Day 334 - Storage

When I left – almost a year ago – I put all my things into storage. During this entire year this is the second time I have to go there. The first time was only because I abruptly changed my original plan and decided to go to Europe (where the weather wasn't quite as warm for the clothes in my suitcase). And now there are two reasons actually: I have to swap my "winter" suitcase for my "summer" one as I'm going back to Cozumel on Sunday, and also my friend is getting married in February (at the NYC Library!), so I have to dig out some fancy dress to look up to par at the event.

In the storage, among all my things, I came to two realizations:

1. How little people actually need. I have been traveling with the same suitcase for almost 12 months, and honestly I believe that I can do with half of it. So why on earth do I own all this stuff? And the only reason I'm not buying more stuff right now is because I currently have nowhere to ship it to...
   
2. I miss my apartment!

Day 333 – Erica

Do you always remember the first time you meet somebody who becomes your friend? I usually do. Usually, but not in the case of Erica. We have been friends for the past 9-10 years, and pretty much all these years we are trying to figure out what was our first encounter. Somehow both of us have severe amnesia when it comes to that. How very strange. We have several scenarios that are equally good, but still this question bothers us and from time to time we add new options to this list.

Day 332 – The snow gym

Nobody seems to be working around Christmas. This is nice. I like it when people stop thinking about work all the time, and remind themselves that they actually have a life, and it's full of beauty.

The highlight of today was a great exercise Melanie and I performed in the park. We speed walked (not intentionally, just both of us are really fast walkers) for two hours straight in the park. In the snow! It was awesome!

Day 331 - True Grit

I was planning to run some errands, but naturally NYC is not prepared for the snow (it really amazes me how every year the City acts as if this is the first time it snows here), and almost all businesses are closed today. Oh well, another day of hibernation for me. I’m not complaining.

In the evening, we ventured out to see Coen brothers’ True Grit at the Ziegfeld theater. Oh my, Hailee Steinfeld is absolutely amazing in it! It is really her movie.

Day 329 – It’s the most wonderful time of the year OR Jewish Christmas

Almost all my Russian friends here are Jewish, and none of them celebrates Christmas with their family. So every year I host this wonderful party we call "Jewish Christmas". I used to be the only Christian in the room for this merry celebration, but nowadays we extend invitation to all "stray" souls, who find themselves deprived of their family on Christmas for whatever reasons (most of them are doctors on-call). The tradition is to serve Arabic sandwiches from Brooklyn. This is my message of peace to all the world's major religions:).

Faith differences aside, we keep true to the real Christmas spirit. We exchange gifts and even play the "pickle hunt". In the US it is believed to be a German tradition, however, as I just learnt, in Germany nobody seems to have heard of it (read the full story behind the pickle debate here). Whatever the origin, it's a fun little game. You hide a pickle-shaped glass ornament deep in your Christmas tree, and whoever finds it, gets a little present. It's amusing to watch grown people crowded around the tree elbowing each other in their excited attempts to be the first to find this pickle. I like anything that makes us look and feel silly.

Day 328 – It’s a holly, jolly Christmas

We spent the Christmas Eve at Luke's mother's on Long Island. Luke has four brothers and sisters and each of them has a big family of their own. So there were about 50 people at the party. Four generations.

My family is small, and we almost never have any reunions, because everybody has always been dispersed around the globe. So for me this gathering was absolutely incredible.

For the first two-three hours I was enjoying it tremendously. I positioned myself in a cozy corner of one of the many rooms, decorated beautifully with Christmas stockings from the time when Luke and his siblings were kids, with a plate full of delicious Christmas snacks, and observed the real American Christmas celebration. The first thing that struck me is how friendly and nice everybody was with each other, how genuinely glad they seemed to see each other. Adults had truly meaningful conversations. Older kids took care of the little ones. Even teenagers chatted away happily. At some point, they took family photos next to the tree – what a merry pain in the butt!J Then, a perfect looking blond and handsome brother and sister performed a violin concert of Christmas carols. The captivated audience sang along. I felt like I was at the filming of a 50's movie, really.

