au revoir chatte

I'm just gonna warn you, this post doesn't really have a point except to be a little warm and fuzzy.

Today after going hiking, my friends and I were sitting on the tram on our way back into town and right after we got on, a large group of teenage guys got on and sat all around us. They were loud and obnoxious, but didn't really bother us too much. I couldn't help but think though of all the times I or my friends have been stared at or have been bothered on the tram, or have run into creepers on the tram and on hikes, and it made feel a little insecure. It would probably be less intimidating if I was fluent in French though. But I just felt a little frustrated and annoyed with the fact that I often can't ride a few stops on the stupid tram without feeling slightly threatened.

Then, God made me change my mind a little.

A woman got on the tram holding 2 large bags and a small cat with bright green eyes. She first sat down next to a man, who promptly got up. I suppose he might have had an allergy. But the woman moved over to sit in front of me and my friends. I tried not to stare too much, but it was a very cute and well behaved cat. It kept crawling around on her lap and shoulder and laid on her stomach for a while, and attempted to crawl onto my friends lap. I could see out of the corner of my eye I could see a small child behind me sitting on their grandmother's lap looking at the cat, but couldn't tell what they were saying. A few minutes later, the grandmother and the child--an adorable little girl with curls and wearing a red coat--came up to the woman and asked if the girl could pet the cat. The women held the cat out and told her it was a nice cat and not to be scared. After a few seconds of hesitation with her hand held out, she petted the cat's head a bit and it started purring. We had arrived at their stop though, so the grandmother told her to come along and tell the cat goodbye. The girl replied "au revoir chatte," and followed her grandma off the tram. After a few minutes, a group of people behind me were obviously interested in the cat and were calling out to it. The owner laughed and the cat widened it's eyes and seemed to want to crawl to them too. Everyone around seemed pretty interested in this little cat.

During all of this, my friends and I couldn't help but smiling the whole time, and I had to constantly resist the urge to grab the cat and cuddle with it.

There are lots of big and interesting things I could tell you about France, but I think it's the small things that make a place truly beautiful.

What if I were Malcolm?

I have a good friend named Malcolm. He's smart, ambitious, involved, witty, and friendly. He's friends with everyone. Our entire class knows him. He runs every organization on campus. He managed to get one of the world's most famous atheists and most esteemed Christian apologists to debate on campus in an event of unprecedented scale. He's traveled all over the world. He's lived in Washington D.C., London, Dublin, and Philadelphia. He and his brothers and sister are all best friends. The deans of our college are all good friends with him-- he has a pint of Guinness with them regularly. He's only nineteen.

But I just learned from Malcolm that he's not even officially a sophomore; that his GPA is below a 3.0; that he hasn't chosen a major yet; that he's barely considered a full-time student, and only because one of the deans started calling their weekly meeting a "directed reading"; and that he doesn't care. And he's going to be an incredibly successful person.

There's something in me that wants to do it Malcolm's way. I stress about grades like no other. I spend entirely too much time on my assignments, perfecting them with subtleties that will never be fully appreciated. I worry about making money and spending money. Sometimes, I get so caught up in the issues that are going on at home that I can't function in my real world setting.

But what if I just... didn't? What if I lived life the way I wanted to live it in the moment? What if I just went and did things like there was no tomorrow? Take that $600 in the bank and drive to San Francisco, a place I've always wanted to see? What if I just did my English major and didn't try to take on a second? What if that just made me happy? What if I didn't go to grad school? What if I just moved in with someone that I loved, started working really hard at a tough job, and saved up to go to Vietnam and New Zealand and France and Peru? What if I lived near a group of friends that just totally fulfilled me? What if I played Frisbee and talked late into the night with them every weekend of my life? What if I were loving and caring and personable above all else? What if I didn't have a traditional job at all? What if I became a teacher who worked at a neighborhood coffee shop in the evenings? What if I went home with someone I loved every night? What if I could be that person who made such a great first impression that 'credentials' were a secondary (or tertiary) issue? What if I were Malcolm?

I think my desire to be Malcolm is a fleeting one-- a fit of rebellion from the routine. Because then I look at Brian, who is doing brilliant things with his life. He's willing to work hard, and the world is eager to receive him. His concerns are the same as mine often are, and his bothers are similar. Yet, I look at him and know that he's really somebody, you know? And that's where I want to be. I know that. I just hope I'm doing it right.

Take me on an adventure when we get home. I could use one. And let's love each other when we get home. I could use that, too. I miss you girls.

Love, Mary

Thank you, Tren Italia.

