Aren't we all just a bunch of depressed monkeys

An apology for the rambling post, but it involves Italy, therefore it must be posted!


So today I mentioned in my Facebook status how I wanted #1 an espresso #2 a nap and #3 to finish my thesis. An old friend commented that I had the order wrong--that I should nap first, then have an espresso. Wrong! It is perfectly acceptable to have an espresso and then enjoy nap time. I learned from the best: Danny Salti. Then, Amy (a fellow Italy study abroader) wrote how she wanted to go back.


This made me realize the following: Aren't we all just a bunch of depressed monkeys? I have never seen a group of students so miserable to be home in my entire life. Italy was too wonderful--we got spoiled. I want to be spoiled again.


We've been back for 9 weeks. That is one week longer than we were in Italy. Re-entry shock is still in full swing and I am convinced I will never be over it. 


I saw 'Eat. Pray. Love.' this weekend (took me long enough), which brought Rome and Naples to life again. The food! The noise! The hand gestures! Ahh. I miss it. My thesis is coming along steadily; I am at 16 pages single spaced, so you will soon have a lot of writing to enjoy. I have to say, it is my best work to date. 

Potential Beginning...

I have drafted a possible introduction to my thesis... Enjoy! 

Cinque Terre.

The acoustics of the name seems to suggest a promise. Cheen-kwuh Tairrr-uh. Its name rolls off the tongues of Italians like musical notes from wind chimes. The translation is simple, direct: Five Lands. The name dates to before the fifteenth century, but evidence of civilization in this remote area of Italy’s northwest coast dates to times before the ancient Romans. Surrounding the villages with a lush green halo are the steep but fertile terraces of grape vines, olive and citrus trees. And for the past three thousand years, the Ligurian Sea has borne witness to the comings and goings of the area, bringing fisherman’s boats and pirates’ ships to safe harbor or a deep grave below the teal waves.

Cinque Terre is a vertical place in a horizontal country. Tuscany, Lazio—these regions are all hills and plains. A photographer naturally wants to capture the sweeping, broad vistas of the Florentine valley and Roman cityscape with panoramic shots. Golden sunlight glints off of dust in the warm, dry air and takes you into classic fantasies of Italy.

But Cinque Terre is vertical. It is like a sculptor from the Renaissance hacked at the coastline with his chisel without smoothing his work. Roughhewn pietra serena cliffs rise from the Ligurian Sea straight to the heavens, with five narrow enclaves tumbling down to the water’s edge. Buttery yellow and fruit-colored houses are cradled in the safety of the valleys, few venturing higher than a particular point that residents must have agreed upon decades ago.

Vernazza's Harbor

Though the name Cinque Terre is used for these five sea towns, the landscape, people and culture are not to be construed as similar. From north to south they boast names that tell the towns’ unique history. Monterosso’s ‘mountains’ turn a spectacular shade of red with the sunset, hence its name ‘Mount Red’. Vernazza, wanting to lay claim to its incredible white wine vernaccia, named the town in honor of its chief export—Vernazza comes from the Latin root verna—“of the land” or “native”. Then there is Corniglia, simply named after the prosperous farmer Cornelius who tamed this rocky terrain. The large water wheel of Manarola’s mill inspired is nome, morphing from the Latin magna rota to its current dialectical form. And finally there is Riomaggiore, paying homage to the “Big River” the residents tamed to build their village. 

Less than a mile separates Monterosso from Riomaggiore, but it takes six hours to hike that single mile—a testament to the wild, untamed nature of this place. It wasn’t until a train line was cut through the rocky cliffs and unconventional travel became popular, that these quaint, picturesque towns became destinations on tourists’ maps.

In fact, that is why I am here on this train. Rick Steves’ PBS specials and Italy 2010 guidebook sparked my interest months ago, convincing me to travel the three hours by train from Florence to see the “Five Lands” myself. After two weeks of city life in my temporary home city of Florence, Steves’ description of a Vespa-free world featuring locally made vino bianco and views of the sea rivaled only by the cliff towns of the Amalfi Coast has had me itching to leave for days.