Then, my personal hell began. The stupid headache again. I don't know what triggered it – the overwhelming impressions or the complete absence of any silent moment for several hours – but on the train back to NYC I was dying and thoughts about merciful euthanasia popped into my aching head more than once.

Days 325-327 - In hibernation

I cannot believe how tired I am feeling. Both my body and my spirit seem to have gone into the hibernation mode, and I spent 3 full days in my pajamas on Tanya's couch. It's very comfy! Michael, incredulous of my behavior, was telling our friends, "I leave to work, Masha is on one side of the couch with her book. I come home Masha is on the other side of the couch with her book." And that is true, this is exactly how I spent my days, reading and staring at the beautiful tree.

Blizzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzard!

Last year I missed the annual NYC blizzard, but luckily this time I’m here! What beauty and fun it is to take a stroll in the park (Central Park that is), followed by a hot rum cider at the Boathouse!

It was really a perfect day. Tanya, Michael, Dima, Serge, Sonya and I met for brunch at the 7A Cafe (obviously located on 7^th street and Avenue A, duh DimaJ). Then, the most adventurous of us – Tanya, Michael and I – went for that beautiful and fun stroll in the park, while the weakest were shopping, after which we all reconvened at Tanya and Michael’s for our traditional Christmas time Scrooge screening. This movie is truly the best adaptation of A Christmas Carol, and although I don’t particularly like musicals, this one is really cool and you don't even mind the songs sticking for many a day after watching. Thank you very much, thank you very much, it’s the nicest thing that anyone’s ever done for me! It sounds a bit bizarre, but things the way they are, I feel as if another life’s begun for me! Pure joy!

Day 324 – Arrivederci Roma

It was the worst flight in my life! Usually, I really don't notice flights, I just fall asleep before the plane takes off and wake up when the plane wheels touch the ground at landing. This time was different though. Of course, given all the snow storms passing through Europe, I shouldn't complain and rather feel lucky that I could even fly out... But it was simply terrible, so although I do feel lucky, I'll complain anyways.

There was no first-class upgrade available. The Rome-Dublin plane was delayed 2 hours (of course, when everybody was already inside, that's the best), and we almost didn't make it for the connection. Then the Dublin-NYC flights was delayed 2 hours as well, and again, when everybody was inside; why the hell do they do this, not enough room in the terminal? My exit seat that I paid $10 for (because on Aer Lingus you have to pay for selecting your seats online) was the most uncomfortable seat ever. Being an exit one it did offer a lot of leg room, but… it was right by the "kitchen" area, so I spent the entire flight in the ding-dong of trays and non-stop chit-chat among flight attendants. Apparently, they have A LOT to discuss, I tell you. On top of everything, I couldn't make use of the empty seat right next to me, because the seat divider couldn't be raised. And I had always thought that crying babies are the worst evil on the plane. You live you learn. And the connection in Dublin is a whole separate story…

Dublin airport is very strange. I kid you not, I walked 35 minutes non-stop to make my connection. The signs for the gates are there from minute one of your journey and you get this false hope that you will be at your destination in a second, but then… there are just no gates whatsoever. There are no stairs either, so you just walk straight, all the time, walk-walk-walk. The airport doesn't even seem that huge. I wonder if they did it on purpose, as some kind of existential training. A lot happens to you in your journey to the gate.

You don't think about it much in the beginning – just follow the sign with your gate number. But when you don't see any gates after 10 minutes, you start wondering if you are walking in the right direction and double-check the signs. At minute 15 you try to find a "you are here" map to gauge where the hell you really are. At minute 20 you start paying attention to the fellow-walkers: do people around you move at the same pace? Do they look as lost and confused as you feel or are you the only one whose psyche gets so easily affected by a seemingly pointless journey? In other words, you wake up, you start looking at the terminal around you consciously.

Suddenly, every little detail becomes important as you decipher the walk. A myriad of questions swarm in your head: haven't you already passed this store before? If this is truly the first time, how come it is exactly the same as the one you remember seeing 10 minutes ago? Why do we need so many stores in the airport anyway? Why do we need so many stores outside the airport? How have we become so consumerist as people? Nowadays, everything seems to be treated as a consumer item. How do you balance the natural liking for eating well and dressing well with the no-less-natural desire to be a conscious human-being, attentive and loving and helpful to the world around them… Where the hell is this stupid gate???

