comings and goings

back in an airport, watching people drag bags down marble floors while simultaneously eating pieces of pizza, looking frantic. seattle is beautiful, a solid place to return to the united states. the cascades and olympics winking at me on the way home from the airport, squeezed tightly with four friends in a two door car.

i've been home a week, and i'm stuck in an interim of feeling not quite at home anywhere. seattle feels comfortable, like slipping into an old pair of jeans. but i keep thinking, in rome, in rome, in rome, in rome the coffee came in the form of cappuccinos and the sky was always blue. in rome, the milk tastes like ice cream and pizza dough doesn't come from a can. in rome, birds flew in murmurations like magic, and the air tasted like licorice and salt.

i came home to a flurry of hugs and hellos, and a surprise party complete with keystone light and balloons. it was perfect, and this week was full of sleeping and old faces looking new. now i am in an airport again, waiting to board a plane to las vegas, where i will gamble $5 and then fly back to nashville. another day, another home. never ending comings and goings, airport arrivals, and attempting to remember and forget at the same time.

apartment 312

it's my last night in my apartment here in rome, and i am sitting with mikaela at the kitchen table. earlier today, we had to clean our apartment so that we could get checked out and get our security deposits back. now, the whole apartment is incredibly clean. but, it feels empty... like we were never here at all.

my last week in rome has been weird, a whirlwind of getting last minute class things done, attempting to do the things i've meant to do the whole time (like visit the colosseum), and spend time with everyone on my program. it's crazy to think that eight weeks ago, i didn't know anyone here, and now, i can't imagine life without them. i've been so excited to leave that i haven't been appreciating what is around me. luckily, we've dedicated a lot of time to each other the last few days. last night we watched a movie, twelve of us on one couch, with a bed pulled up on the floor in front. today we went on a carousel at the christmas market, and had a potluck. but it all comes down to this, counting down the last few hours at the kitchen table.

i still have a few more days in rome before i fly home to seattle, but i can't help but feel like i'm done. and feel incredibly confused at the fact that it's over, or that i'm here at all. where did it all go? what's next? how can i translate the things i've learned here in rome into the "real world" in seattle? sitting in a desk will feel so odd.


"the world is your school."
-fischer


"the road to wisdom?
-well it's plain
and simple to express:
err
and err
and err again
but less
and less
and less."
-hein

it's a lot to think about.

today...

...the sun is shining, and i feel happy. i want to skip class, go on a run, sunlight and freckles on my face. i want to jump and skip and sing. i want a playground for adults.

rome, like paris, surprises. one moment, i want to be gone, and the next, i want to run through the streets, and see everything, and never leave. it's weird how quickly feelings can change. it feels like i'm balancing on a see-saw, trying to remain in the middle, only to fall one way too quickly.

yesterday, the sun was shining, too. we traveled on a big bus around rome to visit urban gardens. our teacher daphne teaches us about the effect of gardens on people, tells us that something about open fields and growing things makes us feel wild, and

"in wilderness, there is the preservation of the world." -thoreau.

sometimes, sitting in a classroom, i listen to daphne speak about biodynamic agriculture, or about depressed artists who design gardens and find life satisfaction, or about the necessity of feeling wild to being human, and it seems like bullshit.

and then, suddenly, with no constraints or restraints on a field of greens on the outskirts of rome, i can't help but feel free, and in feeling free, feel wild. i want to leave this body of mine behind, fly somewhere, run and never stop.

driving back into the buildings, i try to carry this feeling with me, storing it in my pocket for times when the see-saw swings downward. and today, when i woke up, the feeling was opening itself again, even though i was inside a room with walls and ceilings and computers.

today i wish everyone could feel this way, could dream of wild flowers and feel free. feel happy. love from rome.

paris at a glance.

flying back from paris, salty pretzels and sleeping bodies. paris was interesting. i don't know if i would describe it as beautiful. maybe surprising. flowers in small parks, antiques sold on the side of the street, a shirtless break dancer under the eiffel tower. yellow leaves, and the scent of winter. running down the street to warm ourselves, stamping our feet like horses. light reflecting over the seine. bernard's house, the creaky wooden floors, bathroom the size of one body. we slept two on a futon, one on the floor.

