Final Good-Byes

I remember first arriving in Italy. At first, I felt out of place in Florence. Florence was so strange and unfamiliar to me, and a semester abroad seemed like an eternity. I struggled to navigate my way through the meandering streets and to communicate with Italians – I remember just smiling perplexedly as a jumble of words would spill from the mouths of locals. I certainly loved Florence from the start but I could not envision Florence ever feeling like home, like a place that belonged to me as I belonged to it. Now, as I begin to pack my suitcases and say my final good-byes, I know with absolute certainty that Florence has become my home and the students on my program, strangers to me only four months prior, have become a family.

Yesterday we journeyed up to our favorite spot, Piazzale Michelangelo, and gazed down upon the city of Florence. We were all completely silent (which is unusual for us) as we absorbed this breathtaking view of the city for the final time. I could not even articulate the surge of emotion pulsing through me, the throbbing ache I felt as I thought about leaving Florence. After a while my friend shattered the silence, turning to us and saying “Guys, Florence is ours.” We all nodded in agreement, knowing that in some way Florence belongs to us.

Last night we enjoyed an apertivo with our professors and CET administrators. Over Prosecco and cheese we nostalgically discussed our favorite parts of the semester. (We even managed to converse in Italian!) I could not believe how much time had passed and how much we had experienced in these four months – in this time my professors became my good friends, my peers became my family, and Florence became my home.

On one of our first days in Florence all of the students of the CET program climbed the Duomo together. We gazed down upon a city that seemed so vast and unfamiliar. To me, the buildings were indistinguishable and the peers who had made the climb with me were complete strangers. Today – the day before our departure – we climbed the Duomo altogether for the second time. Gazing down upon the sprawling city we pointed out our favorite places as if we had lived here for years and lamented our departure. All of us were on the verge of tears, and we promised to return to Florence one day, together. I know that is a promise I fully intend to keep. 

Puzzle Pieces of Italy

I have been living in Italy for just under two months and I don’t think that I could generate an ample description of this breathtaking country. Italy is not the type of country that can be summed up in a few words, or even a paragraph. It does not have a single, coherent personality. Italy is a medley; it is an amalgamation of towns and cities that are each beautiful in their own unique ways. Each location has a singular character, an aura that is all its own.

In September I have travelled to Cinque Terre, Rome, the Amalfi Coast and San Gimignano. I have explored Tuscany and witnessed the most incredible landscapes. Each experience has been a unique adventure. In Cinque Terre we hiked through vineyards, plunged from the jagged cliffs into the bright blue ocean, and then sipped wine on the beach as the sun sank into the water. Rome is so different, so metropolitan. Despite its cosmopolitan nature, it is saturated with history – travelling with the program, I toured the Coliseum, the Vatican, the Pantheon, and more. By contrast, the Amalfi Coast is a paradise, and our boat ride along the coast was one of the best times of my life. Contrastingly, San Gimignano is a city entirely frozen in time. It is a quiet medieval town nestled in the rolling hills of Italy. No two locations can even be compared – each city is special.

Italy seems like a puzzle. Each piece is so different but so integral to Italy’s spirit. All of the pieces are unique, but they join together perfectly to create something amazing.

This upcoming weekend I am travelling to Assisi and then to Perugia for the annual chocolate festival. The next week, I am exploring the ruins of Pompeii and hiking Mount Vesuvius. I plan to go to Lucca, Turin, Verona, Siena, and Venice. I am confident that every experience will be distinctive and amazing. I want to become acquainted with every inch of Italy, to get to know this incredible country in its entirety.  

Despite all of the amazing experiences I’ve had thus far, Florence is by far my favorite piece of the puzzle of Italy. I have been living in Italy for just under two months and Florence is already home; I’ve fallen in love with its unique personality. I’ve fallen in love with the incredible sight of the Duomo, with the breathtaking view of the Arno at sunset, with the delicious food, and the prevalence of beautiful Renaissance artwork. I’ve fallen in love with its rich history, friendly locals, and nonchalant culture. Florence, like the rest of Italy, has a character all its own, and I couldn’t imagine studying abroad anywhere else.

 

My First Month in Florence

From the moment I arrived in Florence, I knew that my life was about to change dramatically. Having hailed from New York, Florence seemed like a completely different world, a paradise. I came from a world of gray dreary buildings, of bustling and unsmiling passersby, of fast food and relentless commercialization. I was greeted by a world of picturesque pastel homes, of people exuding genuine warmth, of two hour dinners with delicious courses and cherished friends. I could not be happier that I made this transition.

I can feel myself changing, acculturating, to this idyllic life. In America, life is very fast-paced and hectic. Time is scant and always seems to obey a fixed schedule. Life seems to revolve around work, and money defines success and well-being. Overall, Italians are much more relaxed, and they seem to adhere to a set of priorities Americans have forgotten. Italians truly savor life. Gradually, I am adopting this relaxed mindset and I feel much happier for doing so. 