Nothing in life makes sense, really. Why do people work so much, for example? There are so many studies and articles about workaholism being almost as bad as alcoholism, for many this subject has become work in itself, yet it doesn't seem to effect any change. In the contemporary society people find it perfectly normal to say, "Oh, I cannot make it to our date tonight, because I have to stay late at work". And you expect the person on the other end of this conversation to nod understandingly and say, "Oh sure, don't worry, we'll reschedule it for another time". Now imagine if somebody tells you, "Darling, I cannot make our date tonight, because I'm half-way through my bottle of bourbon and I just feel like I need to finish it tonight". Exactly! Oh come on, where IS the gate??? I've been walking for 30 minutes already! This is plain ridiculous! Who has built this stupid airport?

The whole experience is pretty surreal. A whole array of feelings pass through you during this journey: from taking things for granted, to being lost and confused, to questioning your senses, to frustration, to blind rage, to – finally – acceptance of the Universe just the way it is… Now that I think about it, everybody should probably make it a point to fly through Dublin at least once in their lifetime.

Days 322-323 – In Rome with Ana OR Random thoughts on friendship

This weekend Ana (my friend from Paris) came to visit me in Rome. We spent two great days doing nothing else but walking around Rome – stopping only for a photo, a coffee or a meal (well, many-many yummy meals to be honest) – and talking, talking, talking. This is really the best time spending!

I met Ana in Cozumel in February, 2010. Our bonding started underwater, grew stronger during our "lobster trip" to Punta Allen, and has been solidified ever since via Facebook.

The goodness of Facebook

I must admit, I love Facebook. Only a couple of years ago, I was totally against the concept: I argued that virtual relationships can be no substitution for in-person interaction and that Facebook promotes false sense of belonging. Although I still hold those points valid, lately – especially during my travels – I have grown to appreciate the goodness of Facebook as well. Besides the obvious convenience of easy photo sharing, it offers so much more. From satisfying your natural curiosity about your childhood friends to really making new friends, cultivating new real – not virtual – relationships from the shoots of simple on-the-road acquaintances.

How do we become friends? Through sharing various experiences, by being somehow involved in each other's life. How often, during travels, people meet, click, spend some awesome hours (days, weeks) together, promise to "keep in touch" at good-bye, write a couple of emails and… never see or hear from each other again. Naturally, if you are not in each other's life one way or another, very soon you run out of topics for discussion and your communication withers.

But now, thanks to Facebook, people actually have a chance to develop a meaningful relationship over time, by being exposed to each other's life through pictures and status updates. In other words, the material for a quality conversation is continuously supplied. However silly and superficial it may sound, the process actually works! You start by putting a comment here and there, you see what your new (potential) friend likes or doesn't like to do, then you engage into a long discussion thread over some political, cultural or life issue, and all of a sudden… you find yourself planning a trip togetherJ.

Friendship according to Aristotle

The process of making friends has always fascinated me (and here's the proof that I keep thinking about it). What is it that makes you click with some people almost instantly and spend years side by side with others without as much as sharing a semi-deep thought? Why do we grow close with some people and really like others but can't seem to find any common ground for a relationship? Do pheromones affect our friendship decisions? Or the rules of physics, physics of friendship?

I am an only child, so naturally the subject of friendship has been in a way central in my life as I create my own "family" from those who surround me. After all, as Aristotle states, "Anyone who is to be happy must have excellent friends". I want to be happy. And I am fortunate to be happy.

Aristotle argues that there are 3 kinds of philia (usually translated as "friendship"):

• Philia based on mutual advantage (love for what is useful).
  
• Philia based on mutual pleasure (love for what is pleasant).
  
• Philia based on admiration (love for what is good).
  

These types are not mutually exclusive, they can overlap. The third kind will usually involve the other two, and is, Aristotle argues, the best of the three. Mutual admiration involves the nature of the other person, not simply how they affect you, and is therefore more likely to last ("for if someone is no longer pleasant or useful, the other stops loving him").

