you saw and relief that you managed to escape before you were asphyxiated. I’m delighted to have seen it, and now we can do the rest of Florence on Thursday without guilt at skipping the Uffizi.

At this point we were quite hungry, so we set off in search of a restaurant. Now, one would think that this would not have been a problem in Florence, but somehow fate conspired to have us wander across the city and back again before we finally were at a restaurant where we ate. We stopped at one in the famous square in Florence, but then when they weren’t serving the menu they advertised we left. We wandered to the plaza near the Duomo where we found a place and sat down and waited…and waited some more…and eventually got bored with waiting for menus and left. After wandering a bit more we found ourselves in a small restaurant which was so good, we intend to return there on Thursday. Fates, we thank you.

After dinner we meandered for a while; many things were closing at this point, so we started discussing a battle plan for our visit Thursday. The Academmia, the Palazzo Pitti, the Boboli Gardens, and the Duomo are all on the list. As we were driving out of Florence, Elana turned to me and said, "Wait…what street is this?" She remembered a great view of the city from near Michelangelo’s house, and deftly navigated us there without error. For the bajillionth time since arriving in Italy, I was awestruck by what I saw. We watched the sun set over Florence.

Then we drove home and more or less collapsed into bed. I am returning the car in an hour; it was painless and relatively cheap to rent it, so I think another session with the car and a trip to Pompeii may be in our future. I’ve had a great couple of days running around Italy; today I am just going to sit for a while, for the first time in months. I’m looking forward to that, too.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…

*****

Friday, August 13, 2004

Florence, Part II

We were back in Florence yesterday. This time we went with the group on a bus.
It’s a good thing we had seen the Uffizi on our last trip to Florence; it was sold out, and the wait was even more prohibitively long this time. Our first destination was the Galleria della Academmia, which houses a number of Michelangelo sculptures, including the famous David. We got sidetracked when we walked right past the Palazzo Medici, the former home of the city’s most powerful family and the most famous patrons of the arts (including Michelangelo) in world history. The building is part museum and now, part City Hall, too.

The Palazzo Medici was enlightening. We came in with a rather positive feeling about the Medicis; benevolent tyrants who supported the arts. It’s very clear that the Florentines have a very different feeling about them. The museum did not list atrocities or anything like that, but the presentation was extremely vilifying: we were looking at the private art collection of the family, where different Medicis were painted as various saints in various biblical scenes. “The Medicis,” scolded the signs, “even presumed to have the contemporary heir portraying young Jesus!” There was a video presentation of one of the paintings, which slowly panned from Medici to Medici, on each one stopping and slowly letting the name appear, playing dark, slow, “evil” music. We half expected, when we asked for the restroom, to be directed to a platform overlooking the family plots.

The presentation aside, there was some fantastic art at the Palazzo Medici (Benozzo Gozzoli’s Adoration of the Magi was the most famous), and we left satisfied. We returned to our original plan at that point and headed for the Academmia.

The line was around the corner, and we were already resigning ourselves to coming back in the afternoon when we ran into one of Elana’s classmates, a guy named Ben, coming out of a small fruit shop with some victuals. We joined him, and the several others who were well up in line already, and got in pretty quickly (it turned out that the line, though long, moved very fast anyway). Inside the Galleria della Academmia are a bunch of paintings which we more or less skipped, and then a hall of Michelangelo’s Slaves leading up to the famous clearing where David stands. In photographs you only see David from one angle, the front; it’s when you walk around, get the complete view of the statue, that you get the real sense of why this is such a brilliant piece. The statue looks relaxed, almost leisurely, in the photographs; up close, you see that his veins are tensed, and he’s about to fire the slingshot. Regrettably, they do not allow photographs in there (or, I should say, they have a lot of people walking around making sure no photographs are taken) or I would share them with you.

Once we had seen David and the Slaves, we split off from Ben and company, hoping to meet them for dinner at the same place we ate during our trip to Florence on Sunday. We skipped the rest of the Academmia; it’s a fact of Florence that you have to go see what you want to see and only stop if something catches your eye. If you stop at every painting, every sculpture, even (Lord help us) every museum, you are going to get to see very little of what you actually want. So we headed towards the Church of Santa Maria Novella, a very old church, and large.

This was probably the low point of the day, not because the Church was unspectacular—far from it—but in comparison to the rest of the day it was anticlimactic. There was beautiful architecture, beautiful paintings, lots of crucifixion scenes and candles, and private chapels and Tombs of Saints; sort of what I have come to expect from churches, making the Gothic masterpiece that was Santa Maria Novella kind of ho-hum. We stayed for a while, taking it all in, and (here’s the rub) cooling down. It was really hot outside.

When we walked outside we had another bit of luck, running into Nava, our close friend from Israel, with another classmate of Elana’s and hers, named Ismail. Together with them we walked towards the Brancacci Palace. Inside, we ran into essentially the entire Israel delegation to Italy; Elana remarked that it was no surprise to see all of Israel Hershberg’s students there. Indeed, he kindly took us shopping in Perugia a couple of days ago because he knows we’re living without easy access to food (I am, as a student, ineligible for cafeteria food) and on the way he strongly recommended going to the Brancacci.

The draw of the Brancacci was Masaccio. Masaccio was, Elana explained to me, essentially the guy who got the Renaissance started with his paintings. His painting of the Expulsion (seen on the left) is quite famous.

