The Scouring of the Shire

No apologies for the delay on this one–I’ve been ballz deep in exams. And very unusual exams they were. But now I am proud to say that I can draw a map of Rome. (Wait, am I proud to say that?) I can tell you some things about undulating forms and Borromini. I can walk around ancient ruins and draw a picture. I didn’t realize that so many artistic skills would be required when I applied to this program. At least now I know the shape of the Quirinale hill? At least I can describe for you typologically what a portico is? And who Theodoric was?….Right?

You can probably tell that I am having a hard time feeling like I’ve accomplished much this semester. Oh well. At least I have all seven Harry Potter books in Italian. Just a few minutes ago I turned in my last assignment, a 20 page commentary on a Latin poem (yay?) and then I went to the store and bought a 5L jug of wine for 6 euros. As in, that is the only thing I purchased. To his credit, the cashier didn’t even blink an eye. I’d like to pretend that I have acquired this absurd amount of wine because I am sad to have missed out on Tour de Franzia, but, alas, it’s actually because as a thank you card for our program director we are all posing as statues. It just so happens that I was assigned “Drunken Old Woman”. I don’t understand why everyone didn’t want to be this one:

 

In any case, it is sure to be good fun. I will probably make many friends distributing copious amounts of poor quality wine. Too bad I’m leaving in four days. Oh wait, I don’t care. 

Am I supposed to write some type of summary sort of thing for my “abroad experience”? Honestly, it’s been pretty strange. I have felt detached from my normal life, and not in a good way. I saw some cool stuff though. I like tombs. I won’t burden you with my deep existential thoughts about what this experience has been like. I am greatly looking forward to the last four days. I will drink and eat gelato and buy wine for my mom (Mother’s Day is May 13th!!! Don’t forget!) and on Sunday I will fly back to America and eat Asian noodles. Woo!

There and Back Again

Alright, so I know I haven’t updated in about two weeks, but my excuse is that last week I was on a group trip to the South of Italy where there was no internet, and the week before that was so terribly mind-numbing that it would have just been one of those posts where I complain about how awful it is here, and everyone is tired of that by now, right? Right.

To my great surprise (ah, the small pleasures of being a cynic), the trip to Campania was actually pretty fun, for the most part. Of course, it rained every day except for the last one, but in a stroke of miraculous good fortune, it only very occasionally rained directly on us. And I found an umbrella in the road which still worked, so everything was fine.

On the first day our most notable stop was at a place called Sperlonga, where the emperor Tiberius had converted a seaside cave into an elaborate dining area, complete with fishponds and outrageous Hellenistic statue groups. Personally, I liked it because it is a cave by the sea, like Harry Potter! Horay! The only downside to this site visit was that my suave Italian professor stumbled and badly hurt his knee, and all forty of us had to listen to his groans of pain through our lecture listening devices.

Dumbledore!

But that was hardly the end of my adventures!

We went to two royal palaces! PEOPLE ACTUALLY LIVED HERE.

My house.

My other house.

I took many photographs of baby Goats! We stayed at the family villa of the Centro’s director and it was absolutely charming. The house is covered in vines and sits on the ruins of an old Roman theater. They make their own bread and wine and the terraces overlook the sea. It was like being in a Diane Keaton movie.

This is like Lord of the Rings, right?

I stood in front of famous things!

So famous.

BUT BY FAR THE BEST THING EVER WAS NAPLES. For one, because our introduction to the city was given by Professor Tegmeyer, who sounded like he had cocaine for breakfast. He started lecturing when we were on the bus about and hour and half out from Naples, and it started out with the most basic of stuff (the founding, the art, blah blah). When we hit the forty-five minute mark, though, he started rewarding those of us who were still awake.

Tegs: But, really, the most exciting thing about Naples is disease. Syphilis. Now, on EVERYBODY’s top ten list of favorite STD’s, nobody is going to leave out Syphilis. Syphilis originated here, IN Naples!

