Bring me the Dante

Yesterday our class visited the Casanatense Library in Rome, one of the very first libraries to be open to the general public. It was founded by a Catholic Cardinal in 1700, and its first collection was simply the books that the bibliophile Cardinal had in his possession - some 25,000 volumes, including some really amazing texts. By far the most exciting part of this library is their special collections of ancient manuscripts, some dating back to the 7th Century. Even more incredible are their Incunabulae, which is the name for books printed using a printing press in the second half of the 15th Century.

Printing came to Italy from Germany in about 1465, and it immediately took off. Italy (and especially Venice) became the center of European printing and it was the books that were produced during this amazing period that we were able to see yesterday. We compared a 12th century hand-copied manuscript written on vellum, or smoothed animal skin, to one of these early books, and the differences are surprisingly few. The people buying printed books would've wanted theirs to look as beautiful as hand-copied books had looked, with illuminated pages and ornate letters, so that's how the printers made them. Nevertheless, being in the presence of these first printed volumes was nothing short of amazing.

When it was time to look at the library's oldest printed volume (literally one of the very first books ever printed in Italy and thus one of the first ever using the printing press) the group was palpably excited. The power of these relatively small objects, viewed in the vast reading hall of this library, was enough to make us salivate. Our guide asked, in Italian, for the next book to be shown and his assistant, unsure, asked simply "Quale?" Which one? To our satisfaction he replied with the one word that was music to our ears: "Dante."

She then brought out an original print of the very first edition of the Divine Comedy to be printed on the printing press. The title page, richly illuminated and full of commentary, was breathtakingly beautiful, both in an aesthetic sense and because of the knowledge of what this object represented: the spread of wisdom and information and poetry and enlightenment from the few to the many. It's first line, written in archaic but still very readable Italian: In the name of God, this Divine Comedy of Dante Aligheri...

If you ask me, the story of human history and the development of technology can be mostly explained by saying that what people really want is access to information, and they want it quickly, efficiently, conveniently, immediately. This printed edition of Dante represents a giant leap in that process. These days, we've gotten pretty good at spreading information rapidly and efficiently, and the technological advancements of the modern world will only continue to speed up this transfer. Someday, I imagine Google will have implanted something in our brains that will allow us to search all of human knowledge with merely a thought and perhaps the blink of an eye. I wonder what would happen if you hit "I'm feeling lucky..."

The Etna

In Sicily, Mount Etna is typically referred to as "L'etna" (The Etna) or simply Mongibella (The Beautiful Mountain), so important and powerful is it in the cultural ethos of the local community. She's a mighty beast, this Etna, and I'm not kidding around here. She's the tallest and most active volcano in Europe, and one of the most active volcanoes in the world. The last major eruption was in 2003 and the last minor one was in September. That's September, 2007. As in, 2 months ago. Rising over 3,300 meters above the Sicilain plains to the west and the Mediterranean to the east, she is as formidable as a tiger, as unstoppable as a hurricane, as proud as a lion, and as majestic as... a mountain?

Etna is not part of a mountain range of any kind; her 10,000+ feet are straight up from the ocean and so she makes you feel every inch of them. We flew into the city of Catania - a relatively large city right on Sicily's eastern coast, and from there took a (mafia-run) bus an hour to the small village of Nicolosi, some 800 or 900 meters up the mountain from Catania. This bus system is not AT ALL designed for tourists, as we quickly learned. The posted schedules were merely suggestions, and none of the buses was labeled with a number or a destination. So, whenever we had to take one, we would have to ask all the drivers who were standing around, in Italian, if their bus went to Nicolosi. Once, the driver had to ask his passengers whether he went there or not. Unfortunately for us, they informed him that he did not. Eventually, we mastered this wonderfully Sicilian system and had no further troubles, though that first time was a bit harrowing.

From the windows of our amazing Bed & Breakfast we were able to look out and catch glimpses of the mountain, her tallest peak steaming and smoking away into the crisp Mediterranean sky. I should write a poem...