I love Aristotle's clear distinction of kinds of people experiencing philia: "Now it is possible for bad people to be friends to each other for pleasure or utility, for decent people to be friends to base people, and for someone with neither character to be a friend to someone with any character. Clearly, however, only good people can be friends to each other because of the other person himself; for bad people find no enjoyment in one another if they get no benefit. Good people's life together allows the cultivation of virtue."

Following this logic, I must be a good person because my friends are good peopleJ. In fact, they are awesome people; and by "awesome" I mean interesting, loving, loyal, fun.

Day 321 – Rainy Rome

Turns out that the Italians never go out in the rain. If it's raining, you can be sure that restaurants will be empty, even if all the tables have the "Reserved" sign on them. If you happen to host a party on a rainy night, you can forget about stellar attendance. I must have some Italian blood: I have never liked getting out of the house in the rain. When I had a job, I would always work from home if I could on a rainy day. I love the sound of rain drops against my closed window, I love the gray sky, the pajamas that I end up wearing all day, the smell of the city right after the rain. I just don't like the wet angry crowds of people, armed with pointy umbrellas and by the looks of it totally ready to use the weapon. I very much dislike the exaggerated honking, because let's face it, when it rains, somehow everybody forgets how to drive all of a sudden. And I don't like my feet wet; and unless you wear the ugly and utterly uncomfortable rain boots, you are sure to get your feet wet.

The weather is terrible today. It's pouring wet snow since early morning and it doesn't look like it is ever going to stop. I pray that all the rain stored in the Roman clouds for this week gets exhausted today, because tomorrow Ana (my friend from Paris) is coming to spend the weekend together. So I'll gladly stay at home today, just please please please make it sunny and nice tomorrow!

I have already finished the entire Season 1 of "Dexter" and also "Kill Bill – Volume 2" that I got at Fertrinelli book store the other day. Hmmm, what to do now? Maybe I can review the little Italian I have learnt this week...

1. I know how to buy half a kilo of mortadella. Posso avere mezzo kilo di mortadella, per favore?

2. I know how to buy 2 apples (and other fruit in any needed quantity for that matter) at the local market. Posso avere due mele, per piacere? La ciliegia, il limone, la pesca, la fragola, l'albicocca, l'arancia, la banana, il cocomero, l'uva, la pera, il melone. La cipolla, la carota, l'aglio, il peperone, il cetriolo, il fungo, la melanzana, l'insalata, i piselli, il sedano, i fagioli, la patata, il pomodoro, il carciofo, gli asparagi, il ravanello, la zucca!

3. I now know that Largo di Torre Argentina (and all the streets, squares and corners with "Argentina" in the name) is called this way not because in Rome they love Argentina. No. Torre Argentina takes its name from the city of Strasbourg, whose originanal name was Argentoratum. In 1503, the Papal Master of Ceremonies Johannes Burchardt from Strasbourg built in Via del Sudario a palace, called Casa del Burcardo, to which the tower is annexed.

The square now hosts four Republican Roman temples and the remains of the Pompey's Theater where Julius Caesar was murdered.

I have noticed in the past year that cemeteries attract cats for some reason. I wonder why. Although Pompey's Theater is not really a cemetery, but there were so many cats there. So maybe it's the stones?
4. I can buy any kind of bread and pastry now (very useful in Italy, trust me!). Fetta di torta, pasta, cornetto al cioccolato, tramezzino, panino, pizzetta, casadella con ricota.

5. I could understand that Piazza Remuria played a very interesting and important role in the foundation of Rome. The town could have started here. But it didn't...

Rome was built on seven hills, starting with the Palatinus. The legend says it was founded by Romulus, but why by him and not by his twin brother, if Romulus and Remus started "working" on it together? To sort out whom of the two the new town should be named after (Roma for Romulus OR Remuria for Remus), the priests decided the twins should look for a sign in the sky. So Romulus went on top of the Palatinus and Remus, on top of the Aventinus, a nearby hill, to watch for crows (it is the first recorded case of birdwatching in the history of mankind by the way).