Really I should have transcribed the whole thing, but I don’t think I quite realized what was happening at the time. But not even this could top the wonderful place I discovered in Naples once we were set free for lunch–Piazza Dante. This place is remarkable because it is literally filled with used bookshops, with stalls spilling out into the street. There must have been at least twenty of them, all lined up next to each other, and they carried everything from Harry Potter in Italian to 16th century philosophical texts (and I mean ones actually printed in the 16th century. I almost died. It was so beautiful. I spent all of my money. I didn’t eat lunch for two days afterwards because I literally spent all of my money. It is the kind of delightful place that is entirely missing from Rome, which, while glorious in many ways, has been beaten to a bloody pulp by hundreds of years of tourism. Not so in Naples. This is still a real place, that has things like used bookshops where you can find reasonably priced things! You wouldn’t believe how hard I have looked for such a thing in Rome. On the downside, one of my classmates got mugged while walking around the city. So, ups and downs, overall.

All in all, I saw a bunch of really cool stuff you should ask me about sometime. I am not sure you are well served by me describing everything–after all, everyone already knows Pompeii is baller, and hearing about how I got to go into new excavations and look at stunning wall paintings will just make you jealous. I also saw some ancient mule bones (are you green with envy??). No, really the last interesting thing that happened on the Campania trip was on the last day, when I got into a public shouting match with this asshole on my program. I called him “vile” and he told me to “get the fuck out.” So that’s positive.

 

I went to see the Pope!

Hello all,

Last Friday marked the end of my self-proclaimed “Three Weeks of Terrible Things”–the horrible, horrible three weeks right after Spring break. Luckily, those three weeks mean that I am essentially good to go until the end of the semester (five more weeks!). Sadly, that do not make me any more tolerant of Latin (yesterday I threw the book on the ground). The only thing that keeps me going is the thought that after 5 more Latin sessions, I never have to be in a Latin class again! Horay! If there is one thing being abroad has taught me, it is that I was lying to myself when I said I liked Latin. Lies. So many lies.

But that’s enough dwelling on the negative (for now). Instead I want to tell you about Easter, when I, Jessica Jordan, went to see the Pope! Our director procured tickets for us (and hinted that he could get us a private audience?) and so early yesterday morning I found myself getting ready to go to Church. Really the most exciting part of the day was when I went downstairs and found this:

Pretty sure Franco laid this

Anyway, then it was time to go to the Vatican! It was a nice morning, so the walk down there wasn’t too bad. When we arrived we had to wait in line for about an hour and a half, and when we got in, we actually got seats! Horay! I am really not sure what to say about the Mass. There was some very nice music, and pretty flowers, and I saw the Pope.

He looks pretty human, Matt

I had no idea what was being said for almost the entire Mass, but it was a pretty nice set-up. People were actually respectful of space, which is unusual in crowds, and the Pope blessed us in 27 languages. I feel like I should have more to say…but I don’t.

That afternoon we got to break the giant egg open, and my kind Centro-mates were kind enough to let me drop it. I’ve never felt so free! There was even an odd little doll inside I got to keep. Horay Easter! Horay Pope!

But now that magical day is over, and it’s back to reality. I know I should be feeling better because I have more free time, but now that am not constantly consumed by work, I am not sure what to do. It’s an Italian holiday today, so I couldn’t go out anywhere (and they didn’t feed us today…I am so hungry). I tried bumming around the Centro for a bit and “hanging out” with people, but mostly I just acted awkward and watched one girl fall asleep on the couch. I already watched “Mad Men.” And “Game of Thrones.” The extent of my free time has reached the point where I am in the middle of an episode of “Teen Mom 2”. I can’t believe this has over a million views. It must be because that one baby has glasses.

What has become of me? I miss sushi so badly it hurts.

Not Dead Yet

This week has been only interesting in the sense that I spent the entirety of it working on a hellish 15 page paper about a particular form of Roman statuary, which is actually a little more interesting than it sounds. Still, it was a terrible, terrible experience. But I must say, now that’s it’s done, the major school obstacles that stand in the way of me and summer are considerably lessened. Next week I have to turn in a final version of a Latin commentary and give two presentations, but then I am essentially home free until exams. Horah!

 

Otherwise it was a pretty typical ICCS week. We went to a port, a necropolis, and saw some aquaducts (yay….). The Friday art history trip was pretty great because it was Caravaggio week, and we just walked around and looked at bunch of his paintings, one of which was housed in this really great Baroque mansion (it had a ball room and everything!). Also, one girl told me that everything I say sounds “creepy”. I think what she meant was “seductive”.