Humor me for a moment, and visualize yourself in this situation: after suffering torrential rain and being shut down for the majority of the day, the Eiffel Tower finally opens to let guests go to the second level. You pay to go up, get there, gawk, take your pictures, then head back down. You have a train to catch. You, like the pro you've become, navigate the Paris Metro system, and arrive at Gare de Paris Bercy in time to saunter into the train station, confident that you've made it there in time. You look up at the schedule board, and behold this sight:
Your train is 1 hour and 15 minutes late. And that's just what they say--you know it will be another 30 minutes past that for the train to actually leave. Dinner of champions: snacks out of the vending machine (gummy worms and mentos candies). Oh, and if I forgot to mention--it's an overnight train, and you have a ton of classes in the morning that you really can't miss. Well, as it would happen, you arrive in Florence, take the next available train to Castiglion Fiorentino, and promptly arrive at 12:00 noon. That's three hours later than you were supposed to be back, at the latest. Well, c'est la vie. At least, that's the attitudes your professors have. One of them is from Florence, and says that it is not uncommon for the trains to be at least three hours late. So, not a big deal; just get the notes from someone in class. Cool. I mean, really. It's good to have understanding professors, and I kind of feel like that's the attitude of the whole Italian culture. You're responsible for the things you can control (like waking up on time and such), but it's understandable if public transportation, weather, or other such things prevent you from accomplishing your task. That, and the Italian trains are notorious for being late. You live and you learn.
P.S.-I LOVE overnight trains. minus the fact that they are really late (we arrived later in Paris as well; they seem to lose time along the journey).

Paris was a unique experience and definitely had that inexplicable charm. It was awesome to be in a country whose language I've studied for so long. I could actually understand a lot more than I do in Italy, so that was a good feeling. But, as my status on facebook says, I fell in love with art on this trip. I'm so serious, too. I've been able to appreciate certain forms, but I fell in love with specific artists and art forms. Never knew I would like Impressionist paintings, but apparently I do. In my opinion, the so-called "famous" portraits they always use as examples of impressionist art are not the best ones. Monet, Renoir, Degas--my favorites, by far. Though they don't quite hold a torch to Rodin, whom I literally feel like I know though I don't know anything about him. They have an entire museum dedicated to him (Musee Rodin), and it was really a passing thought that we decided to stop in (the weather was so bad, and we figured we could go see the Thinking Man, his most famous artwork). It's so funny when things like that happen--just by coincidence, you stumble upon something that changes you. How wonderful life is! And, yes, I am aware if you google his name, some raunchy pieces of artwork come up. I was a little taken aback when we first started in the museum. Honestly, it did look like some guy carved a bunch of sex scenes and called it "art". But this is one of those instances when, if you judge a book by its cover, you miss so much more! I started to read the labels of the titles he gave the pieces. And all of a sudden, they made sense. But not only made sense, spoke to me. Made me stand there and ponder this sculpture. I now understand all those artsy people who can just stare at a piece of art for so long, as if they are reading something in it or are listening to it or something crazy like that. I don't claim to be a connoisseur, but I am intrigued and I want to know more. Makes me fall in love with life. Makes me glad to be here, to be alive, healthy, and well. And wonder what else this world as to offer me. I am intrigued. I want to know more.

I Know Why European Women Don't Shave Their Legs

I thought it was an interesting title--it came to me the first time I attempted to shave my legs in our shower. As you can note from the picture, our shower is tiny. (Thus, the answer being "because their showers are so small!") Yes, it was a little disappointing getting off the airplane after over 24 hours of traveling, only to open our bathroom door and discover that it looks exactly like an airplane's bathroom. I don't know who designed the color scheme, but they surely liked red.
But that's something I've noticed about Italy--things here are a lot smaller in proportion. It's very noticeable coming from the US, where materialism is key, and we value our personal space. So naturally, we always take more than we ever need. It's a cultural thing in a way, but of course I never fully realized this until you spend some time away from it all. And not going to lie, at first, it freaked me out. It's the sort of psychology when you know you have limited air, so all of a sudden, you can't breathe, or you start to breathe really heavily. These next few examples are really corny, but it's things I notice.

One: we eat family-style here at the center for lunch and dinner. We have four courses, as is the way Italians eat. They bring out only enough to feed everyone at the table, with ideally, very little or none left over. Can you conceive that?! Only what you need. At first, it was a little getting used to--even though you were still hungry, only taking a little portion of the first and second courses to make sure you had room for the later ones. Also, to make sure everyone else at the table got some as well. We are just so used to taking what we need, not thinking of anyone else (because in the land of excess, there is always more for others, they just have to get it themselves), and satisfying our immediate desires (we're hungry now, so we fill up right away). To the Italians, meals are social, and in a way, require an art to the way you eat. They enjoy the food, and the wine, and the company. Being full is a secondary thought--a bonus, if you will, of the art of eating.