Romulus had better eyesight (or Jupiter preferred him) and so he was designated to be the founder of the town which took his name and his house on the Palatinus originated the word "palace". Poor Remus did not take it well: he crossed the furrow which indicated the area of Rome and Romulus killed him.

Piazza Remuria is the spot where Remus was looking for crows and possible the initial site of his town.

6. I now know that the names of the weekdays from the Roman period (and now in all the Romance languages) were named after 7 planets: il lunedi (Monday) - Luna (Moon), il martedi (Tuesday) - Mars, il mercoledi (Wednesday) - Mercury, il giovedi (Thursday) - Jupiter, il venerdi (Friday) - Venice, il sabato (Saturday) - Saturn, la domenica (Sunday) - Sun (in the Romance languages the original name for "Sunday", which I cannot fine, damn it, was changed to the equivalent of "the Lord's day", based on Ecclesiastical Latin dies Dominica).

Day 320 – Mal di testa

There is one expression that I know oh so well in any language… I have a headache. J'ai mal a la tete. Tengo dolor de cabeza. Ho mal di testa. I wonder why in all those languages the subject is "I", whereas in reality it is the "headache" that has you, not the other way around. It just owns you for however long it can hold the fort within your body. I realize now that taking pills is pointless. It just takes the edge off. With or without pills, the headache will last for as long as it decides – weeks, days, hours. But I still take pills, because this edge is awful and it needs to be taken off.

I was planning to go to the Maxxi museum after my Italian lesson today. But I did neither. I just watched "Dexter" all day. No, it wasn't on the Italian TV. I actually bought Season 1 yesterday when I was at a bookstore for my Italian lesson. During my migraines, it helps me that I'm a TV show addict.

And I finally went to this best pizza joint in Rome, Pizza Baffeto, that is right next to my house. Well, it looks like they were right. At least, I have never tried a better pizza!

Days 316-319 – Rome like a local

The Transition

On Sunday my Roman holiday ended. But I didn't leave Rome. I just changed status. For the past four days I'm no longer a tourist here, and this whole week I'll be playing the "Vivere Roma come i romani" game that I invented for myself.

I moved from my fashionable hotel on the fashionable Via Veneto into a cute little apartment in the very historic heart of the city, Piazza Teatro di Pompeo, famous for being the largest theater ever built in ancient or modern times and the place where Julius Caesar was murdered. The apartment is just perfect. The building is nobly shabby on the outside and nicely renovated inside, with very high ceilings, red soft couches, a round table, and velvety curtains on the three huge windows overlooking a little piazza with the best (supposedly) pizzeria right in the middle of it. Oh, and the bed! It is tucked neatly in a little room upstairs (yes, my apartment is two-level!), and it is one of the most comfortable beds I've ever slept in, covered by very tasteful lace sheets. Ah, the choice between staying in it all day long with a book and a cup of tea and wandering the streets of Rome is a very tough one, I swear!

The "Job"

I also signed up for Italian classes. Now, please don't ask me why. I would never be able to explain why I felt the need to start a new page in my ineffectual Romance language album before finishing and perfecting at least one. But I'm glad I decided to do it. It's an interesting course: learning Italian through mini-excursions around Rome. Of course, I don't have enough time to learn anything properly, but I'm happy to add a couple of new mispronounced words to my collection.

The Italian language is beautiful. I love the intonations! And I just love how every day now I can make out a few more words in the puzzle of the everyday conversation I hear in the streets of Rome.

Unfortunately, my Italian teacher is no match to my Spanish maestro. She is the pretty regular "do it by the book" type, but it's OK. When she is using too much English in her explanations, I insist on turning back to Italian. I am surprised to see how much I have changed my ways about learning a new language. I'm not afraid of making mistakes. I come up bravely to a store attendant and ask where the book I'm looking for might be. I know a waiter can speak a perfect English, yet I pretend that I don't know one English word and try to order everything in Italian. If they don't understand what the heck I'm saying from the first attempt, I don't give a damn, I don't shut down, I just repeat the whole thing and eventually they get it. Ha, I love how I just made it sound like my two-word exchanges with the outside Roman world were actually real conversations. But they do seem so real to me! And I feel so victorious after each apple I buy "in Italian" at the local market!