Anyway, this post sounds about as tired as I feel, so I am just going to post some pictures of random things.

An esteemed British man points to things

Ode on a Roman Term

At the behest of one Zack Sulsky I am mustering up the energy to write another blog post. Be warned, he said it was okay if I complained, so I probably will.

First things first: Spring Break was quite splendid. My paramour of the hour, Matthew, came to Rome and was gawked at by all of the little Italians because of his absurd height. He also brought me popcorn and Doritos. All in all, we managed to have a grand ol’ time. I am not sure if I can express to you how very wonderful it was to be in the city and not have to work all the time. It really is a miraculous place, full of gelato and small dogs. Plus, I finally got to go to the one monument in Rome I actually care about seeing: the grave of John Keats.

I first encountered this poet when I was but a wee high school freshmen. We were required to do research papers and as my teacher called us to his desk one by one to tell us what we would be writing about, he simply said, “You’ll do Keats. It makes sense.” I don’t remember much about the paper, but then, does one ever remember much about falling in love? I do remember that when the paper was returned, my teacher commented: “You know the saddest part? He didn’t even think he was any good. What’s written on his grave is, “Here lies one whose name was writ in water.” That means he thought he wouldn’t last.” And it is sad. Horribly sad. Beautifully sad. I fell for him the way that upper middle-class white girls fall for boys with tattoos that say, “Fuck the police”–that is to say, desperately.

When Keats fell ill with tuberculosis, he was sent to Rome in the hopes that the climate or something would heal him–Alas, it didn’t work. He was buried in the non-Catholic cemetery, which lies just behind the Pyramid of Cestius. When we went there it was a fine morning: birds and sunshine and a springtime breeze. For realz, the Protestant Cemetery is one of the most beautiful places in Rome, and the most interesting. For starters, it also doubles as a cat sanctuary. Awesome. Then, it has tombstones with some of the best names I have ever seen (Sir Willoughby Wade, Cornelia Peacock Connelley, Pier Pander, Hedwig Herschman, Ursula Spinelli, Devereux Plantagenet Cockburn…). Plus, Percy Shelley is buried there, and FUCKING JOHN KEATS IS BURIED THERE.

After we arrived I carefully calculated the path we would take to Keats’ grave so that I would get to have some alone time there. Good Lord. It was so beautiful. And sad. I just love things that are beautiful and sad.

It's like we're totally making out right now

It was absolutely blissful. I cried tears of joy. But I couldn’t help but notice the little grave right next to his:

WTF? How do you “accidentally kill” an infant??

Anyway, we remained there for quite some time, but did eventually depart. Little did I know that I would actually get to encounter my true love AGAIN that very day at the Spanish Steps. He lived in a house right by there when he was in Rome. There is a museum in there. A beautiful, beautiful museum. I got to be in the room where he died…or as I like to think of it, the room where he lived. *shudders with pleasure* Actually though, this museum is baller. It has just the kind of strange things you would expect the 19th century friends of a Romantic poet to keep, like locks of his hair.

I think it is also important to note that the card beside this read: Mr. Keats’s hair was remarkable for its beauty, its flowing grace and fineness. It was a kind of ideal, poetical hair; and the locks we possess…are beautiful specimens…[We see them and] remember the poet was a young man, and manly in spirit as he was beautiful.

Damn straight.

Break was a really wonderful break from Centro life. Alas, it did not refresh me as I had hoped. Instead, it only put into clearer contrast the difference between something you really love (JOHN KEATS) and something you don’t (er, Classics). Thus, the next few weeks seem even longer than before. I’m worried about my grades and I never want to translate Latin ever again (well, maybe sometimes). I feel like I’m awkwardly breaking up with my boyfriend while we’re on vacation together (don’t worry Matt, that’s just a metaphor), complete with frequent surges of guilt. It’s not you, Classics, it’s me….But nevertheless, I am working to overcome my surly nature and enjoy what time I have left here. I know that while I am writing a 10-page commentary on Latin Epigraphy seven weeks seems like a really long time, but by the time it’s over it will have gone by very quickly, and all I’ll have left are memories, pictures, and the faint taste of gelato in my mouth as I fly back to the good ol’ U.S. of A. Oh, and that ROMA shot glass.