To get to the base camp at 2,000 meters, you have to take that same (mafia-run) bus up these narrow switchback mountain roads for about an hour. Don't ask me how these bus drivers do it, but they managed to not kill us. We eventually got above the tree line and were traveling over roads that had just been rebuilt after the eruptions of 2002-2003. From about 1,500 meters up, you are driving and walking almost exclusively on fresh lava flows. Check out this buried house!

Once at the base camp, you take a cable car / gondola thing up to 2,500 meters. At this point, the views were already so incredible that we were skeptical that they could get any better, but of course, we were wrong. In this shot you can just barely see base camp and some roads a few hundred meters below us.

The cable car ended at about 2,500 meters. To proceed, you could pay the ridiculous sum of 25 EUR for an all-wheel-drive jeep / bus to take you up to the top, but that way is for semi-affluent retirees (as we quickly found out). Instead we decided to hike the 500 meters to the top. It took us just under 2 hours to get there, but that's while taking pictures every two or three feet. The terrain was, as I've said, entirely recent volcanic lava. At this point, we were well above the tree line and so the world became wonderfully monochromatic. The only colors were the black of the volcanic rock and the white of the snow. Below us, we could see almost the entire island of Siclily, the towns clustered around the base of the volcano, the city of Catania, the sea, and the Italian mainland across the strait of Messina. (insert low whistle...)

As we climbed, we were constantly looking in two directions and it was a struggle to decide which view was more amazing. Behind us was the gorgeous panorama I just described, but in front of us was this:

Now we weren't able to climb all the way to the top of the main caldera (at 3,300+ meters) because we didn't have time, nor obviously to the top of the QUITE active peak in this photo, but we were able to get to the top of the crater from the eruptions of 2002-2003, which sits 3,000 meters above sea level. From this point, we were above most of the cumulus clouds and could see for miles and miles. We were all struck pretty speechless (or as speechless as we can be) by sights like this:

Most of my compatriots on this trip agreed that climbing Etna was one of the best, if not the very best, thing that we've done so far in Italy. It's clearly very difficult to top climbing one of the most active volcanoes in the world. In fact, it wouldn't be possible unless we were on a plane! PUN!

Well, I'm spent... I'll leave you, dear reader, with this shot of the crater from 2003 (still smoking) with the main peak behind it. The next time you may question it, take this as a reminder that I am much, much cooler than you.

There will be one short intermission.

To my countless loyal readers: I'd like to offer my sincerest apologies for having been so delinquent about posting here. I know this space has been tragically devoid of joyous tales for at least a week, if not more.

Unfortunately, I'm leaving for Sicily in about 5 hours (which does indeed put my departure at approximately 4:00 AM). I therefore have no time to legitimately post something, but rest assured, when I return there are copious things about which I have been intending to blag.

They include, but are not limited to: train strikes, strikes in general, the (perfectly preserved) right forearm of St. Francis Xavier, Caravaggio, my recent visit to Minas Tirith, the Pope, and the unconscionably beautiful sky of a Roman dusk.

All these, and perhaps more, when our program continues...

War, Famine, Pestilence, and... Birds?

The sight of a flock of birds turning and wheeling in perfect formation is not an uncommon one, but a sky completely blanketed with such flocks can strike fear into the stoutest of dwarves (man and beast too, of course). The sight of these flocks is a daily occurrence here in Rome; they can be seen around sunset every day going absolutely crazy, generally over the Tiber and the land on either bank. For a solid hour each day, these birds – no one is entirely sure the species or the precise reason for their emergent maneuvering – fly maddening circles around the sky.

Just today we were crossing the river on the Ponte Sisto returning from class, and overhead we were met with a blue and red sky partially blotted out by these birds. I couldn’t help thinking of the Hitchcock film (and thus ran from every tall blonde in the vicinity), and some of us were concerned that this sight may herald the end of the world as we know it. Since they’ve been doing this every day for a month or so, I think the threat of the apocalypse is pretty remote, but their appearance is nonetheless quite disconcerting. It seems unnatural for animals to cut and turn with such precision. Only imperial storm troopers are so precise, I thought.

This is a video from the Ponte Sisto, looking north. At one point you can see the dome of St. Peter’s in the distance. As strange as this sight looks on the video, trust me when I say that it is ten to the nth power more impressive and scarier in real life.