we flew into lille, the northern border of france, ate wraps and espressos, got on a free bus full of students. one got a nose bleed outside, drops of blood on the pavement. i got a window seat, two hours of fields, french fog. watched ice age in french and stared out the window. fog so white, it looked like snow. the cold caught us by surprise, bursts of breath steaming, mikaela glad for her last minute jacket, nicole and i wrapping our scarves around our heads like hats. another bus from beauvois, double decker after lines in the cold, a cappuccino from a machine. top, front row. a man with a moustache slept next to me, folded like a frog. he read his poetry, breathed deeply. i felt dizzy from being so high up.

we entered paris by mall, surrounded by the gap and american coffees.

and then, paris: bakeries with crazy colors, men dressed better than women. women, beautiful, bare faces and curly hair, they look so free. red lips. walking, walking, walking. bernard bought five kilos of mandarins, peeled them perfectly. bad starbucks (never thought i wouldn't like it). the market. the sound of french, strange and captivating, better than music. i could listen to it for hours. walking, and thinking how much i'd like to see a familiar face, then running into a friend from high school. smiling for hours after.

samples of chocolate from a free fair, lunch of cheese and baguette, kids playing in the park. the little girl on the metro flirted with us. the eiffel tower show at night, brighter than stars, made the moon look small, worthless. we asked, which is better? i answered, the tower dominates, but the moon is my favorite. steady, not built for a world fair. not built for anyone.

bernard jokes, we laughed, he peeled his mandarins and smiled, straight teeth, asking, why do you make me say stupid things?

monmarte in the morning, so white, so full, devoted sunday morning and mulled wine. more croissants. the band outside of the opera. rolling in the grass outside the lourve. thinking, am i really in france?

and then, we were back. the campo sounded so familiar! today i went on a run, and i ran to the pace of repeating words, rome home, rome home, rome home. my feet moved one after the other.

and today people kept asking me, how was paris? i respond differently, or not at all. for some reason, i can't think of paris and sentences in the same thought. i lack structure, can only get out these quick glimpses and phrases. europe is becoming a sea of pretty buildings, memories that blur. i'm preparing myself to come home, i think. i keep imagining all the normalcies of life, or the things people will say to me when i get back. i wonder how it will be different when i come back, and i wonder how i am different, if i am. i wonder if people can change, if people do change, if people want to change. and at the same time, i remind myself constantly, EMBRACE! embrace this life, this sunshine, these feet in a different location! and in this way, i keep rooted, keep enjoying.

"Home is a verb."

Civita di Bagnoregio is home to 7 people. Maurizio lives next to his restaurant, an apartment with a loft that he leaves for his restaurant in Rome. Tony from Tennessee lives in the old University of Rome headquarters, a series of apartments with room for the old architecture students. A famous TV personality lives in the castle building near the front of the city, where red vines take over the walls and windows lead to air.

There is so much to say, but no way to say it. Civita may be the most beautiful place I have ever seen. We toured an olive mill, visited Heather's farm. We cooked lentils and polenta, ragu sauce, crepes for breakfast. We ate ricotta that was only hours old, and pet baby pigs. We took a day trip to Orvieto and wandered through a gothic church. As always, I didn't want to leave.

A woman who stayed in Civita for a year wrote a book about it. By the end of her journey, she felt she had lost her home. Is it Seattle, where she has lived for nine years? Civita where she learned to write? Paris or New York? She writes:

"Perhaps home is a concept we carry with us- if we commit to making home into an action, a place in our hearts, a stronger sense of self- then it's possible to be at home no matter where our bodies or our possessions reside.

Like being a citizen of the world, the point is not about finding one place where we belong forever or 'losing' something when we leave, but about possessing the emotional intelligence to identify when we're in the right place at an appropriate time- and when it's time to move to the next right place.

If heart is where the home is, then there's no need to lament our departure from one country for the next, no matter how beloved it may be. If we're always home, then the world is a menu of experiences that we can order up as our hunger inspires us-again and again, if we desire, or when appropriate, a new dish altogether."
-Gabriela Denise Frank

I loved Civita for what it was, cliff edges perfect for dangling feet, dinners in the Sala Grande by the fireplace, conversations about the meaning of it all, questions never answered. Winding road drives in public buses, and would you rather-s. Cats for petting, acrobatics in the street, the colors of the leaves in the valley.

In class yesterday, we discussed the collective social nostalgia for the countryside; how can we, as city people, have nostalgia for something that we have never experienced? Is living in the countryside a sustainable fantasy? Is it what we really want? In Civita, I found myself playing with a five year old on a farm, her leading me over puddles to pet horses, to show me her pet lamb, eating prosciutto cut from the farm's pig, homesick for a place I have never been or seen before.