Yesterday, as I was reading a novel on a bench beside the Arno and watching the sun set in the distance, I realized that in America I rarely took the time to enjoy the world around me. Class, exams, and extracurricular activities consumed my life. I can feel that Italy is changing me, and I am confident that this change is for the better. Now, I take time to truly appreciate the beautiful world around me and to enjoy life. 

My friends and I make a point to trek to Piazzale Michelangelo on a weekly basis, equipped with wine, bread, and cheese. From this square, the view of the city is breathtaking. We go around sunset and sit there for hours, talking and drinking in the intoxicating beauty of Florence. As the sun sinks below the hills, the sky seems to be on fire. I have never felt more at peace with myself and more appreciative of the splendor of the world around me. 

Italy is a place for new experiences. I have hiked through the rolling hills of Cinque Terre, biked sixteen miles through the Chianti countryside, swam in the crystal clear oceans of Amalfi, made delicious pizza from scratch, gawked at Michelangelo’s David, and climbed hundreds of stairs to the top of the Duomo and gazed down upon the city of Florence. I have not even been here a month and I am doing and seeing more than I ever imagined, and discovering myself in the process. I’m not sure what the remainder of my abroad experience has in store for me, but I am sure that it will be unforgettable.

Sarah Tardo, Vanderbilt University

CET Florence Fall 2013

Crumby Goodbyes

France exists so that you can drive to Italy – James May

In terms of cultural heritage, I am a slice of apple pie. A Big Mac. A Wonderbread and Kraft cheese sandwich, with the crusts cut off. I am an American, through and through. My ancestors on my mom’s side have been living in the States since the Revolutionary War. Although my dad’s grandparents all emigrated from Tuscany, they wanted to Americanize themselves and refused to teach their children Italian. Since my dad passed away four years ago, this tenuous connection has begun to fray. I’ve always been jealous of people with a connection to their heritage, who feel rooted in something bigger than themselves. My decision to study abroad with CET in Italy was partially derived from this nagging curiosity to see where I come from, however distantly.

In some ways I I feel like I am divvying up my heart and leaving a trail behind me throughout Florence, like Hansel and Gretel’s trail of breadcrumbs. I left a scrap of myself at Volume, slipped with my song suggestion to the DJ of the live jukebox among the natives savoring aperitivo. A slice of me is with the bancarelle of the Sant’Ambrogio market – the woman who convinces me to buy more  vegetables than anyone could eat and the man who offers me tastes of parmigiano reggiano have joint custody. Part of me is in the squid-ink dyed risotto of Il Santo Bevitore, the decadent gelato of La Gelateria dei Neri, the pear and pecorino ravioli of La Giostra.

Last weekend, I went to visit one of my friends in Paris. As I waited in line for my plane, surrounded by the reassuring babble of Italian, I had the most bizarre feeling that I was coming home.  Was that legitimate?  There’s a saying that Florentines can count their friends on their fingers: they must disdain of the tourists that clog their streets and intrude on their daily lives. I still get lost sometimes in side streets, garble their language and embarrass myself on public transportation regularly. AMERICAN is basically tattooed on my forehead. As I prepare to leave, I can’t help but wonder if there’s any part of Florence that I can claim for myself.

Earlier this month, I went to get my library card from the Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale. The man behind the desk only spoke Italian, but patiently guided me through the necessary forms. When he saw my passport, he asked about my last name. Cesarotti , to Americans, is pronounced SEE-zer-ahti, flat and brash, while Italians pronounce it che-zehr- ROH-ti, with a rich rolling of the r. I explained that my ancestors were from Italy, but I wasn’t sure exactly where they came from. He nodded complacently and printed my card. As I was about to leave, he turned around his computer screen to show me something: a map, plotting the locations of all the Cesarotti’s still remaining in Italy. See, he said, pointing at the little red dots, there are some in Lombardy, one or two in Tuscany. Once again, my Italian failed me – a simple grazie mille couldn’t convey the depth of my thanks. He made me feel like a slice of Italy, however small, belonged to me too.

We all know That Person. The girl who comes back from studying abroad program and never stops talking about it. The one who starts every sentence with “This one time in Florence…” Somehow against my best intentions I feel myself morphing into that person. I can picture myself in sixty years, gruff and wrinkled in my old lady sweaters, boring my grandchildren as I reminisce about my summer in Italy. To be honest, this doesn’t seem as bad of a fate as it used to. CET has given me an experience I will never forget and memories a camera could never accurately capture. To Florence, I can’t say addio. For now, I’ll leave it at ci vediamo – we will see each other again – and hope like Hansel and Gretel to find my way back.