To Sicily, And Beyond

As you might remember, my last post marked an auspicious beginning to the ICCS trip to Sicily. And I will admit that there were some very pleasant aspects of this trip: on many days the weather was very nice, I got to stand inside some Doric temples, and heaps of food were thrust upon me. Of course, I am not known for my cheery disposition, and I must add that the endless hours on an uncomfortable bus, the rain and cold winds that plagued the second half of our trip, the lack of internet, and my general dislike of being around people made me quite eager for the end of this excursion when it finally came. But that’s no fun to read about! I’ll try and hit the high points instead.

Hands down the best part of the trip was our few hours in Taormina, the most beautiful town that ever lived and noted vacation spot of Oscar Wilde, Richard Wagner, Truman Capote, D.H. Lawrence, and Liz Taylor. Famous people love it, so it must be great, right?

It really was an extraordinarily beautiful place, enough so that I almost didn’t even mind the fact that the almost sickening amount of natural beauty here allows them to blatantly overcharge for food and basic necessities. I think it cost us something like 200 euros just to park our bus for a few hours. Ah, to live like the stars.

Our next notable stop was Syracuse, which was mostly fun because we were given the chance to crawl around amongst the remains of an old fortress–tunnels, towers, crumbly bits and all. Basically, Sicily has the best Jungle Gyms. It’s kind of like being in Lord of the Rings…

Which brings me to my next point: Quarries! Or should I say…Mines (of Moria). Somehow ancient folks managed to make this:

Our professors were like, “This is the most boring thing we see on this trip.” BUT THEY WERE WRONG. Because this was like Lord of the Rings. And Doric temples are not.

The next day is when the trip really became decidedly more unpleasant because it started raining a lot. The Centro does not balk in the face of rain. We will still stand outside for two hours and be expected to take notes. Alas! That’s not to say that we didn’t do any more neat things, because we did continue to see some pretty cool things. I will admit that as the week progressed I became increasingly more interested in cloud formations and increasingly less interested in temple capitals.

Case and point

I don’t really know what else to say about it. They warned us that usually by the end of this trip most students know for sure if they want to pursue Classics or not, and I guess I fall into the latter category. I don’t want to belittle all of the amazing things I’ve seen here, but I don’t think I could ever make this my job. The longer I’m around Classics professionals, the more the field seems glaringly elitist and a glorification of an outdated hobby. That probably comes across as really harsh, and I don’t mean it to be, because honestly all of the Classicists that I have met are smart and nice and generally good people. I have yet to meet a Classicist who is a total dick, which perhaps is a positive indication of the type of people the field attracts. But still. Studying temple ruins is what rich white men used to do because they didn’t have to have jobs. Literally some of the stuff that the AAR is holding onto is garbage–bits of unremarkable pots that were thrown into latrines. An oft repeated phrase is, “If only the ancient so-and-so’s had kept this thing!” This thing that was garbage? Where would the world be if they had kept all their garbage around?! If Classicists had all the information they wanted civilization would have halted a long time ago. I asked one of my professors if he didn’t think that anyone would want to study all our old bits of concrete one day and he merely replied that it was presumptuous of us to think so. But in another breath he will complain about the ancients paving over things. I don’t know about you, but I have to say that even with all of the world’s problems, we have to be at least as impressive as the Roman Empire was. People are just as crazy, create art just as wonderful, and are just as dangerous (if not more so) as the Romans were. Maybe that is presumptuous, but it seems hard to admit the importance of ancient bits to understanding civilization without admitting modern ones….

And here is where I realize that I have gone off on an extended tangent. Clearly I have a lot of unresolved and complicated feelings about Classics and Classicists, and find the topic interesting but the academia frustrating and am almost certain now that I don’t want to be in this field. But I still have eight more weeks of this program and I literally just might die. Maybe Spring Break will calm me down.

Just One Thing

Feast your eyes on this, my friends:

That is all.

Everything was horrible, and then we went to Sicily

This week was pretty miserable. I had a mid-term and a project proposal due on the same day, one of the monuments we looked at was simply entitled “Forum Pavement,” last night I applied to no fewer than five grants/prizes for the summer, and I literally do not anyone to live with next year. That’s ballz! I’m cool. People should want to live with me. But, since I am not thirteen and this is not livejournal, let’s move on the much more exciting part of the post which is that we have departed on our week-long trip to Sicily! Technically we are not arriving there until Monday, and we are spending our first night in Paestum.