But then back in Rome, I feel at home. We go to the Irish pub we always frequent. We make chili, eat stale bread, drink 1 euro cappuccinos. We go through the motions, and I dream of owning a bed and breakfast, of talking with guests and tucking in bed sheets, of reading poetry while gazing out at fields. It is a fantasy that I feel I need. That we need. Lateral agency in a city of never ending to-do lists.

I guess I understand what Gabriela writes, but have yet to actually grasp it. I feel as if I am grieving leaving Civita while simultaneously celebrating Rome, and missing both Seattle and Tennessee. Life right now feels dynamic, ever changing, ever moving or maybe flowing. As Mikaela says, I feel lost, but I like it. I will revel in the gray area.

murmurations

My favorite view of Rome is outside of my teacher's apartment. Her window, which is about eight feet above mine, is taller than me. If you lean out just enough, and look to the right, you can see sprawling orange-y brown buildings. Some buildings have rooftop terraces, where people water plants or talk on the phone. In others, you can look through the window where old man watch TV. Across from her apartment, there is a large balcony, littered with toys or drying laundry. The sun sets, and golden light falls across the buildings. You can't see the streets, or the river, or the separations. Rome, simmered down to a single shot. During cooking classes, I attempt to pay attention while simultaneously leaning out the window and watching Rome stretch and breathe. I listen to instructions for a ragu sauce, to the correct amount of time pasta should cook, to the blade of the knife as it hits the cutting board. But I remain at the window, mesmerized.

It is crazy how quickly a new place becomes home. Three weeks ago, I didn't know my way around. I didn't know how to speak to the fruit vendor, and I couldn't imagine feeling comfortable in Italy. All of a sudden, in the past week, there has been a shift, a subtle change that has caused Rome to feel like home. I know to buy all my milk at the latteria across the piazza, and I know the milk costs a euro and fifty. The young workers at the butcher below the building know Mikaela and I by name. We know some of them. They greet us with ciao bellas, and air kisses. Roberto, the doorman, taught me the word for rain today. Sergio, an old man in the building, shoves coffee candies into our hands on the way out the door, telling us to call him nonno (grandfather.) Our Italian classes are over, and on the last day, our teacher Raffaella teared up as we left class. Grazie, Raffaella, we called as we ran out of the building, to the pizza shop around the corner, or to Forno, the bakery with the softest bread and almond pine nut cookies. Our apartment smells familiar, and I know exactly how to twist the key to get it open on the first try. Home.

In this new home, I continue to make new discoveries every day. Yesterday, as I was leaning out of my teacher's apartment window, I realized that the swarms of black birds I had been watching over the weeks had suddenly doubled or tripled in size, and the sky was black with their tiny dot-like forms. The birds flew out from the swarm, and back together again, dipping and soaring, coming together until a black swell like a lava lamp waved across the sky. Some would fly over the window, and I craned my neck as if watching an airplane.

My teacher, Ann, told us that they are roosting, coming down from the hills to seek refuge in the valley. She didn't know why they swarm, but she did tell us that Romans used to think that the birds were writing messages from the Gods across the sky. They even did bird divination.

Apparently, no one really knows how or why European Starlings perform the air acrobatics they do. The birds typically fly side by side, which for them is eye to eye. They take turns being on the outside and inside of the swarm, and they play follow the leader. It is possible that the birds swarm for protection against predators, or to save energy. The swarms are called murmurations. Check out BBC Earth for more information: http://news.bbc.co.uk/earth/hi/earth_news/newsid_9175000/9175793.stm . There is a cool video that gives a poor view of what it looks like here. I encourage you to skip ahead to the second video, to the time 1:40.

I love the murmurations, and I love Rome. The end of this week marks the halfway point of this journey, and I am beginning to feel anxious about how little time I have left. There is still so much to do! This weekend, we are throwing a pumpkin party for Emily, a girl on the program who is turning 19, and whose favorite thing in the world is pumpkin. We might go to Pompeii. But, then again, maybe I shouldn't be too concerned about how much time I spend in Rome... after all, I did throw a coin in the Trevi Fountain. Love from Rome.

When I grow up...

I might want to be a farmer.

