Venice and Roma

Before I was to meet my group to take a water bus out to Murano to see the glass blowing factories, I sat down by the waterfront to have lunch. Every morning during this time of year, the high tides spill over the coast and slowly fill up San Marcos’ Square. I had to slosh through this on my way to the waterfront. While the flooded square makes a gorgeous and unique site, the wet shoes that accompany it are less than desirable. I digress, my lunch was the remains of my cheese feast from the night before, sans wine of course (it was only one, and who would assume any was left…). I was unable to enjoy my meal in solitude though and I ended up sharing my bread rolls with some flying rats. I have gotten used to using the public transit in both Athens and Rome; the public transit in Venice is quite different. Instead of packed on a metro or bus, I had the spray of the Venetian harbor wetting my face through an open window. After a short ride I arrived in Murano where I watched a glass horse blown and constructed in a matter of moments; true craftsmanship although utterly worthless to me. I explored the back side of the small island and was pleased to find open areas and a real park with grass. If I had a disc, it would have been the perfect place to play! Walking back, I was able to catch some great shots of the sun setting. It was only appropriate that I said goodbye to Venice in the midst of another torrential downpour. But my exploring was far from over, and I looked with grateful anticipation on the many sights I will get to see in Roma. I have a great map of Roma that shows many of the points of interest. With the bus/metro pass I have, I am systematically going to most of the locations. Today, before class at San Clemente and San Giovanni, I walked past the Mausoleum of Augustus; and after class past the Coliseum and the Circo Maximo towards the ancient city walls of Rome, all the time walking along the same road that conquering generals and emperors would enter the city and at whose end lies the Triumphal arch of Constantine. I had lunch on the Spanish Steps, and the night before enjoyed a Guinness at Piazza Venezia under the auspicious shadows of the ‘birthday cake’ (really the Monumento a Vittorio Emmanuele II; a 20th century monument designed in the classical fashion that many snobby Romans think is in poor taste. I personally enjoy it). There are many things to see in this vast city, and I will do my best to take it all in. One thing is for sure, I will know this city very well before my 6 weeks are up.

Venice

It was a five hour train ride from Roma to Venezia (Venice) stopping in Firenze (Florence) and Bologna. Arriving in the early-afternoon, we would need to wait a couple hours till we could check in to our hostel. As the skies let fall in a drizzle, I embarked on my own to find San Marcos Piazza. It did not take long at all to lose myself in the labyrinth that is Venice. This achieved my main goal though, and I found myself far off the beaten path.

The rain began to increase and so I took refuge in a small internet café where I was able to give last minute instructions to my fiancée who was registering me for classes next semester and I was able to show her, via webcam, the rain soaked Venetian street behind me. It should be known the title, Venetian streets, is a misnomer. The streets are actually sidewalks, and the avenues for transport are canals. (I got all the classes I wanted: Astronomy, Microeconomics, Moral Philosophy, Analytic Philosophers, and Metaphysics {replacing Philosophy of Law which was cancelled due to lack of interest}) When I did find Saint Mark’s Square, I was soaked through and looking forward to the hostel and a warm shower. After my friends and I freshened up and changed clothes, we went out into the night trying to find food and spirits. Armed first with wine, we continued our search for food. I decided upon cheese. I stopped in a small cheese store where I bought ten Euros worth of cheese; choosing an assortment of local cheeses and what the shop keep suggested. Rounding out my meal of wine and cheese was a loaf of bread. It was a feast! Sated and content, I left my hostel again to try and find what there is to do on a Venetian Wednesday night. I talked to some locals, and even helped a lost American student find her spot on the map (that was the extent of the help I could offer, it is a confusing city). Finally, I enjoyed a conversation with some police officers who were glad to help me and offered suggestions for young kid hang out spots that I might want to check out. Finally, in all the many wanderings I had that day, I could not help but notice one truth about Venice. What they say about Venice and romance is entirely true. Seeing couples in gondolas, or leaning close over a plate of pasta, or hand in hand watching the rain fall onto the breaking waves of the Adriatic coast I could not help but feel homesick for Amanda; I could not help but dream of the European adventures in store for us and the many experience we will share in the future. So, all in all, while Venice is romantic it can be direly depressing and lonely. There is a lot more to see in Venice than canals and necking couples though. We spent our next morning touring the museums of San Marcos as well as the Dogo Palace. Pictures are much easier sometimes, so I include a couple. But I will say that in Italy, I have now seen that ostentatious displays of wealth are not resigned solely to churches. Money and power, together, apparently always equals unnecessary demonstrations of those traits. Even so, there were some amazing pieces of art and sculpture done in both the name of religion and in the name of luxury.