For your viewing enjoyment, scroll down a bit...

Also, what are birds? (+5 pts for a positive ID of this reference)

Monkeys stand for honesty; Giraffes are insincere.

This past weekend, we wanted to do things that real Romans do. Forget all that tourist business. So on Saturday, off we went to the Bioparco di Roma, the Roman zoo. We were partially expecting to find rows of cages with pacing exotic beasts in the style of certain past Roman entertainments, but fortunately we were met with an awesome wonderland in the American style with enclosures and proper habitats for a wide variety of animals. We saw:

As adorable as these animals are, they were no match for the tiny Italian children running around everywhere. The zoo was pretty empty, save us and Italian parents and their kids. We were certainly the only Americans [slash] English speakers there, and since our Italian comprehension level is not exactly the best, we loved being around the kids because they spoke simply enough for us to understand. If there was ever any doubt, small children speaking a language other than English – especially if they’re speaking Italian – are the cutest sentient beings ever made. They would shout excitedly to their parents or cry out in sudden fear – absolutely amazing. One little boy just could not figure out how to say the word “ippopotomo,” which admittedly is difficult to say, in English or Italian. In response to the intense ticking of our collective biological clock, we resolved to simply steal a little kid and take it home with us. I knew that spare room would come in handy!

LEMURS ARE REALLY COOL. So are we.

Speaking of cool…

Sunday we ventured to Mussolini’s grand Stadio Olimpico to see some footballers. Unfortunately we couldn’t get tickets to see Roma play, so instead we saw this area’s other home team, S.S. Lazio. The region that Rome is in is called Lazio, literally the land of the Latins (taken from antiquity), and is very analogous to an American state. They were playing the rival city team of Udinese. Neither team is very good (though both are in Serie A) and this game was fairly unimportant and on a Sunday afternoon, so the stadium was pretty deserted. However, it was still really awesome to see what all the fuss is about. Even the few people who were there went crazy at the (legitimately) bad calls by the referee as Lazio ultimately lost 1-0. The curses we heard ran the gauntlet of Italian curse words, ranging from “bufone,” meaning clown or buffoon, to things much, much worse.

Seeing all the scarves waving and hearing Lazio’s fight song, one could imagine what this massive stadium would be like when it’s full. We’re going to try to get tickets to a cross-town shootout between Roma and Lazio, but it will probably be sold out. Check out my pics!

Who built this stadium again? Oh yeah…

Just in case we get a little out of hand, cops with riot gear.

Too bad Lazio sucks. It’s like rooting for the Royals (they have the same colors, actually). I guess somebody has to do it.

News on the March

From the United States Department of State, the U.S. Consulate in Rome, the Central Intelligence Agency, the American Embassy in Italy, and His Eminence the United States Ambassador to Italy:

"Run for your lives. They sky is not falling. There isn't even any sky to fall. We'd be lucky if the sky was falling. Seriously, if you're not terrified, you better GET THERE, for your safety and the safety of your children. And freedom. You should be terrified for the safety of your freedom. Or something. Abstract phrase without substantive meaning.

"If you're an American citizen and value your freedom (which is your birthright) and should, for whatever ungodly reason find yourself outside the borders of glorious America, return as quickly as possible. If you are unable to immediately re-enter our fields of amber grain, please please PLEASE try to stay alive. It won't be easy, especially if you're in a city full of evil Gypsies like Rome. Avoid crowded areas like Stazione Termini, the Campo dei Fiori, and the Piazza Navona. And the Coliseum, Forum, Pantheon, St. Peter's (the square and basilica), Largo Argentina, Piazza Venezia, the Campidoglio, the Palatine, the Aventine, Piazza di Spagna, Trevi Fountain, Piazza del Popolo, the Villa Borghese, the Via del Corso, the Corso del Vittorio Emanuele II, all Musei di Roma, the Capitoline Museums, the Galleria Borghese, the Piazza Trilussa, and the river roads. As well as all major and minor churches and monuments.