When in Rome

I smoke now. I mean, I'm not planning to continue when I leave Italy (fingers crossed), but all the Romans smoke. It's 35F degrees out and yet everybody is taking their lunch under those heater-lamps outside, deliciously sucking in a cigarette after cigarette. I have always loved smoking, so I decided to give myself a Christmas present and join their ranks, if only for a little while. After all, when in Rome…

The Feeling

I don't know whether it is the apartment, the classes or the smoking, but now I definitely feel that I actually live in Rome. It's strange really. On Monday I went out to dinner at Open Baladin with Irene who has lived here for the past 6 months and her friend from Holland who is here on a week's vacation. When the friend was trying to plan her next day, should she go to Colosseo or Villa Borghese, she needs to pick one because she has no time and both are so interesting, maybe she can fit both in one day though, hmmm... I was looking at her concerned face thinking, "Interesting, at this moment I don't even care what I see and don't see in the city, and if I leave next Monday without visiting one more 'important' sighs, I'll be absolutely fine". This attitude definitely proves that I no longer feel like I'm a tourist here. On the other hand, maybe it's all because I have already been to Colosseo and Villa Borghese:).

As a "local" I stayed at: Home Suite Rome (5 out of 5)

As a "local" I ate well at:

• Pizza Baffetto - considered the best pizza joint in Rome (YES!)
• Roma Sparita - good for lunch
• Open Baladin - food is not really exceptional (burgers are OK), but artisanal beer is excellent
• Ristorante Monserrato - amazing for dinner, not touristy although located near touristic areas, exceptional wine selection (I especially recommend Castelli Romani, red but awesome with seafood when chilled)
• La Campana - the oldest restaurant in Rome (since 1518), food is amazing, reservation advised, staff is terrible

Days 312-315 - Rome like a tourist

I have been here in Rome for almost a week now and I still cannot get my thoughts together. Rome is…

Rome is huge

It’s not only the size of the city, but also the multiplicity of historic layers, the number of centuries. I don’t think it is humanly possible to take all of this in. Well, maybe if you live here all your life. Although I still don’t think so. You can absorb little pieces of it here and there, but it would be way too ambitious to try and grasp all that is Rome…

Rome is tiny

When you distance yourself from the vastness of the abstract idea of Rome, you will see that it is tiny, really. You can walk everywhere, through its maze of the narrow streets, little piazzas, and microscopic largos. In fact, there are very few metro stations here, making walking everywhere a necessity (if you are a bus-hater like me, of course).

Rome is a labyrinth

I don’t mind walking. I love it. Walking in Rome is a challenge. First of all, cobblestone streets are no good friend for any type of heels (and although my shoes are very comfortable for any other pedestrian occasion, I wish I had brought sneakers with me). Secondly, the seven hills of Rome are not helping either. And last but certainly not least, THE MAZE. The stupid little crooked streets have the audacity to cross themselves several times! You should never be surprised to encounter an age-old stone wall right in front of you in the place where a pass should be running according to the map you are desperately trying to follow. And how can you possibly not laugh at the directions that read “go straight on Viale Aventino, turn left on Via Aventina, cross largo Aventinio”. Seriously?

So I gave up Rome maps. I started using “intuitive navigation”. You look up your destination on google maps in advance, try to remember (or write down) the names of the main milestones on the way, pick the general direction and set on your journey. The most important thing is to believe in yourself. Never get weak and whip the map out trying to match your real location to the drawn one, it will only make everything worse. Just believe in yourself, remember the name of your destination and walk ahead bravely. Eventually, whatever you are looking for will pop right in front of your eyes. I have lived on that for almost a week and I haven’t gotten frustrated once. When I hear the worst swear words in all possible languages, I know those are coming from lost tourists who gave in to the map. I see their doomed eyes, their tired annoyed faces, their fingers desperately flying over the stupid map, and I want to sneak behind, snatch away this useless piece of paper and set them free. Trust me, your eyes really need to be free while you are roaming Rome, so that when you take a “wrong” turn, you don’t miss something awesome like this:

Rome is pine trees

Rome is food

http://www.parlafood.com/a-few-of-my-favorite-restaurants-in-rome/

Rome is caffé corretto

According to Wikipedia.org, it is an Italian beverage, consisting of a shot of espresso “corrected” with a shot of liquor, usually grappa, and sometimes sambuca or brandy. It is also known outside of Italy as an “espresso corretto”. It is ordered as “un caffe corretto alla grappa (alla sambuca) (al cognac)”.