One thing that you may not realize is that Italy gets exponentially more beautiful the farther south you go. We are only about four south of Rome, but it is GORGEOUS here and it is only mediocre in Rome (at least in comparison). There were flowers growing on a bunch of the old temple remains. FLOWERS.

Welcome to Oz

WHERE AM I?

Not real life. I just wanted to alert you that right now I am not in real life.

Again, just to make sure you understand: NOT CURRENTLY EXPERIENCING REALITY

And do you know what happened after that, my friends? Well, we went to a museum to look at some archaic Greek metopes, BUT AFTER THAT, we were driven to our hotel and watched the sunset on the beach. Then we ate dinner AND THEN we walked back to the temples to see them lit up by night, D.C. style. And I had the best coconut gelato that I have ever had the privilege of putting in my mouth.

Of course, it is supposed to rain tomorrow.

I Had A Dream

So those of you who have been following my blog since I arrived in Italy may have noticed that this post is a little late in coming. I assure you, good sir or madame, that I have good reason for it. The truth is that ICCS has cranked it up a notch or two these past couple of weeks–by Friday, I will have been out in the field for 12 of the past 14 days and endured two weeks of consecutive 7 a.m. wake-up calls. True, I’ve seen more Early Christian mosaics than you can shake a stick at and I’m all over the syntax of Augustan imagery, but the person Jessica has essentially disappeared inside of my work. I literally have no opinions on anything right now except about how stressed and tired I am, and accounts of my trips would probably delve too deeply into academia for your casual blog-reading preferences (except you, Erhard), so instead I am going to tell you about this strange dream I had.

In my dream I am at home in Tennessee when suddenly a gang of Mafia men burst in and start threatening to kill me and my mother. They start ransacking my house because apparently I have picked something up at the most recent NYCC that they really, really want. One guy has a gun to my head and another is yelling at me and one more is throwing my possessions willy-nilly. Eventually a fierce looking man reveals that what he is looking for is a comic book that I had picked up that was drawn by John Lennon. I have no idea what he is talking about, but I tearfully go to my room and pull out the stack of bargain comics I had bought at the con. He rifles through them until he comes to one that has Lucy from the Peanuts on the cover, then he throws all the others to the floor and gets all up in my face:

“This, THIS is what I was looking for, you idiot! Now I am going to sell this and make MILLIONS of dollars!”

Then he and his cronies roll out, and I am left ENRAGED and frustrated because I could have sold the comic book for millions of dollars, if only I had known! In the real world, I wake up relieved that it was all a dream, only to have my sleep-addled mind convince itself that, no, it wasn’t a dream: I really did just have a Peanuts comic book drawn by John Lennon stolen from me at gunpoint by Mafia hit men. I believe that I groggily mumbled “My life sucksssss” before drifting back off to sleep.

Now, some images I’ve seen in the past week that I believe could have created such a bizarre vision:

Good.

It's all starting to come together

An ominous sign?

Right, so John Lennon...

This is horrifying

And that’s all folks. Hopefully something more to report next time.

Farewell, Venezia

I’ve always wanted to go to Venice. I am sure this is a sentiment that most people share. After all, it is a city where you ride around on little boats and there are masks everywhere. Everyone loves boats. So I guess I will admit that there is nothing particularly original about my desire to visit this place. But still. This is where the story begins.

A few weeks ago a couple of the girls in my program were walking around and asking people if they would be interested in going to Venice for Carnival. At first I said no, but as I started to think about it more, I started to get all wishy-washy.

“You’ll probably regret this if you don’t go.”

“When else are you going to get the chance to go to Carnival?”

“You didn’t come to Italy to sit in your room all weekend.”

Like the weakling that I am, I soon gave into these devil whisperings. I actually convinced myself that it was a wonderful opportunity. I didn’t even really have to plan anything myself. They told me which plane ticket to buy, and booked my bed at the hostel, and booked my train ticket back to the Centro on Sunday. For those of you who don’t know, spending large amounts of money at one time makes me physically ill, but I made myself go ahead and do it. After all, I worked 20+ hours every week last semester just so I could take advantage of this kind of opportunity, right? I was going to let myself take one fun trip while I was abroad, and this was going to be it. It was going to be a grand time, right? (hint: wrong)

I should have known something was wrong Friday morning when, during our Art History field trip, a funeral started happening at the church we were visiting.