These are two of my favorite pieces I saw while in Venice. The sculpture is Daedulus and Icharus. The painting is a eerie portrayal of the Pieta.

Roma

Our first full day in Rome was to be used following one of our teachers around on a walking tour of the City Center. While I have seen Rome before, it was great to walk around with an art professor and learn more about art around the area. The night before I had made my way to the Pantheon, which was my favorite spot last time I was in Rome. The restorative scaffolding that was there 4 years prior was now gone. It was more amazing than I remember. The day our class went, the skies were dumping its contents on us. Birds were floating on the gentle air between buildings, effortlessly. As the storm waned and waxed the drizzle would at times float listlessly to the ground. Once inside the Pantheon, we were still not free from the rain. The oculus in the center of its massive dome allowed the elements access to people and marble below. The floor was sleek and slippery, but looking up I could see the dark clouds and the water, falling through a two millennia old pagan temple, wet my face and I was happy because of it.

In the streets that day, thousands or students and citizens, but mostly young students, filled the streets and the piazzas. Not just a main street or two, they were everywhere. They were protesting the government’s reduction in educational spending and their discussion of privatizing college education. Whether it was the righteousness of their cause, the dreary, wet energy of the day, or simply my revolutionary tendencies, I could not help but be filled with an intense desire to join in their struggle. My fists belong clutched and pounding the air. My lungs need to breathe the fiery hot chants of justified revolt. My body needs to submit to the flow of a peaceful demonstration moving through streets regardless of weather and gaining nothing but momentum and power and people. I was dismayed at the feelings flooding over me. As we continued our walk and the crowds grew fewer, the emotions I was feeling subsided and I was left with a slightly empty feeling. Maybe revolutionary activity is in my future… (but peaceful, of course) Our apartment in Rome is a nice place and only two blocks from St. Peter’s Square. On the way home from out first day of tours and classes, still sopping wet from the rain, I couldn’t help but postpone my dinner a little longer and go have a look at the sun set over St. Peter’s dome. The square was empty because of the rain and I was able to snap some excellent photos. While our lodging in Rome is in a great location and they have great hardwood floors, it is 30 minutes from where our classes are and has no internet access. The only way I can check emails or post is by using an internet café a 7 minute walk from here. So, my posting might come sporadically and when they do, there might be many of them. We leave for Venice tomorrow morning and I cannot wait!