According to me, it is a recipe for immediate attitude adjustment.

Rome is campari spritz

I think campari is the best drink ever, although many will not agree with me because of its bitterness. Well, it’s an acquired taste, I guess, but I’m so pleased to know that here my favorite campari orange is “corrected” with prosecco (substituting the orange juice that isJ).

As a tourist I stayed at: Grand Hotel Via Veneto (5 out of 5)

As a tourist I dined amazingly well (and several times) at:

• Tuna (offering the best oysters on this planet and the delicious lobster alla catalana)
• Al Ceppo
• Da Remo

Do NOT go to pizzeria La Fontana! You'd think it's impossible to get a bad pizza in Italy. Well, think twice... That was the only bad (horrible, really) meal I had in Rome.

Days 309-311 - Florence

Places are like people. It’s enough to glance at them once, to spend two seconds in their presence, feel their energy, and you know right away whether you like them or not. Of course, you can change your mind later on. As my ex-husband used to say, consistency is a virtue of narrow-minded (this may be one of the reasons we are divorced now, he definitely didn’t consider himself narrow-minded). But the first impression is always important, and as a rule, it’s the correct one. And it’s never about appearances. It’s just a feeling. This all-consuming sensation that all of a sudden you are safe and you belong and you are happy.

It never ceases to amaze me that I still fall in love with people and places so easily. You would think that after such extensive non-stop traveling for the past year I would turn picky and demanding, and it would take a lot of effort to impress me. No. I still meet people who I adore absolutely and irreversibly from the minute I meet them, and I still find places that I love unconditionally from the minute I step foot into them. I find it awesome and I thank my lucky stars for giving me such an impressionable character. Life feels simply wonderful this way.

And I feel wonderful in Florence. Maybe it’s the weather. This low clouded sky and warm autumn days when you can walk around just wearing a sweater and sit outside with a coffee admiring architectural ensemble of some old piazza. Or the Santa Maria del Fiore (Il Duomo), the 3^rd largest cathedral in the world, and one of the most mysteriously beautiful ones for sure. Or the low season when the streets are not completely flooded with tourists from all over the world. Or the delicious roasted pigeon that I had for dinner (yes, I know, pigeon, yuk, yet somehow very yummy). Or the Ponte Vecchio with its jewelry shops. Most likely, it’s the combination of all of the above, and above all it’s the energy of Florence. Very beautiful energy.

Days 306-308 - Venice

City of street lamps

La Dominante, Serenissima, Queen of the Adriatic, City of Water, City of Masks, City of Bridges, The Floating City, City of Canals… To me Venice will always be the City of Street Lamps. The moment I arrived, I fell irreversibly in love with the street lamps here. Slender, filigreed, tastefully tinted in a delicate rosé, the street lamps of Venice are what is romantic about this city. In the morning their obscure pink wakes up the misty beauty of Venice sunrise, during the day they rest, calmly watching over the endless crowds of tourists, so that later on they can accentuate the color of the night with their bright gorgeous blush. I admit, I am fond of street lamps in general, but never have any of them evoked such profound feelings in me before.

Eat, eat, eat

I now understand why Elizabeth Gilbert’s Italy part of “Eat, pray, love” is dedicated solely to food. Italy is the eternal food paradise on earth. The food is here heavenly and eating is perpetual. If you want to succeed at reaching this nirvana of never-ending food coma, the only thing you have to do is figure out the very strict opening hours of restaurants: breakfast – until 11AM, lunch – from noon till 2PM (rarely 3PM in some lax places), dinner – 8PM onward. And that’s it, you are all set. Now just move slowly but surely from breakfast through all the beauty and history of Italian land- and cityscapes onto lunch, drink, dinner (if you are really ambitious, you can try to fit a massage or a concert in between). Pasta, lobster, pizza, oysters, lamb, tiramisu! What else will you ever need in life? Eating here is happiness. Eating here is religion. Eating here is... well, is there really anything else but eating?

