“Difficili?”

“Si… I genitori sono SEMPRE difficili” (Parents... are always difficult.)

The truth of these words has never been more apparent than when I spoke them to a sympathetic Pisa cab driver, while my jet-lagged mother, father, and grandmother argued about where to eat lunch. Like many students abroad, my parents have come to visit me for the Thanksgiving holiday. Unlike many students, my parents are staying for ten…whole…days.

So what does one do with the ‘rents in town for a week and a half? Especially taking into consideration the slight disfunctionality of my family (my father is blind and my grandmother has a bit of trouble getting around). At first I had made lists and lists of things I needed to show them.  All of the major sights, the good shopping, the amazing restaurants, the best gelato in town… of course I’d still like to accomplish many of these things, but it’s quickly become apparent to me that not everyone, especially my 75 year old grandmother can keep up with my fast paced city life. At first, I got a little annoyed when my entire day that I mapped out for us, spanning from San Lorenzo market, through the Duomo, to Palazzo Vecchio, to Santa Croce turned into everyone needing to stop and nap after lunch, but if your families are anything like mine, I think the old cliché still rings true in this case; Everything might not go as planned.. but  they’re just happy to be with you.

Probably the most fun I’ve had so far with my parents in town has been showing off my new found cooking skills. I  had no idea that I could cook an edible dinner for four all by myself and my family was extremely proud, although my mother is not quite ready for me to be a self sufficient adult yet (and quite honestly I’m not either).

Some advice I have if you’ve got parents coming into town: Don’t stress about what to do or see, EVERYTHING in Florence is beautiful. Try exploring outside the city, maybe even hop on a bus tour and see some of the beautiful countryside. I highly recommend the half day tour of Chianti offered by Florence bus tours… I am officially in love with Tuscany after experiencing its remarkable landscapes… and the wine tasting wasn’t too bad either ;). And yes, parents may always be difficult to be around… but at least when they’re here they can take you shopping! (Thought that was going somewhere deep, didn’t you?)

Please feel free to share more ideas of what to do when the parents come to town.

I have said this for years, and I will continue to say it until the day I die, but my favorite color is the one the night sky makes when it is snowing.  The city lights reflect an eerie, serene color of pink into the clouds almost uniting the earth and the sky.  The color reminds me of skiing, of Christmas, of home.  Tonight, in Florence, the same color appeared in the night sky thanks to one of the thickest layers of fog I have ever seen.  With the Ponte Vecchio no longer visible from Ponte alla Carraia, I decided to stop at the top and look around.

The street lamps were glowing through the dense atmosphere, people were appearing from nowhere, the sky was no longer visible, the city disappeared.  It was just me and the bridge.  Now, I have crossed this bridge more times then I can count: in the morning going to class, in the evening trudging home from class, in the very early morning going to some far off country, at midnight coming home from some far off country, at sunrise, at sunset.  It was the first one I crossed when I came here, and I am sure it will be the last one I cross when I leave.  My favorite gelato shop is on the corner, the 6 bus stop on the other.  This is my bridge.  And standing there on the bridge, alone in the fog, I realized how much I am truly going to miss Florence.  I have made so many memories in this city and standing in the fog was one more to add to the list.  I thought about all of the people I have met, all of the things I have see, all the things I have learned.  By leaving, how many blankets of fog caressing the city would I miss?  Or the creation of new gelato flavors at my shop?  Or sunrises over the Duomo?  Or people I would miss meeting?  I was overwhelmed.  I had to stop my brain.  I looked up into the sky and saw the pink color.  That same pink color that encompasses my home town every white Christmas, that greats me on the sky slopes, that welcomes me home.  And there in the fog I realized that it is okay to go home.  Sure, I would miss sunsets on Piazzale Michaelangelo, but I would regain sunrises over Mt. Garfield.  I would lose Italian friends, but regain old classmates.  I would lose Florence, but regain New York.  I had too much living left to do in my last days in Florence to be worrying about leaving it.  So, there on top of my bridge, I left my anxiety for someone else to find in the dense Florentine fog.

Thanksgiving was hard on me, but it also seemed hard on everyone at my university (that’s 320 people!). When the day arrived, many Italian families made chicken and mashed potatoes, or did something to bring a little bit of this American holiday into their homes, but my roommate and I were very disappointed to discover our Italian family would not be doing the same. Miserable, we took it as a bad omen for the weekend, and when we awoke Saturday morning to rain, we thought we’d been proven right.