I am two hours and 53 minutes into my journey, sitting on a somewhat damp seat for the seven-minute journey from La Spezia to Cinque Terre—Riomaggiore, specifically. Everything is black outside the train car. Fluorescent lighting reflects my face on the glass windows, flickering on and off intermittently. The train car is old, a little musty, but serves its purpose. My friend Lauren sits across from me, listening to her iPod and holding her hot pink travel pack on her lap. Months ago when I made my hostel reservation, I went ahead and booked it for two, hoping I would find someone to join me. I was thrilled when Lauren—with her can-do attitude, easy smile, and corn silk blonde hair—wanted to join me. We will be staying in Riomaggiore for three days and two nights. Rick’s guide said Riomaggiore has a lot of local flavor, and I’ve been craving some local flavor and fewer tourists after exposure to cities like Venice and Munich.

Suddenly there is a flash of light. I straighten and gaze intently out of the window. We are almost there.

At the next flash of light, I am prepared to catch the view: dramatic and dazzling, the Ligurian Sea stretches out, robin’s egg blue with white caps lazily rolling onto a rock beach just visible below. I hear the screech of the wheels as the brakes are applied. The train lurches to a halt and I blink as my eyes adjust to the light. Exiting the train car, Lauren and I step onto Riomaggiore’s platform. A waist-high wall protects us from a precipitous drop into the clear waters below. I am finally able to drink in the commanding view of the Mediterranean after the brief teasing glimpses on the train. The land tumbles straight down into the teal liquid glass below.

Unreal. Lauren and I smile, high fiving each other for a location well chosen. Words aren’t necessary as we file into the crowd of visitors carrying cameras, toting official-looking hiking gear, and rolling bags that would never fit into an airplane’s overhead compartment bin.  

And now, I wait.

Fall arrived to Oxford last Saturday with sunshine, clear skies, and a light breeze. It was a divine day, but as I pulled on my green sweater and jeans, I felt miserable. Alessandro had asked me to take him to Cincinnati to catch the 6:30 pm Megabus to Chicago. I was supposed to help him leave me. 


Alessandro and I became almost brother and sister during his two-week visit. He was constant entertainment and fun--always willing and happy to see me. His final week, I saw him every night except Tuesday. We'd go out to dinner, visit the Rec Center, he cooked dinner for me, I'd drive him home after partying Uptown, we went on a walk one evening and then sat on a bench on High Street and talked while we people-watched. We had a big reunion of the summer program students at Skipper's, and it was so great to have (almost) everyone together again. 


I pulled up to the Clinton's house where he was staying and parked the car. I went ahead and popped the trunk hatch so we could get his luggage in the car. The door of the house was open, and I could hear everyone saying goodbye to Alessandro. "We'll miss you!" "Come back before going home, dude." "It has been great having you here!" 


I walked up to the entryway and stepped inside. I smiled at everyone and gave Ale (Ah-lay) a hug. And before I know it, we are in the car, luggage safely stored in the back of my Jetta, and are on the way to Cincinnati. 


We talked about a lot of things during the 45 minute drive. Cars and the Florence Program, I remember in particular. I wanted to drive slowly, extend my time with my friend, but when I get nervous I tend to have a heavy foot on the gas pedal. Ale's enthusiasm for the city was infectious. There was an event occurring in Paul Brown Stadium, and he drank in the scene of thousands of Americans walking toward the stadium, most people in red, white, black or a mix of the three. 


"This is what America is," he said, looking at the skyscrapers and the busy mix of people, cars, and officers trying to control the crowd. 


We circled the block a few times, looking for the bus stop and asking people if they knew where it was. Finally, I pull into a hotel drop-off area (the only available 'parking' with thousands of people in town for whatever event Paul Brown Stadium was having). 


I threw myself at Alessandro, and stood on my tip-toes to give him a proper hug goodbye. 


"I am going to miss you a lot," I told him. 


"You have the best chance of seeing me again of everyone, because you want to come to Florence again," he replied, smiling. 


He grabbed his rolling luggage bag, and started walking down the block. "Ciao, Kaitlin!" he said over his shoulder. I waved in acknowledgment, pulled away from the curb, and headed home, my car lighter, but my heart heavier.
---
Leaving Florence August 15th, I knew it wasn't really goodbye for good. Alessandro's arrival was something to look forward to--a reunion with Italy, in a way. With no plans for my next Italian encounter laid out, all I can do now is wait with great longing and impatience.