I weighed myself upon arriving to Italy. I was 135 pounds. We shall see.

Gondola Ride

There is no map it seems,
no drawn way. Above me,
the ceiling is murky gray.
Soft moonlight filters through

and open window. A pattern begins.
I recognize it from other nights.
A quarter moon, and I get into
a gondola with a man I've never seen.

The man becomes the moon,
the ocean the sky. The gondola
floats among cirrus clouds,
in and out of soft rain.

Then the rain becomes hard, hits
window glass. The man is gone,
and I am not in the boat. There is
only the ceiling above me, familiar
like the sky.

Helen Losse

In quest of the oldest chiesa

Fed and entertained by the goldolieri’s songs, now I needed some mission to continue walking around Venice (having a real or imaginary goal does make wandering around a city more interesting). A friend told me once about the oldest church of Venice, built in the 5^th century, the name of which he couldn’t remember. This was a fine task, given that I set out to perform it without any usual helpful resources such as internet or call-a-friend line.

There are 117 churches in Venice, plus 23 on the Lagoon Islands (Murano, Burano, Torcello, etc.). I don’t know Italian. Do the math. Yet, determined to fulfill my goal, I popped into every little kiosk and stopped every other person in the street to figure out in half English, half broken Italo-Spanish where the church might be. Opinions differed, the two most popular answers were: San Marco (1063) and Angelo Raffaele (640). But I wasn’t satisfied; I remembered the church in point had to have been constructed in the 5^th century. Having realized that people were not going to help me, I combed the streets time after time without asking any questions, obsessively staring at plaques on all churches I saw on my way. I could care less about the name of the architect or legend associated with the place, I just greedily picked out construction dates only. Still no luck.

In the meantime, it was getting very dark and I started to get hungry again. Reluctantly (I don’t like to surrender), I gave up my quest and decided to go back to the hotel for some evening meal and reading. On my way to the boat I saw an ad for a Vivaldi concert that was to take place later on that night. I got in, bought a ticket, and was given a little brochure about the event. It read, “Vivaldi. Four Seasons. Chiesa San Giacometto (5^th century).” Mission accomplished.

Piazza di linguistica

This tiny shabby old church of my mission is located on a little square that is believed to be the birthplace of the word “bankrupt”. Bankrupt – 1530s, from It. banca rotta, lit. “a broken bench”, from banca “moneylender’s shop”, lit. “bench” + rotta “broken, defeated, interrupted”. “[S]o called from the habit of breaking the bench of bankrupts” [Klein].

As a linguist, I certainly appreciate being physically surrounded by the etymological roots of a word. I’m guessing, it’s something like being in Egypt (or Rome) for an archaeologist.

Venetian Glass

Little did I know about the Murano glass! In my artistic illiteracy, I honestly believed that all the colors and designs in the Venetian glass patterns are actually drawn. Not at all! Each color dot, each line is born from a complicated series of glass manipulation in different ovens, at different temperatures, with different minerals. There are no molds. Everything is hand-made. A vase may take several months to make, depending on the complexity of its color pattern. Now I understand why all Murano items are so incredibly expensive! In fact, after seeing how it’s made, I think it should cost even more.

The title and skills of Murano glass makers are handed from father to son. True masters are born into the factory and they die making their beautifully colored art. This guy on the picture below started working here when he was 11. He is now 68. This is 57 years of glass-making. 57! To show-case the process, he took the incandescent glass mass out of the oven. As if it were play-dough, the glass resignedly succumbed to his skillful moves and turned into a little precious vase, in less than a minute. I have rarely been that impressed in my life.

I stayed at: Hilton Molino Stucky (3 out of 5, a really gloomy huge space with tiny rooms and sub-par service)

I dined way too well at: Al Conte Pescaor (lunch hours: noon - 3PM), Trattoria do Forni (one of those rare places that are open all day long)