"If these guidelines are strictly adhered to in the (ideally short) amount of time that you choose to remain outside the boundaries of our purple mountains' majesty, then you might possibly escape mortal harm. But ONLY if they are strictly adhered to. If, for reasons passing understanding, you choose to ignore these carefully researched and crafted rules, you will inevitably be robbed, drugged, raped, and then thrown into the River Tiber. And it will only happen in that order if you're lucky.

Stay in your places of residence. Eat at your hotel's restaurant. If your hotel doesn't have a restaurant, you should fast. Leave only to go to the airport and return to the United States. And oh DEAR GOD do not get on a bus or a train to get to the airport. Hire a taxi. It's worth the 100 Euro to arrive at the airport alive, unraped, undrugged, unrobbed, and not thrown in the Tiber. Keep your wits about you at all times, trust no one, and return to America as quickly as possible. This is the only way to stay safe and happy. And free.

"That is all."

You've just committed one of the classic blunders!

The most famous of which is never get involved in a land war in Asia, but only slightly less well known is this:

Never do what I did two days ago.

In order to comprehend exactly the depth of sordidness that this tale approaches, some exposition is necessary. I was lying in bed, having already brushed my teeth and taken my contacts out, about to fall asleep. On the long, winding road to set my cell phone alarm, I momentarily stopped on a most important mission. Since my phone is not equipped for European networks, its clock retains American central time. Needless to say, this is a bit annoying, especially when trying to set the alarm (adding seven to anything, after all, is an unnecessarily complicated mathematical proposition). I endeavored, therefore, to discover a way to change the clock manually.

It is very important to understand, as this story progresses, that my brain at this point was not what you might call “functional.” In that lovely place between sleeping and waking, where the line between good ideas and bad ideas is fuzzy at best, I was suddenly and disastrously overcome by a wave of stupidity that approached galactic proportions. What DOES “Master Clear” do, I asked myself, quite puzzled.

Absent mindedly, I selected this most mysterious option, truly curious as to its function. As you might expect with a function as ominous as Master Clear, the phone prompted me for a password. A person more classically trained in rhetoric or philosophy may have taken this prompt as a signal to perhaps turn back from the brink of utter destruction, put the phone away, and retire. Unfortunately for me, a dastardly combination of stupidity and curiosity pushed me forward.

Unsure of the password, I tried several things. “123456” was denied. As was my telephone number. Hardly thinking at all (as has been the case the entire time), I entered “000000” and was permitted to proceed. Even at this point, my phone continued to throw up roadblocks to my unwavering, seemingly unstoppable idiocy. “Are you SURE you want to Master Clear?” it so politely asked my sleep-addled brain. “Sure,” I casually replied.

“Are you REALLY REALLY SURE?”

Of course I’m sure, you silly phone. I know what I’m doing. I’m the human after all. It was my people who designed and created you, and I think I know when I’m sure I want to do something, so just back off.

Do you know that immediate, sudden, and utter turnabout your brain does right after you’ve done something monumentally stupid? As if you were watching yourself acting from afar, knowing that you should stop yourself but being absolutely powerless to do so. After the deed is done though, the two brains again are one and the breathtaking magnitude of the error is realized. This is what happened after I pressed “Yes.” As though struck by a burlap sack filled with bricks and swung by a Mendicant giant, I was pummeled back to consciousness.

Oh dear. Oh dear. What have I done. What have I done.

Frantically pressing “No” afterwards apparently does no good. Nor does ripping out the battery and throwing it across the room. The function, it turns out, was quite aptly named, for my phone was then and now remains Master Cleared. Nearly 150 phone numbers, some photos, and various other things were wiped out in one fell swoop.

As if millions of voices suddenly cried out, and were suddenly silenced.

Woe is me.

One cannot simply WALK into Con. Law

Is it bad that I could self-indulgently read the University of Chicago College Catalog for hours at a time? Or that I'm counting the days until I can register for next quarter's classes, simply because they are SO AWESOME. Should I be concerned about the state of my mental health that I catch a glimpse of Gerald Rosenberg's Con. Law class and have to forcibly stifle a leap of joy? And don't get my started on LLSO 24711: Lincoln: Slavery, War, and the Constitution, taught by His Royal Highness Dennis J. Hutchinson.

Deep breath at the mere thought of such an academic endeavor.

Slowly let it out...