Two: their roads are narrow, their hallways narrow, and their cars are tiny! (They have so many scooters, Smart Cars, and even one-seater cars, which are the funniest things in my opinion.) You also have to rely a lot more on public transportation, and especially your own two feet. They really are a healthy bunch. And I find it interesting to note that their fashion also coincides with practicality--at least, the mass fashion. Fashionable boots that are durable and waterproof AND comfortable; jackets that are stylish and extremely warm; in general, they dress for the weather and work with their enviornment rather than forcing it to work with them. I mean, they live in a beautiful country, so what do they have to complain about?!? :)


The first is a smart car that is so tiny, you can park it in sideways, and it fits! The second is the UPS mail "smart car" lol. It's adorable! And we're pretty sure it can't carry too many packages... (PS, these pictures were taken in Rome)

But when I first realized the whole there's-not-enough-oxygen-to-breathe phenomenon was walking down our stairs. They are wooden/stone stairs (they change material about halfway) and have carpet on them, which was intended to be walked on, of course. I found myself unnaturally concentrating on walking within the space permitted--I almost felt like I was being confined to this narrow strip of carpet, and it would be considered rude to not use it properly. Then I would find myself getting unnaturally frustrated with this little strip of carpet. I had to walk down up and down it every day, multiple times a day, and I was getting really annoyed at how narrow it was! I'm being completely serious--this is so ridiculous, I know. And I remember thinking, "Italians! In America, the carpet would at least be twice this wide, so we didn't even have to think about walking within the lines!" And immediately the next thought process followed: but do we actually need that wide of a carpet? Is that just a waste of material, money, and energy? Because if I really pause to take into account the space I occupy as I walk, it's not really that much...in fact...it's actually pretty close to the width of that stupid carpet they have on the stairs.

Lesson learned? I think so. At least, the differences were more pronounced. You can get by with a lot less than you think. You hear that all the time, and in theory it makes sense, but to live for an extended amount of time with...less, is different. And at the same time, aren't you actually living more because of it? Same goes for traveling--you really can only bring exactly what you need, because you don't want to be carrying that stuff all the way to your hostel and on trains, planes, etc. I'm actually considering this a game, now. To try to see exactly how few things I can get by on. It's a learning experience, especially about myself! And it tests my creative juices; have to come up with an effective alternative if you don't have the necessary requirements nearby (such as, uh...laundry.) But I do find myself living more, and worrying less about material goods. But being in Europe could also be part of it all.

Other things to note about Italy: They LOVE Nutella here. They don't have peanut butter, and they have these vats of Nutella. Also, they eat fruit for dessert--so as a whole, not a very sweet-tooth focused country, though they do love their nutella crepes and gelato.

Italia on the Tuscan Side

So, I kinda feel like I should have posted something a while ago, but my excuse is that I’ve been so busy with getting settled here, AND Yahoo! apparently knows I’m in Italy, so everything is in Italian, and I’m trying to figure out how to post an entry. If you’re reading this, that means I have succeeded.  Yay.
Things I have noticed about Italy thus far:
1. Beauty—the people and the landscape
2. Italians are passionate people.
3. Gelato = delicious
4. Everyone here smokes
5. Everyone here wears skinny jeans
6. EVERYTHING has a story—usually a long history.
7. Euros are expensive
8. Everyone has dogs—and they are either very small ones with tons of fur, or GIANT dogs who are super fat (like German Shepherds, Great Danes, Pit bulls, etc.)
9. When you whisper, the faintest sound is magnified and echoes off of the walls of the buildings in the narrow streets.
10. Italians drive like bats out of hell, whipping around narrow streets. I think they don’t believe in using brakes, for they don’t even slow down for pedestrians (but our prof made it clear to us the first day that pedestrians don’t get the right-of-way in Italian law).
11. Italians are very social people, who are expressive in their love for one another
12. Beauty

