|
Below, you'll find extensive information on leading
foods of costa rica articles and products to help you on your way
to success.
"i Love Florence In The Springtime"
By Sarah Anne Polsinelli, Thu Dec 8th
Shortly after landing in Rome's Fiumicino airport, it will hityou like a ton of cobblestones: You're in Italy. Simply being in Italy is surreal. Walking around, the imagesthat you've seen in photos and films literally come to life. Thesites and people aren't extremely extravagant, but there is anabiding sensation that you are in a different world. Last year around this time, York Italian literature professorElio Costa told me about the annual trip organized by theItalian department. (Article continued below)
"But it's too expensive," I thought immediately. I had been toItaly once before and three weeks of memorable travelling leftme with serious credit card debt. Professor Costa told me tolook into some bursaries and I did. When I was granted $1,500 infinancial support, I started to stock up on film. You land in Rome and take a coach to Florence, where you'llspend three weeks, staying at Instituto Gould, a hostel-likeplace that gives proceeds to needy children and orphans. You'll have class from 9-11:30am, Monday to Friday, but callingit "class" doesn't do it justice, since most of these "classes"are walking tours of a city. The rest of the day is leisuretime, as are the weekends (during which you can take a train tonearby Siena and to many other towns that border Florence). Thethree weeks spent in Florence will fly by, and you can spend thefollowing three weeks in Italy's capital - and my favourite city- Rome. Florence differs from Rome because in Florence, everything iswithin walking distance. You will walk to everywhere -restaurants, churches, nightclubs, even trendy outdoordiscotheques in the north riverbank Le Cascine district (walkingthere was easy, butwalking home in stilettos wasn't). We learnedan important lesson walking alongside the Arno one night. Just afew feet away from us, over the river, colonies of pippistrelle,(or bats, which are pretty common in Italy) decided to give ussome unexpected company. The bats were bold, generally flyingwithin a few feet of us, and in large clusters. Every once in awhile a single bat would swoop down and come face-to-face withus, startling us with its bravado. There are, I noticed, somestriking similarities between Italian bats and Italian men. But even if you opt for a cab, don't expect them to be readilyavailable. Taxis in Italy don't speed around the city lookingfor passengers and if you happen to find one and flag it down,consider yourself lucky. Walking back to the hotel one night,strolling arm-in-arm with some friends, we noticed a police carstopped alongside the river. "Let's ask them for a ride home!" suggested one of the girls.(For those of you that have never been to Italy, all of thepolice officers are young and gorgeous.) So we approached thecar and with big smiles plastered across our faces, tapped onthe window. Our faces dropped when they rolled the windows downand we spied what they were doing in the privacy of their policecar: Reading Italian comic books (we did not get a ride home). It's hard to spend six weeks in Italy and not have dozens ofadventure stories to come home with. Every day is filled withadventure: For instance, finding a cold drink. On one occasion,I was at a train station and, seeking a thirst-quencher from thesweltering Italian sun, deposited 2 Œ (about $3) in a vendingmachine for what turned out to be a lukewarm can of Nestea.Determined not to dehydrate, I popped another coin into themachine and got yet another can of warm iced tea. A strangerthat witnessed the disheartening event leaned over to say, "Enormale" ("It's normal"). Ironically, nothing is normal in Italy- especially not in Florence. Even though Florence, along with other Greco-Roman cities, was asort of blueprint for Western civilization, it's difficult forNorth Americans to relate to the Florentine lifestyle. Italianslinger over lunch, they rarely watch television and they nevertalk about money. So why do tourists flock there? It might be the aestheticappeal. Along with the handsome police officers, the city is anopen-air art museum. The city is full of massive architecturalmarvels, museums, hundreds of intricately designed churches, notto mention the hand carved beauty that can be found on everystreet corner. With street names like Via delle Belle Donne (Beautiful WomenStreet), one has to wonder how even the seemingly mundanedetails of this city are infused with loveliness. The streets themselves are lovely. Designer boutiques likeGucci, Ferragamo and Prada line the extravagant Via de'Tornabuoni, a higher end stretch of shops ideal for windowshopping. You'll get lost in San Lorenzo's outdoor market, richwith colourful merchants who will get on their knees and beg you(I'm serious) to try on their goods. You'll marvel at theglittery jewelry stores along the historic Ponte Vecchio, one ofthe many cobblestone bridges that cross the Arno. But since Italy and Italian cuisine are so inextricably linked,I have to say that Florentine cuisine is probably the best andsimplest cuisine that exists, using basic, fresh ingredients,most of which are grilled (alla Fiorentina) to perfection. Ifyou decide to eat in some of the more touristy areas (in any ofthe major piazze, or town squares) you'll pay double, maybetriple, the cost of what a Florentine citizen would pay. SanLorenzo has some great, reasonably-priced restaurants and ofcourse there are hundreds of cafes, bars and pubs. The pizza -in almost every pizza place - is mouth-watering. And the gelato? Oh, the gelato ... It is suffice to say that LaPaloma and other gelaterie that are scattered around Torontosimply pale in comparison to what Florence has to offer. Butsince I am not a talented enough writer to do it justice withwords, the gelato mention here will be minimal. Florence is ineffable, and with obvious bias aside, full oflove. Yet, in the midst of all of this tangible beauty(including 60 per cent of UNESCO World Heritage Sites) manyNorth Americans are disappointed with their travels to Italy. "Because [North] Americans go all over the world," explainsprofessor Costa, "and they expect the world to be a copy of theUnited States. They want to travel the world and have everyonespeak English and serve you hot dogs in the street." After completing our course in Florence, my friend MariangelaTagliabue (a third-year Italian major) and I spent the nextthree weeks of our trip travelling along the Northern part ofItaly, but first spent four days in Rome, la città eterna, ("theEternal City"). Rome is much bigger than Florence, so most ofour getting to-and-fro was spent squished into the backseat oftiny little cars, careening dangerously around a city wherestreets have no lanes and traffic lights are purely decorative. While in Rome, Mariangela and I had the opportunity to meet PopeJohn Paul II. We sat through an outdoor mass in St. Peter'ssquare, just four rows away from the now-ailing Pope, and whenthe mass was over we were ushered into a lineup of people for abrief encounter with him. We weren't prepared to meet him andquickly turned to the person behind us and asked what we shouldsay to him. What, after all, do you say to the Pope? The man, stifling laughter, gave us a formal phrase to repeat:"Sua Santita, prega per noi" ("His holiness, pray for us"). Aswe were approaching, the Pope was wearing red velvet slip-onshoes. When it was our turn, one of the Pope's aides that stoodalongside him signalled us to approach quickly and kneel beforehim. Mariangela promptly stepped forward, but I stood just a fewfeet before him, transfixed by the majesty of this man, clothedin ornate robes and much larger than I had expected him to be. Kneeling before him, a small cluster of papparazzi stoodalongside us, snapping photos. In between all of the cameraflashes and noise and the Pope's aides surrounding us, we wereface to face with one of the most famous men in the world. We were frozen. We held his soft hands (I actually wondered whatkind of moisturizer he used, and whether or not he applied ithimself) and he cupped our cheeks. We mumbled the ceremonialsaying, unmoving. But when our time was up and his aide took myarm, I quickly added something that I knew my boyfriend wouldappreciate: "Luigi says hi!" If not for the pictures, I doubt anyone would believe us. About the author:Student writer, professional daydreamer. Go towww.pumpkin-face.com for a complete list of articles. | 