Katy Cesarotti, Vanderbilt University
CET Florence, Summer '13

A Renaissance Snow Globe

“What is the fatal charm of Italy? What do we find there that can be found nowhere else? I believe it is a certain permission to be human, which other places, other countries, lost long ago.” –Erica Jong

Even after spending five weeks in the city of Florence, I still get starstruck sometimes by all the history. The rich heritage and history of Florence sometimes seems to stop the flow of daily life. The city is like a living museum, a Renaissance snowglobe bubbled off from the passage of time. Hordes of tourists shuffle around listening obliviously to their audioguides and zoom through the streets on Segways. Because of Florence’s pivotal role in the Renaissance, the city’s architecture is static: many Roman or medieval structures no longer survive, excluded from the city’s narrative, while new construction has to meet certain design requirements. Historical cafés, like Giubbe Rosse in the Piazza della Repubblica where men in crisp red tux jackets aggressively solicit you to come in for a caffè, are protected by law and are not allowed to close.

But I love the points where the contemporary and the historic intersect. The other day my roommates and I climbed up to the Forte Belvedere. After scaling a postcard-esque hill, framed by olive trees and beams of July sun, we emerged at the fort and an incredible vista over the city of Florence. The fort itself is five hundred years old; the façade is roughhewn stone, stark against the green of the surrounding rolling hills. The fort was hosting a contemporary art exhibit – Chinese artist Zhang Huan’s giant sculptures of Buddha, sprouts of contemporary sculpture cropping up between the ancient stones.

Our favorite pizza place, Gusta Pizza, is located on the Piazza Santo Spirito – we take our to-go boxes and perch on the steps of the church with the young locals. Melted mozzarella drips from our fingers as we lounge by a monument that houses works by famous Renaissance artists such as Brunelleschi and Michelangelo. In the Piazza della Signoria at night, orchestras hold outdoor concerts and the swell of music breathes life into the spectating marble statues. Street vendors fling tacky souvenirs into the air, flying light-up contraptions that drift down to the cobblestones like falling stars.

After this, it’s hard to imagine returning to suburban Naperville, Illinois. Our most important historical monument is Naper Settlement, a model of the town as it was in the 1800’s, where third grade classes often go on field trips to learn how to churn butter. I’m going to miss stubbing my toes on age-worn cobblestone, the secret churches that appear out of nowhere on every street, and the pink haze of sunset on the Arno, older than the history of man.

There’s No Place Like Home

           This week we adventured outside of Florence to explore our surroundings. Friday night we took a city bus up to Fiesole, It’s a small medieval town in the hills just north of Florence with beautiful sweeping views– we watched the sunset and ate dinner overlooking the city like we were in the midst of the stars.

             

           On Saturday we took the train to Cinque Terre, my first time attempting to navigate the TrenItalia schedules. Cinque Terre is a clutch of five towns on the Golfo dei Poeti, the Gulf of Poets. The name is appropriately romantic: houses in shades of yellow and pink and red dot the hills in the midst of vineyards and olive groves. Each town has its charms – I especially loved the views of Corniglia and the pebble beaches of Monterosso. I met up with some family friends whose daughter had visited Cinque Terre while she was studying abroad, fell in love, and never came home. Everyone took in the sun on the beach, savoring their vacation day before the baptism of the granddaughter. Both the Italian and American sides of the family joyously jumbled Spanish, Italian, English, and hand gestures with love that transcended language.

           Sunday we took a day trip to San Gimignano, a medieval town with stark stone towers that survey the Tuscan countryside. We sampled the “best gelato in the world” and paid a visit to the Vernaccia wine museum to learn about the locally grown product. The landscape almost didn’t seem real – Matt pointed out that it looked like a backdrop, like someone had painted the perfect rolling country hills.

           Tuesday we went to Siena to watch the Palio with our Italian Cultural History class. We met up with the CET Siena students and took a rambling tour of the city’s narrow streets as our guide told us about the centuries-old tradition. Twice a year, Siena holds a horse race in the central piazza, with ten of the seventeen contrada represented.  A contrada is like a neighborhood, but the English translation is inadequate: a contrada is a way of life. You have to be baptized into the contrada to be a true member – it takes outsiders years to be fully accepted. In Siena, the people live and die by their contrade, harboring ancient rivalries against their enemies. The atmosphere before the race goes off is electric –the horses dance in agitation, the contrade members crackle with fervor.  As our teacher phrased it, Palio is incomprehensible to anyone not born in Siena. The race lasts about 90 seconds, but the build-up spans hours of parades, and the victors celebrate for the rest of the summer. Palio is the life force of Siena, the embodiment of their ferocious devotion to their town.

             The heavy dose of nationalism made me a little homesick for America, so to celebrate the Fourth of July my roommates and I baked an apple crisp in our apartment. Although we didn’t have any measuring cups and we topped it with gelato di vaniglia, it was just the taste of home I needed. 

Katy Cesarotti

Vanderbilt University