With less than one month left here in Florence, I find myself filled with a mixture of emotions.  I am overwhelmed with excitement to return home to my family and friends.  Because of this, four weeks seems like four weeks too long.  Lately I have been focusing too much on going home and how much I miss it.  The combination of finals approaching and a severe lacking in my bank account equals a very homesick self.

In my photography class, our final project is to capture any aspect of Florence that you desire.  My mind was at a complete blank as to what I would want to photograph.  Every idea that came to mind seemed to lack any kind of creativity.  Hoping that I would find some kind of divine inspiration, I decided to go on a walk.

Taking time for myself is something that I have done rarely since arriving in Florence.  The serenity that I felt along the way is something I will never forget.  Florence is my home.  I looked around and saw the beauty that lies on every street, in every park, and in every person.

What will my photography final focus on?  Art.  The art that I see everywhere in Florence.  The art that requires you to look a little deeper, take a second glance, and find the beauty that lies beneath the surface. 

This realization was most definitely necessary for me and my mental state of mind.  Four weeks quickly became not enough time.  This city and this experience has changed me as a person forever, and people I have met along the way are the ones to thank for that.

For the past couple of months, I was an intern for Democrats Abroad- Florence chapter.  Working and interacting with fellow Americans was a great addition to my stay here.  I was truly inspired by all of the people I met and their story of how they came to live in Florence.  There is something about this city that appeals to strong, driven, people.  I was wondering why I have always felt comfortable here and I have come to my conclusion.  In Florence, the possibilities for ones life seem endless.  Surrounded by the works of some of history’s most talented artists, I am given the message that every person has the ability to achieve greatness.  That mindset is something that will not quickly be forgotten.  Florence has changed me.  I can only hope to one day make it proud. 

I am leaving Europe in 3 weeks.  Where I once was a bottle of vinaigrette dressing that had been allowed to sit, separating all the different ingredients; I now am the same bottle, shaken until all the ingredients have blended until they are unrecognizable.  I thought this trip would make my life clear and change me in profound ways.  Although I am sure that I have been changed by my time here I am not sure how it has changed me.  I am to return home unsure about what effects Florence has had on me.  I question how I will relate and interact with the people I once knew at home.  Thus my future is clouded like the vinaigrette bottle; opaque and mysterious.

europa

 

soon we will be shifting one another to the past tense
finishing it seems
crumpling and discarding one another
like a market receipt
yet there is a time between printing and crumpling;
 

we explore one another
            as the printer explores the carbon paper
            and presses to create transaction records
we record the prices we enacted on one another
            for things we take
            and the time we spend taking them
we void the sales of one another
            switching to better things
            that make for a well rounded list
we stamp dates for one another
            to mark the exact amount of time
            that we are enjoying
we are unable to mark all the territory of one another
            leaving large expanses of white frontier
            that speaks to the time we have

then the past tense
used solely for tax records

12 students…

1 holiday…

1 common goal…

Food.

 

At first, the idea of undertaking a Thanksgiving dinner in Florence seemed daunting… especially considering the fact that every Thanksgiving day prior to this the extent of my helping with dinner meant making sure the appetizers did not go uneaten. But, with the help of a full kitchen of friends hungry for a real American dinner we were able to accomplish the seemingly impossible; dinner for twelve prepared in our tiny Florentine kitchen . Our distance from our families and the land of pilgrims and indians couldn’t stop us from giving thanks in true American style…

On the menu: Turkey, cranberry sauce (found with help from The Florentine), stuffing, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes, mixed vegetables, broccoli, 2 homemade pumpkin pies AND apple pie... anyone want leftovers?

One night at a club, my friends and I vowed that we would all get a Florentine Fleur-des-lis tattoo before we left this country. In the morning, people began to have second thoughts, myself included, and my excuse was that as much as I’ve enjoyed my time in Florence, I don’t know that it was such a life changing event as to suggest a permanent bodily reminder.