Hello Acropolis, Goodbye Athens

The day after my ankle injury, my history class went on an excursion to the acropolis. The long walk there and the steep terrain made it an impossible trip for me to make. Fortunately, my instructors purchased a ticket to the acropolis for me so that I would be to go when I found the time. Busy with group excursions and saying good bye to friends and packing for the transfer to Rome, I found my time quickly running out. The day before I was to leave Athens, I woke up early and set off for the centerpiece of Athenian history. For the walk over, I serenaded myself with Mozart’s Requiem. This seemed all together fitting and proper, especially as the great hill rose larger and larger in my sights. Music truly can be the perfect accent to an experience, and since I was making this trek by myself it worked very nicely. As would be expected, the entrance to the acropolis was choked with hundreds of tourists. American’s in Nike t-shirts that bloom plumply at their rotund bellies. The Asian tourists whose cameras dangle always around their necks like ornamental offerings to a Samsung god. And swirling through the air, beaten together into a rich Babelic cacophony was the conversations of every language imaginable. It was a windy day and on top of the hill (acropolis means the high point of the city) and the wind was pressing clothes to the skin like wet drapery. My hair was flowing and the wind whistled into one ear mixing with the entire rabble and contrasting to the music playing through a small ear bud headphone in the other ear; now listening to Mozart’s string concerto. The Parthenon, completed in 432 BC, was constructed either as a temple to Athena or was the new Treasury of the Athenian empire after it dissolved the Delian League and moved its riches to Athens. In the seventeenth century, the occupying Turks housed munitions in it. Until this point, the Parthenon maintained much of its ancient glory. An explosion set off the munitions stored in the temple, and the shattered shell of a once breath stopping sight are what remain as result for us now. I saw sitting in the grass around the steps of the western façade of the Parthenon a broken brass canon. While I cannot be for sure that this is a remnant of the Turkish firepower housed here that caused its destruction, I feel that it served as a perfect contrast; and it made a sweet ass picture. In the foreground we see the dark colors of a device of war which contrasts with the white marble of a temple for the goddess of Wisdom. Further, the history tells us that it was because of the oppressive and censuring government of a military rule that beauty and art and architecture of an ancient civilization are lost forever. While this picture does not show it, the canon is cracked down the middle. Its reign of hate and war is rusting and broken, resigned to sit, lost in the weeds at the feet of the temple it destroyed. But rising from that, is the perpetual emblem of Greece. Broken and battered, but not destroyed, its perseverance reminds us that art and beauty will always be a stronger power than hate mongering. Finally, being that high in a low lying valley, your view is truly superb. I could see on the slopes of the hill and the Hephastion. I could see the Theatre of Dionysus and the Herodian Theatre. Further I could see Lyvettikos hill and the stretching sea of white homes that comprise Athens. In the distance, as the fast wind blew the smog and haze from the horizon, I could see the Port of Piraeus and massive ships waiting but looking like tiny paper vessels placed in puddle of water formed after a recent storm. It was proper that I say goodbye to Athens with my solitary trip to its most famed site. I was content with Athens, and while I had made some new friends and some close friends, I was ecstatic to begin the truly Roman chapter of my Roamin Ruminations.

Dinner and a Greek Job

Last night Tony, Sam and I took our 28 year old, doctorate holding history professor out for a beer or two. English and an archeologist, Robert Pitt has been our favorite, most captivating, and most interesting teacher. We were able to talk about digging and history and all the other things archeologists have to deal with. Even leather hats, whips and battles with Nazi enthused treasure seekers... wait... Furthermore, we learnt that archeology is, at least that performed by the British, a drinking sport (not to hard to believe, bloody brits are pissed most of the time anyways). Whether it is cliché or not that a very well educated British man loves Monty Python or not, Robert likes the Pythons. Seven or eight of the guys set up a movie night at his place; pizza, drinks, and obtuse British comedy with the assistant director of the British School of Archeology, sounds pretty cool huh? Sam and I show up at the gates of a large compound, Robert standing out front with his goofy smile. The British compound has been in Athens for well over a century and at one time held a supreme view of the Attic valley. It is an oasis of vegetation in the middle of a heavily residential area of Athens. A massive hospital (yes, socialist) blocks the view from his balcony now. Regardless, because of the diplomatic arrangements between the British and the Greeks, the Archeology compound is technically British soil; like an embassy is. So, without intending, I have now stepped foot on the ground of Great Britain, alright! Robert took a year off between college and grad school in which he took an organ apprenticeship in Liverpool. He played every day on the massive pipes there. In his rather comfortable apartment, he has a Steinway grand piano. After some prompting he played a couple pieces for us. My favorite, a fugue by Bach, was amazing; his fingers moving like ten frantic, cracked out mice scurrying up and down the ivory keyboard. Sam had brought out his guitar and so we encored his professional performance with our amateur attempts. But, I learnt that gin and tonic plus standing up equals my best harmonica playing... Recently, I have spent a couple free afternoons, between class and dinner, in the saloon with Andreas. I have become his assistant and I help with highlighting and cleaning up and mostly PR by saying hello to people passing by and meeting all the customers. I have a job now in Athens. HA. I am leaving now for the Acropolis. I was unable to go with my class since our trip was the day after my ankle injury. But I can not not go. God bless the double negative. So, I am going... And tomorrow evening I board a plane for Roma and I will need to say good bye to Athens...