As much as I'm loving Rome - the lack of homework, papers, projects, etc. and the overabundance of ruins, churches, artistic masterpieces, and WARMTH - I find myself craving a class that has something to do with the law. I haven't had a quarter sans law in a long time now, and I'm missing it desperately. After this quarter, I will have killed the Core dead, and can then start to focus more intensely on the things that I really want to research and study, but for the time being, I'm craving some Antonin Scalia.

OMGod, I just had a brilliant idea. Everyone reading this should do likewise as soon as they get the chance. To sate my ostensibly unquenchable desire for everyone's favorite conservative, Italian, spectacled Supreme Court justice, I'm going to read Scalia's dissent in PGA Tour v. Martin. It's the best court opinion ever; he will totally have you rolling in the aisles. Side-splitting, must-read, action-packed!

Perhaps afterward I will be able to turn my thoughts back to early Christianity, the fall of the Western Empire, the accession of Charlemagne, and the Visigoths - oh yes, the Visigoths. Until then, however, my mind rests with words and thoughts much newer and much more personal. Life, liberty, and due process of law, they say? I can't say for sure right now whether or not those words mean anything at all, but I'd really like to look into it more.

Next quarter.

If Florence > Venice, how tall is Imhotep?

Pictures are not worth a thousand words. That's a stupid sentiment, but they're still really cool, so check these out.

This is the Duomo in Florence, quite possibly the most beautiful building ever made by God. And by God of course I mean Brunelleschi.

Speaking of whom...
On top of it = EVEN BETTER!

In Venice, all roads lead to... everywhere?

Is anyone around here artistic? Anyone? Oh wait... it's me.

Cold Turkey

Our relationship first budded some ten years ago, I suppose, and has been going strong ever since those magical first words, but in the past year, our love blossomed into something that few couples even dream about: a connection that is practically symbiotic in its unity, filled with passion and trust, excitement and comfort. Yes, I think it’s fair to say that over these past twelve months, the Internets and I had created an unbreakable bond; we relied on each other for everything. We told each other our innermost desires and deepest fears but also shared many a time of hearty laughter – the kind that makes your chest hurt and your eyes water. There was nary a moment that we were apart.

The Internets, however, is a fickle mistress.

I came to Rome and she abandoned me, like a puppy on the side of the road. Just up and left. I can only begin to express the feeling of losing someone so dear; it’s like a part of me was amputated, and then they took the amputated part and hit me over the head with it until I was dazed, confused, and left for dead with no access to Wikipedia or the Google. The horror.

Now whenever I want to spend even a little time with her, she makes me pay. It’s humiliating. This makes the little time I do have with her virtually unbearable, for I must go on with the knowledge that my pocket is being fleeced by the one I love. I stare longingly at her, and she just stares right back, mocking my sorrow and my pain by simply continuing on without me. I didn’t think it possible, but there she goes, as if nothing had happened! Her YouTube continues to have new videos, her blogs hum right along, and her the Facebook is constantly updated. All without my help or moral support!

I guess she never needed me. But I need her.

NO! Enough is enough! She can have her IMDb and eat it too. I’m finished. The Internets won’t have me to push around any more. I’m going cold turkey, starting right now. Except for email. And news. And blogs, if I have time. Ooh, sports scores. Them too. And only the occasional Wikipedia. But that’s it! Just those things, and the Facebook.

Now let’s see who’s jealous!

We who are about to die...

Roma Victor!

Enough with the quotes already!

We've returned to Roma now, after our three-day excursion to the Bay of Naples. Pompeii was even more incredible than I could've ever anticipated. Unlike any of the other ruined cities that we've visited, Pompeii is so perfectly preserved that you can easily imagine Roman life there. Walking through the streets over the original paving stones with the wagon ruts still worn into them, seeing original Roman wall painting, chills ran up and down our collective spine because of the overwhelming REALITY of the place.

The highlight was most definitely the amphitheater, which was almost perfectly preserved, save for some grass growing on the bleachers in some places. You enter at a steep angle from a darkened tunnel, only illuminated by the bright floor of the stadium itself. Descending, the power of the building is palpable and I'm almost positive that I heard a crowd roaring, somewhere. Imagine...