Yesterday, while sitting in the student life office of the Villa Rossa, which is the campus for my university, a woman came in who said she had been a student at Syracuse University in Florence thirty years ago. She spoke of how back then the Villa Rossa was the only building used for classes, and was impressed that we now had several other buildings. She was also very shocked to discover that the Syracuse program now had studio arts, as in her day they only had architecture students and art history students. Before parting to have a look around, she commented on how much things are changing, and how interesting it is that now a studio arts major would even want to study in Florence- that’s when I’d had enough.

Since arriving in Italy 97.5% of all people I’ve met have asked me if I was an art history major, and when I replied that I was a creative writing student their response was “Oh…”- but not a good “oh,” an “oh” that implied “well that’s certainly different,” and that really pisses me off.

Florence is a city world renowned for its art and architecture, but that certainly doesn’t mean that’s all Florence has to offer. Tell Niccolò Machiavelli that this is not a city of words, or Giovanni Boccaccio, or Oriana Fallaci, or Dante Alighieri himself- who even when exiled from Florence could never bring himself to stop thinking and writing about it.

The whole instance only reminded me that you have to dig deeper than the surface if you ever want to truly understand anything, and that not only applies to the many wonders Florence has to offer, it has to do with me as well, and my growth as a writer and as a person since being here. Sure, I’m still the same Tiffany I was when I got here, but there are little differences… little differences that mean a world of difference. I guess this whole experience has been a lot more life changing than I thought- maybe I should start looking up tattoo parlors after all.

For the last four years my hair has been glorious and long; yet today, it all went away.  I had been contemplating cutting my hair for some time and finally got around to making it happen.  A friend here in Florence, Alathea, offered to cut my hair when I mentioned getting a hair cut while in Florence.  Now I wouldn’t let just anyone cut my hair, being as it would be a huge step in my hair progression.  Alathea though, was a hair dresser from my native town of Long Beach, California.  I figured then that she could give me a hair cut that I would be happy with here in Florence and back home in the states.  So having mustered up enough courage in Florence to finally do the deed I went to her place bright and early and left with a new head of hair.

Why Florence though?  Well this is for many reasons.  First of all no one knows me here so it would be less of an impact on my daily life.  Back in Long Beach I would surely get stopped by everyone and there mothers with a ‘What did you do to your head!’.  This did happen here in Florence, but not the extreme that I think it would happen at home.  Secondly I think people kind of expect me to come back with short hair.  A few people told me that I would and I told them, no way.  Contemplating on it here though I realized I really didn’t have a choice.  At home cutting my hair would be a drastic one day I have it one day I don’t affair, and everyone would make a big deal out of it.  So here in Florence I was able to step back and say, well if I don’t cut my hair here, then when am I going to cut it?  It was time for a change.  Plus, when I get home with short hair and no one knows about it (since I am obviously going to keep it a secret for maximum surprise value) I will be able to show up and make funny entrances into social gatherings; like, ‘Hey man!’ followed by, ‘Who the hell are you…oh shit Jeff what the hell is up!’, and this sort of thing.  Yes I realize that this is kind of like people being surprised if I cut my hair at home, but I think it is different because of the surprise of me being back from combined with the fact that I have short hair.

Anyways, pictures to come soon.

For some reason, New York University decides to impart a gift upon their study abroad students they neglect to give to the students at Washington Square: a fall break.  For over a week, we were able to travel to any destination we wanted, finances permitting.  I decided to go to , the one place I have wanted to go since I read Homer’s Odyssey in 7^th grade.

Everything about that country is amazing: the people, the weather, the food, the history; and because we went during the low season, it was like we had the islands to ourselves.  We rode mopeds up and down the coasts of Santorini and Mykonos, searching for our own Grecian odyssey.  And we found it, in the form of cliffs off Santorini.

Now I have done my fair share of climbing, but if there is one thing that I am scared of, it’s falling off those heights I climb (All of this stemming from my dad nearly driving my friends and I off a cliff in second grade.  Beside the point.).  We received a tip that the best cliffs were off the southern tip of the island, and that, although there is a huge sign explicitly stating that cliff jumping is forbidden, tourists and locals jump off them anyway.

We rode our high tech scooters to the beach and walked through the rocky sand to the jumping point.  Needless to say, I was immediately ready to turn back.  In the immortal words of George Costanza, “the sea was angry that day my friends.”  It was as if Poseidon himself was regaining control of the sea, and to do so, he had to make the water freezing and tumultuous.  The clouds were rolling in, covering up the warmth of the sunlight.  The cliffs looked like the rocks where the dangerous sirens lure unsuspecting ships full of eager men.  Not to mention, a man and his son were fishing right where we needed to jump.