Home in Athens

Class has been interesting while here in Greece. It is nothing like what we have back at St. John’s and that has made work more difficult or at least routine more difficult. But the work is not challenging and with the exception of our Byzantine liturgical tradition (which is quite tedious) they are mostly quite enjoyable. I have learnt more about ancient Greek art then I thought possible and I will gladly add this information to my arsenal of pretentiousness. History is split between in class and on site adventures. Our last class was spent at the ancient agora. This central marketplace was used for many centuries as the hub for commerce, politics and many aspects of Athenian social life. In the same complex we also saw the Hephastion, or the Temple of Hephaistos. This is a magnificently well persevered temple. On the walk back from the Agora, I was quickly crossing a street with my classmates—I say quickly because of the nature of pedestrian travel in this city, stop signs and yield signs and right of way and turn signals are foreign concepts here; it can be treacherous--when I hear a horn honk at me and my name yelled. I turn around quite confused about this and see Amelia, one of my new friends via Andreas, smiling and waving at me from her car. This seems like an innocuous incident in of itself, but when put in the proper context it is quite astonishing. I am walking down a busy Athenian street, having only been in this city for 5 weeks, and a woman I have met many times feels friendly enough towards me to stop, honk and wave hello. Whatever aspirations I had about meeting locals and assimilating as best I could into the Greek culture have been as near to fully realized as possible. Andreas owns the hair saloon across the street and lives in one of the apartments above. Once a week, even though he is 35, his mother comes to his home and cleans things and cooks him a couple dishes of Authentic Greek Cuisine. I have been the second-hand benefactor of the Greek tradition of mother’s babying their children far into adulthood. The food has been delicious and it is a great feeling being the recipient of real Greek hospitality.

In the Mean Time

I have spent a lot of time during my stay in Greece under the wing, so to speak, of Andreas. I have had the opportunity to meet a very worldly and educated crowd. One evening I met a 52 year old Greek stage actor who also works as a photo journalist around the world; his name, Aristotle. Athens has a vibrant night life, and with Andreas I have been able to explore the true side of it; much better than going to the English speaking bars that my classmates are so fond of. One of Andreas’ close friends owns a hip club in the central district called Gazi. Go to Gazi at 2300 and you will be sadly disappointed, the night life does not begin until 1 or later. Knowing the right people has its perks and I have been treated like a VIP at Letom (motel backwards; clever I suppose). If you do not like electronic or techno house dance music, Letom is probably not for you. I have however; found that dancing can be alright. I am also going to tack onto this post my experience at Olympia. Olympia, as I am sure all of you already know, is the original site of the Olympic Games. Running for over 14 centuries, the Olympic Games were the most prestigious games in Greece. The Temple of Zeus, a wonder of the world is partially preserved there still; although his statue has long since been looted. Unfortunately for me, I was hobbling around on my sexy blue crutches and the many miles that we needed to walk was a strenuous experience. On the way to Olympia we stopped first at the ancient city of Corinth, and then visited the even older city of Mycenae. After a certain point, the piles of rocks begin to look very similar and the charm of antiquity is lost. In the museums, the idealized sculptures of victors, and gods, and heroic Greeks initially seemed beautiful and amazing in the detailed work and artistic skill. Just as they too begin looking drab and unrealistic, our class begins studying the Hellenistic period. Again my eyes joyfully dance as we look at art that tries to capture more then the physical rhythm of a person, rather they hope to show the internal movements and ethos of their subject. This is my favorite, the Dying Gaul.