Professor Tegmeyer: Oh no. Damn. Damn. I think they’re having a funeral in here. Just a minute. Let me go check. We had reservations!

(five minutes later as we walk past the coffin the pall-bearers are carrying into the church)

Professor Tegmeyer: I don’t know who’s dead but they couldn’t have picked a worse day to die.

For realz

Anyway, even after that whole mess, preparations for leaving made the day quite hectic. Romans are even more unable to deal with snow than Southerners, and a big storm was predicted for that afternoon. In fact, by the time we were trying to get a cab at around four, big, fat flakes were already coming down. It took two phone calls to the cab company by one of our professors and half an hour of waiting in the snow to finally be heading to the airport, but we made it. Everything was going splendidly–the cab was way cheaper than expected and security at European airports is a breeze compared to what I’ve had to deal with in the U.S. By the time we arrived at the airport, three hours before our flight was scheduled to leave, the snow had turned to rain, and rather pathetic rain at that. It seemed unlikely that bad weather would affect our flight. I should have known it wouldn’t last.

Given that the weather had taken a turn for the better, we were quite confused when our flight was abruptly delayed by an hour and half just when we were scheduled to board. I got this strange feeling of deja vu, and began to wonder how I could have possibly forgotten what terrible luck I have. It’s just a shame that this time my perfectly nice classmates had to take the fall with me.

They have no idea what they're in for

It seemed for a while like my fears might have been unfounded, since after our initial delay, we did indeed begin to board. For those of you who haven’t flown on European airlines, it may interest you to know that after an attendant scans your boarding pass and you walk  down the jetway, you don’t actually walk onto a plane. Instead, you board a bus. Those crazy Italians. Even so, the bus eventually filled up and we were driven to the plane, where we were kindly allowed to sit anywhere we wanted.

Note how there is no snow

Sadly, after everyone was boarded and they closed the plane doors, it started to snow. Then we sat on the plane for an hour and a half as it continued to snow harder. Finally, the captain stood up and announced that the airport had closed because of the snow, and directed us to the Easy Jet help desk to work out hotel rooms and ticket transfers. Then we got out and got back on our bus.

This blows

Or should I say, "This snows."

The bus dropped us off at an already practically empty airport (leading me to believe they kept us on the plane while they let everyone else leave) where we proceeded to rush around madly to find the Easy Jet desk before the eighty other people on the plane. It would have been helpful if they had dropped us off at the terminal where the Easy Jet desk actually is; but, perhaps, that would have been too easy. It also would have been nice if the airport hadn’t locked all of the doors that led into the terminal where we needed to go, or if the line for cabs wasn’t hundreds of people long.  After literally running around the airport for twenty minutes we managed to find the desk and joined a long line of agitated people waiting at a help desk where there was no representative present. A thing that actually happened was that after about fifteen minutes an Easy Jet employee walked by and casually told us that we should go to a different desk, and about sixty people ran to follow her. Ran.

When it was our turn at the front of the line, she informed us that we could apply for a refund online (since there was little point in going to Venice for less than 24 hours, which is what would have happened with the re-scheduled flight) and that they would put us up in a hotel for the night. We were then shunted to the side to wait for the shuttle to the hotel.

And wait we did.

After about two hours a woman finally came out and told us that they were having trouble getting a bus for us, and that the cab line was  impossible to get through. After another hour, with no news on a bus, we decided to go wait in the cab line. We literally walked outside and stood looking at some cabs while a man walked from behind us and got into one. All it took was some embarrassing jumping up and down and shouting and we had cabs ourselves, although technically I think we bypassed the line by going to an area that the cabs drove by but were not supposed to stop. The driver didn’t even run the meter. He just charged us 60 euros and sped away. We made it back at 2:30 a.m. An almost 12 hour tour of absolutely nothing, and a very expensive one at that. Though we were lucky enough to get refunds for the plane, we each lost over 80 euros for the hostel and train tickets we never got to use, plus around 30 euro each for both cab rides. So much for my one big trip.

The next day, we made steak.

Take that, City of Masks