When we walked out onto the floor, each of us was totally blown away by the sight. It's one of those things that is very hard to properly explain. We were struck speechless for a time, and I could feel the pace of my breathing increase. The simplest explanation I can come up with is that we were THERE, in the very place almost exactly as it was some two thousand years ago. Check out this vid...



All right, I'm off... Hopefully I didn't clog the tubes too much with that video. Those VHS's get stuck so easily!

Pizza, Pompeii, Piles of Trash

A quick post from our INCREDIBLE hotel on the Bay of Naples. We arrived this afternoon, after a quick jaunt at Paestum, one of the finest examples of the Greek colonization of southern Italy (check it out here!). The building where we're staying is about 400 years old and is situated on a hill overlooking the Mediterranean. As with most places in Italy, it is overrun with stray cats - who of course are tiny and adorable - as well as a variety of other farm animals. We saw goats, sheep, chickens, and even bats. Yes, I know that bats are not typically considered farm animals, but screw you.

We got to the hotel in the ancient Roman boom-town of Cuma and promptly watched the sun set below the sea, falling behind the ruins of the Cumean ampitheater, which is about 100 feet behind the hotel, right in our backyard for all intents and purposes. This sight was gorgeous; the sun and the sky were dyed countless shades of countless colors.

Tomorrow we're off to Pompeii, which promises to be amazing. A perfectly preserved Roman city on the shores of the sea almost exactly as it was in 79 AD makes me twitch a bit with exitement. After that it's to the National Museum of Antiquities in Napoli, a city which apparently is STILL in the midst of a garbage workers' strike that is many months old by this point. Driving through the city today, we saw piles of trash everywhere - lining the sides of the road and piled on street corners. Fires burned in the countryside becase there's literally nowhere else for all the trash to go. They should just pay the guys more! If there's any occupation that should be decently compensated, it should be garbage collectors. Somebody call the AFL-CIO.

Time for wine (I guess we're celebrating my birthday or something...) and revelry. GO CUBS.

San Pietro

Thirteen years of Catholic school is bound to have a profound effect, I suppose. For nine of those years, I was never in a classroom that did not have a portrait of the Pope hanging prominently on the wall. Mass was at least once a week; baptisms, confessions, confirmations - all were simply granted features of life and their importance was considered assumed, like police protection or air.

Things got more complicated in high school, but the assumptions were still there. How many students of the 1251 were not Catholic? Few indeed. At any given time I was surrounded by hundreds of people who were raised in an almost identical environment, living in similar places, going to similar schools, experiencing similar lives. We argued about the things the Church said, to be sure, but il Papa was still sacred; his teachings given weight and merit by even the most steadfast skeptics. To see the Pope was to see God, or very nearly - he was after all, a direct decendent of St. Peter, following in an unbroken line of worldly pontiffs guiding and caring for His earthly pilgrims.

After a couple years of college - living and learning in a starkly areligious environment while being taught to challenge EVERYTHING, to find the flaws in EVERY argument, to attack ALL assumptions - I no longer believe what I once did. I consider this an improvement of course, and am perfectly happy with my current worldview (though of course it is always expanding and evolving). That dome, though...

Every day crossing from Trastevere on the Tiber's east bank to the old city of Rome, I look to the north and see it, rising up like a mountain, as natural as the river itself. San Pietro in all it's glory, singing its siren song to me, drawing me nearer. The dome and the church and the square and the Pope all whispering softly in my ear to come near, to be welcomed by the loving arms of Mother Church.

I'm trying hard to RESIST. Someone should tie me to the mast.

The Terrace

The hotel that we're staying at in Rome, the Casa San Giuseppe, has a terrace on the fourth floor. Just a simple rooftop sitting area with a few plastic patio tables and chairs. A few lime trees grow in planters and small round lights glow softly around the edges.

The terrace is the greatest place in the world.

One of the few places we can go and simply sit and talk, the terrace - affectionately La Terrazza - is our little slice of heaven, our chunk of Paradise, our cliche wrapped in a metaphor. We sit out there at all hours of the day and night and just shoot the breeze with each other, discussing topics as diverse as Marvel comics, Die Hard, and Carl Jung. There is nothing that is off-limits on the Terrace, and it is quickly becoming a sacrosanct place where one need not fear reprisals for speaking freely - much like the salons and coffee shops of the Europe of old.