Castiglion Fiorentino, the city that we live in, is a smaller town filled with very friendly people who love the students at the center. We live next to a church, whose bells toll all the time, adding to that European atmosphere. We walk a lot, and my cross-country legs are actually starting to come back. I’ve lost a bit of weight—eating healthy food and walking up all the hills here. We live in the mountainous region, which makes an even more beautiful scenic view—it’s the whole Tuscan charm. But the hills in town are intense. Megan (my roommate) joked that they would definitely not have passed code in America because of the risk they would create when it rains or snows (which is does a lot here—rain, that is). Most of the hills are a 45 degree incline, and you walk up them practically bent over, your legs screaming and gasping for breath. The weather is cold, but you get used to it, like anything I suppose. It’s going to be beautiful when the weather gets warmer. Classes aren’t even worth mentioning. Though my Italian class is great. The Professor is from Castiglion F.no (the abbreviation for our city—I know it looks ridiculous), and she is the sweetest lady. Hopefully I’ll be pretty good in Italian by the end of this trip. The Italians that I have encountered thus far truly appreciate it when you try to speak their language, and they generally are a lot nicer to you (versus treating you like the dumb American you act as). But apparently, my French helps, because I have been picking up the language pretty well. One of the goals I have for this entire experience is to be able to converse with the locals and become a part of their lives—at least get a glimpse of what makes this country Italia.
Today, we went to an antiques fair in Arezzo (the closest major town to us). The entire city was filled with tents with everything you could imagine. We spent the entire morning/afternoon there wandering around. I bought a hat, which you will now see in pictures to come. But as we were walking the streets, an Italian accordion player was playing this beautiful melody in the street lined with an open-air market—I got it on video, but I feel it truly captured Italian culture in such a small glimpse (for afterwards, his partner came up to us, asking for money).
Also one thing I didn’t really take into account when I came here—I automatically turned 21. And, considering I am the baby of this entire group (there is one other girl who is my age, everyone is a junior or older, and have been 21 for a while), we often go out to the bars at night and have a good time. Mixed drinks are actually pretty good, considering what you get. Wine is wonderful & cheap here as well. But I really like this group of people. It is a little different, because I’ve had to grow up a bit, just because they are pretty mature. But we laugh and joke and have a good time anyway—they are still college kids. It was slightly awkward at first, just cause no one really knew each other, but the ice was quickly broken, and soon we were planning our weekend trips with each other and hanging out all the time. I journal a lot, and because of that, get behind a little in my homework, but c’est la vie. It is just funny how quickly you get accustomed to everything—the different ways Italians do things, taking public transportation all the time, etc. Today we went to the Laundromat, and the owner spoke no English whatsoever, but he was nice enough to drive us back up the hill to our center for free. It was strange getting in a car again…
So, I’ve been rambling, I know, but I will still have so much more to say when I get back to the US. I won’t shut up, but y’all are under no obligation to read all this! :) Next week we go to Rome (“Roma” en Italiano). And that song always gets stuck in my head…. Roma…Ro-ma-ma…

In the Eternal City of Fountains...

My homesickness has faded away. At first it was a bit frightening being in a different country, a complete foreigner, greatly separated by the language barrier. But now I'm starting to feel at home. My Italian is improving slightly, and every Monday here I have a class where we get a class of lively ten year-olds and tutor them in English. They have such vibrant personalities and such intelligent minds! My roomie Roselyn and I have 4 kids - 3 boys and 1 girl. There's Alessio, the little punk, who's imaginative, hyper, brilliant, and such a clown. Then there's Mateo, Alessio's best friend and fellow troublemaker; together they are so hilarious. Next is Julie, a girl who loves swimming and knows an impressive amount of English. She sides with Roselyn and I when we poke fun at boys and make jokes. Last is little Andrea, who looks so much like a young version of Jonathan "Jonfen" Safran Foer of Everything is Illuminated. His English isn't as good, so he's quieter than the rest but he's just as bright. I love working with these kids, they're so eager to learn and so full of life! You see them and you just know they're full of grand ideas and imaginings about the world. The language barrier is nothing for this class - a few minutes into knowing each other we're laughing, joking, imitating each other, drawing, playing games, and talking about our lives. We love our kids.

The city's been easier to navigate too. It sure helps your sense of direction when you have modern world wonders reminding where you are at every other street corner. And here, all the students discover a different part of the city and in a process of getting to know each other effectively become each other's guides for the entire limits. I've been getting to know so many people here, it's amazing. I love it. There's an amazing character in the body of UD students that shows up subtly in each person. This is such a wonderful community.

I'm encountering so many new experiences every day, that it's almost overwhelming, but it really forces you to emerge as a stronger and more independent person. There is so much fear a person might run into here, that you've gotta toughen up and in the process you discover many things about yourself. I gotta say, I really like where this is going. Life is good.

Love, Mika :)

Well, This Isn't As Exciting As Italy, But...

"(talking about writing sentences)... don't pad them, enjoy thinking about the language..."

- Curtis Swope, my German Cinema professor.

I think what my professor said today is quite beautiful and it got me to thinking. How wonderful would it be if every time we sat down to write a paper, a poem, a facebook message, or a blogpost, we used words to express the beauty and volatility of our language. What if we study words not just as a means to state facts or our ideas, but as elements or tools of creating art that can only be understood by certain groups of people? Hmm.

Food for thought.

Also, in case you were wondering why a German Cinema professor was talking about writing techniques, it's because 1. the methods and skills used in writing are similar to those we use to critically analyze films (not sure how, but I guess I'll find out) and 2. we'll have to write papers that include such analyses and the tips he gave are supposed to help us express our arguments.