Two of my friends were braver than I, climbing up the mountain to scout out a jumping path.  After consulting the depth of the water, the best point to jump off of, the best point to land, drawing a crowd, and perhaps, praying to the gods for strength, they jumped off into the water one right after the other.  When they surfaced, they were greeted with cheers from the few people on the beach.

After watching their feat, I could not leave without jumping off that cliff.  I would regret it forever.  With a friend who already jumped leading the way, I climbed up the thirty foot cliff and looked down into the water.  It seemed like two thousand feet.  My legs turned to lead, my heart beat hard in my chest.  I could not gather the will power to jump.  One…two…no.  I would hit the rocks below, the water was too shallow.  One…two…nope.  I was not in the mood to get a concussion; I was not in the mood to meet Hades.  One…two…no way.  The crowd was chanting my name, but you shouldn’t give into peer pressure, right?  One…two…do you want me to jump with you?  My eyes looked up to meet Hercules himself.  Well, at least that is what he looked like.  He was actually a local who wanted me to jump so he could climb up higher and jump off himself.  He grabbed my hand and told me we would jump, together, on three.  One…two…three.  With my hand clenched in Hercules’, I pushed off the cliff as hard as I could.  We raised our arms high, I screamed at the top of my lungs, and then we hit the freezing water.  I kicked my body to the surface and started screaming again.  I defied the gods and survived.  My adrenaline was so high.  I thanked my hero with a hug and swam to the beach to look at the video of my jump.  What had I just done?  Lived it up in , that’s what.  We dried off, headed back on our scooters, to finish our Grecian odyssey. 

I have recently returned to Florence from ten days of being away. I went to Cambridge for a weekend to stay with the cousin of a good friend, then traveled to London where I slept on the couch of my best friend for a week (she’s studying there for the semester), and finished by the two of us spending the weekend in Barcelona.

Returning to Florence was a nightmare, complete with me being stranded in Milan for 8+ hours and hopping a train from Bologna (yes they checked tickets but luckily the lady was nice and didn’t give me a fine!), but I couldn’t have been happier to arrive home. It got me to thinking a lot about traveling though…

Example 1

I was in Sienna on a school sponsored field trip and made a quick stop at the ATM. When I was done I proceeded to curse the machine, as I always do, for not telling me my balance.

“I hate that too! It’s so annoying!” said a strange voice.

I turn around and see three pretty Aussie girls. We strike up a conversation that covers everything from opinions of Europe, cute boys, underage drinking, and stray animals people run into (no, they do not have kangaroos in their backyards!).

After an hour of standing in front of the ATM, we decided to have lunch together, do a little shopping, and exchanged email addresses before finally parting. We bumped into them three hours later in San Gimignano and have managed to keep in touch since.

Example 2

I was showing a friend around Florence this weekend (she’s studying in Paris for the semester) and took her up to Piazza Michelangelo to watch the sun set. We  took some amazing pictures and commented on how it sucked that we couldn’t get one together, when someone said: “I can take one of both of you.”

“Oh, thank you!” we replied.

“Thank you!” They guy said. “I been here for three hours and haven’t said a word because I don’t speak Italian and didn’t understand anything anyone was saying.”          

We continued to talk to him and discovered he was in Florence for the weekend (he’s studying in Dublin for the semester) but had somehow got separated from his friends who were staying in a hostel but would not be returning until after 8pm. I wasn’t at all weary and so we invited him to my place for dinner where we had some amazing conversation and some pretty descent food. We then showed him how to get back to his hostel and Facebook friend requests were sent the next day.

Conclusion 1

All of us travelers, us non native to the countries in which we are living, are just alike. We all have our good days and bad days being away from home, but we have set out in an attempt to learn more about ourselves and the world in which we live, and sometimes you learn a lot of that stuff not from the natives but from each other.

Conclusion 2

As much as you have your homesick days, and you reconsider the point of traveling in the first place, it’s very important that you remember it is all worth it! After all, you couldn’t truly miss home, or appreciate it, if you don’t have anything to compare it too.

The following is a quote that was framed on a wall in the hostel where I stayed in Barcelona- I think it sums up my thoughts on traveling perfectly.