We again split off from the group and made our way across the river to the Boboli Gardens, on the grounds of the Palazzo Pitti. The Gardens were gorgeous. We had tried to see them on Sunday, and arrived two minutes after closing. This time we took no chances, and arrived with hours to spare. I felt like I was in a production of Much Ado About Nothing as we strolled through the hedges, trees, ponds, paths and statues, unwinding from all of the art. We sat, we talked, and we relaxed. Then we had some fun with the camera.

We had some time to kill before the appointed time for dinner; we didn’t know if we were going to meet anyone or not. The whole day was very free; we attached to groups and unattached without guilt, made tentative plans for dinner with the understanding that if someone doesn’t show up, it’s not a big deal. It’s the only way to see Florence in a group, or you end up arguing with someone who wants to see something else. Elana and I, of course, were of one mind on things, so we obviously stuck together. We went to the Baptistry, the church in front of the Duomo (we did not see the inside the Duomo for lack of time and different priorities), where there were some paintings by Donatello. The Baptistry has been around for thousands of years, predating the Roman Empire (obviously, not always has it been a church…). We cooled off in there until it was time for dinner.

Our dinner was great; some of the people we made plans with did show up after we had ordered, and then others showed, and it was a lot of fun, and every bit as good as it was on Sunday. We even had the same waiter.

Dinner done, we walked the distance back to a point further East on the Arno River where the bus picked us up. As far as I can tell, about five minutes after we were on the highway half of the bus was asleep; another five minutes and there were only a few awake. I soon was not among them, and woke up only twice; once in Perugia (about halfway home) and then again as we were exiting the at Montecastello. We slept well. Very well.

More on the way.

- posted by @ 11:31 AM

 
...7...6...5...4...
And that is that.

I finished my second Arabic final today. I don't know how it went exactly, but I have a pretty good feeling. When the test is translating an article, and the English version you come up with makes sense, you have to know that it's at least passable. Which means, of course, that for the first time in almost a year, I am not in an Arabic class right now. I am not in any class right now, even though I have work to do in Italy.

So, now, all of a sudden, it's almost time to leave! By tomorrow I have to be all packed up, the apartment has to be clean and ready to go, everything has to be in order...I tell you, there's a lot to do! But there's no pressure to it, now. I know I have all night, if necessary (that's not necessary), and although I usually would choose to do something other than clean with my free time, I know that in this case, cleaning means vacation, Elana, our families, Italy, Denver, Los Angeles...

I will miss Israel while I am gone. This is a very exciting place to live, obviously, with a lot going on. This year has had tremendous opportunities for growth, academically, artistically, intellectually, culturally, emotionally, and I think that we have taken advantage of it. That said, I'm also thrilled to be taking a break. Living here can be exhausting. The bureaucracy, the stubborness of Israelis, the stress on the streets, the inability to escape from day-to-day politics: I'm glad to be leaving just to have a break from all that, and I'm very fortunate to have the ability to do that.

In Italy, my computer access will be scarce, if it exists at all. I don't know how often I am going to get to update from there, or if I will at all. If not, then this is my last post for a while, and I will be keeping a journal on my computer with the intention of posting one big "month in Italy" section here. If I get the chance, I will update, even something short. If I do not, well, I wish all of you a great August, and for those of you in Denver and LA, we'll see you soon!
- posted by @ 2:51 PM

 
10...9...8...
Friday night was Alla's birthday. I packed a weekend bag and headed to Ashdod to celebrate.

The party was at a Russian restaurant called "U.S.S.R," which struck me as an odd marketing decision in a town populated with Russian Jewish immigrants.  But it was a good restaurant and a great time. I hung out with Tova and Liat (originally I was supposed to have three dates, but I guess Eden decided I was too young for her; she spent the late evening at Vova's mother's (her grandmother's) house). There was, in true Russian style, a positively dizzying array of appetizers already laid out on the table when our party (of about twenty-five or thirty people) arrived. I tried a few new things, including red caviar (which did not quite make the cut of something I will necessarily have again). There were also professional dancers who entertained while we ate: one couple that danced looking like they were inside a music box--I mean they were very precise with plastic smiles--but still were phenomenonal. In fact, Grisha recognized the young man's last name, asked him where he was from and, wouldn't you know it! He was at school with the young man's grandfather back in Moldova. Israel is a small country.  There were other groups as well--one group of three, who stayed to be the "loosen everybody up" dancers later in the evening, who performed in an array of styles, from interpretive to swing to Irish step, all with competence and flair.

Then, during breaks in the courses, everybody would dance.  I was feeling a bit reserved, and as a result probably looked pretty bad; only when I was forced into the middle of the dance circle did I feel like I danced well (Oh, what an audience can do!).  And some of those Russians can dance, man.  I get the feeling that God didn't create any so-so dancers among the Russian nation.  He created a bunch of fun-loving dance-masters and then those few who have a problem with the "step-touch-step-touch-one-two-one-two" concept, but those who are in-between must have migrated to Scandinavia at some point.  I danced with both Tova and Liat, and they are both good dancers; I think my mediocrity was forgiven by most of the Russians with a smile and a "Well, you don't drink, so what do you expect?" kind of nod.  I had a fantastic time.

I faded near the end, I think, when it got close to two and the party was still going strong.  Eden, I reflected, would not have enjoyed the loud music and the late night (hey, it was getting late for me!).  I left with Grisha and Valya shortly after I felt myself getting tired, and I fell asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.

I woke up and came back yesterday for another study session; got lots down, although (for some reason!) I had trouble focusing.  Anyway, it doesn't matter; I've finished what I need to finish before I go to Italy, and all the pressure is off.  I'm trying to just enjoy these last few days, and make them productive, before I leave on Thursday.

- posted by @ 6:44 AM