Last night, we got back from a one night trip at Caponetti's Farm (http://caponetti.com/Lorenzo.htm) in Tuscania. We left Friday at 2:45, and arrived at the farm around 4:30. The drive was beautiful... in our big red bus, we passed by St. Peter's Basilica and ambled through the suburbs of Rome, until we finally broke into countryside. We drove along the coast, and as always, since I spent most of my life in a land locked state, it was exciting to see the ocean.

After a precarious drive down a gravel road, we were greeted by Lorenzo, the head farmer, his father, his mother, grandmother, and four extremely happy dogs. We had just enough sunlight to set our stuff down, and run towards the field, where we planted some onion, learned about the water system, and got to see some of the Etrusian tombs that litter the farm. Pepe, Berta, and Olsola, the dogs, followed us everywhere.

The "farm" is more than just a farm; Lorenzo's family bought Caponetti's Farm with the purpose of making the main building a bed and breakfast. The house had been abandoned for years, and the yard was being used as a helicopter landing pad for the Italian government. The house, a crumbling, orange building, sits on the middle of a 125 acre property. The Caponetti family knew they had to use the farm for something other for a bed and breakfast, and asked their younger son, an agricultural student, to plant things. But, after being overwhelmed, Lorenzo took over.

Lorenzo, a self dubbed "smart ass," began farming. He had been studying various subjects, including ecology, for years, but had no experience farming. When he discovered the olive trees on the property, he saw it as one way to make the farm profitable. He also began extensively studying olive oil, and has perfected his olive oil, which is the best of the best (apparently used at all the best restaurants in New York City). He believes in sustainable, "clean" agriculture. He spoke with us for only 15 minutes, but it was the most informative talk of my life. I want his olive oil, but it usually sells out immediately, seeing as he doesn't have many trees. (Actually olive trees are shrubs that have been cut and pruned over the years into a tree shape, which is easier to harvest.) He travels to the US a few times a year to teach seminars at various schools, and he also participates in WOOFing, and does internships with culinary students. Basically, he has created an enterprise that gives back. Maybe when I grow up I want to be Lorenzo...

After learning a little bit about the farm, we headed inside to eat dinner. Dinner in Italy is an ordeal. It is typical to have three courses, and two are absolutely necessary. There is bread before, and coffee after. At this dinner, our first course was a pasta with a tomato sauce that also had olives and capers. The second course consisted of (the best, most delicious, most amazingly cooked) chicken, white beans, and baked potatoes that had been sliced in half to fit butter and a bay leaf (bay leaves grow like crazy here.) Dessert, or dolci, was a brioche like cake with custard in the middle (we had thirds). And of course, extremely strong Italian espresso with sugar, but no cream.

Stuffed to the brim, we learned more about olive oil, and retired to our rooms. It was cold, but not too cold to stargaze... We took chairs from outside, wrapped ourselves in blankets, and sat under the stars. They were the brightest I've ever seen them. I want to go back.

The next morning, we ate a breakfast of coffee and a variety of pastries. Then we headed out to the fields to plant more onion and garlic. My job was to make holes, and people followed me to put garlic or onion in the hole. Then, after a snack of fresh focaccia bread, we went to go do some trail maintenance, but got distracted by some horses we found in the field. Apparently, the farm also raises Arabian race horses... they have sold some to the King of Morocco! They are huge, and very skittish, but eventually warmed up to us after we fed them leaves. They also liked the smell of onion on our hands. One of the horses was pregnant, and there were two foals.

The farm is situated on top of a hill, facing an old city, with an extremely old church. It makes it so that every direction you look, there is an amazing view. Planting garlic, we would look up and see rolling hills and blue sky. Lunch was a picnic, an omelet, a tomato bread salad (so good), a tuna and bean dish with red onions, fresh bread, sliced salami, grapes, and apples. It was all so fresh... Ricotta with jam for dessert.

It was refreshing to be out of Rome. It felt free, windblown hair and thick socks, the Italian countryside at my feet, and dirt on my hands. There is something to be said for simplicity, and Caponetti's Farm is just that. Maybe I want to be a farmer when I grow up. Or maybe I just want to feel free.

Today, Rome felt claustrophobic. We visited some catacombs this morning, and walked on sore legs by the Trevi fountain later. We ate more good food, and checked our computers. But I want to go back.

This week, we have our Italian final and lots of reading due. Now, my Saturday afternoon will be spent reading our book in a park near the Colosseum. Love from Rome.