There's also a nearly endless supply of alcohol.

Bottles of red wine that cost less than a ride on the CTA and beer brewed just a few blocks away. Like the great waterways of Europe - the Danube, the Rhine, the Seine - the alcohol flows in powerful quantities and facilitates the quick and easy transportation of products - ideas and opinions instead of goods. It's no wonder this stuff is so popular.

Around 2 in the morning, amidst the buzzing of the Vespas and motorbikes, over the clamor of the crowds at the bars and clubs, a different sounds can be heard. A primal sound floating on the cool Mediterranean breeze. The sounds of bottles clinking gently, plastic chairs scooting, and laughter rising up into the crisp Roman night. The sounds of youth coming from the second (or perhaps third) most holy place in this most ancient of western cities - the Terrace.

Fields of Red

I am currently between classes, sitting in the quite un-aptly named "Good Cafe" enjoying some American hits of the 80's and 90's. Trust me; it is as absurd as it sounds. I just finished rocking out to some Vanilla Ice.

Our first class was this morning, and as with most first classes, it was very brief. Our professor is James Redfield, one of the most prominent and distinguished classicists in the world. We're really lucky to have him, I realize now. He's a fantastic lecturer was a bit concerned when he made an announcement the other day because his physical appearance is quite reminiscent of Harry Caray. Not in his good years either. In the last few years when he would mistakenly call a ground ball for a strikeout or begin comparing things to juicy hot dogs. Professor Redfield most certainly has that partially senile look about him, but is in fact on top of his game. He's a wealth of knowledge and is great at conveying it, at least so far. This first class looks very promising.

Soon, I'll be off to Intermediate Italian, which also should be fun. There's a small group of 6 of us that are in that section, and we've all become friends. Maggie, our Italian teacher, is a grad student at Chicago and also serves as our liaison at the hotel. Class with her will be a blast. Or perhaps even molto bene.

The time has come. Ciao ragazzi!

Londre, Londra, Lundin, London!

I've been absolutely slaving away to get my European photos uploaded (yes, the photos are actually themselves European) and have had moderate success. All the pictures from the trip to London are now online! Huzzah! Just click on:

THIS AWESOME LINK

Enjoy!

Another ancient column, another priceless work of art...

Europe is really old. Like seriously.

We're talking like almost Abraham Lincoln old. Whoa.

I can already feel myself becoming desensitized to all the incredible things here, simply because they are everywhere. Particularly in Rome, you can't spit without hitting the fallen capital from an ancient Roman column (people use them as benches because they're everywhere). You can't take a step without running face first into a wonderfully ornate Renaissance church that anywhere else would be visited by tourists from miles around but here is just another landmark on your way to an even bigger, even more spectacular site. It's overwhelming, but amazing.

I've been in Rome for three full days now, and the city's already become more familiar to me. It is possibly the smallest city that I've visited in the past week. Central Rome is easily walkable from one end to the other; it takes only about 30 minutes to walk from my hotel in Trastevere in southeastern Rome to the Villa Borghese - a huge park in northern Rome. The streets are so ridiculous that they're funny. Almost all are cobblestone, and were never designed to have cars on them. Buildings are packed closely together, and I suppose that Romulus and Remus had never heard of a grid when they built their first walls on the Roman hills. It's practically useless to pay attention to the names of roads; they change frequently and dead-end often. You must simply pick the direction that you want to go and try to stay faithful to that direction. Because of this, maps are virtually unnecessary and quite unhelpful. All you need is a direction and a good eye for landmarks, of which there are plenty.

We've already seen a lot of the big sites. Yesterday we traveled to the Roman Forum and the Colosseum. The Forum is incredible. A huge swath of excavated ground with toppled columns, arches, and temples. Naturally, the best preserved buildings are the ones that the Christians turned into churches (there are crosses everywhere, even inside the Colosseum itself). It's interesting that the ancient sites all sit about 10 meters below the current ground level. This area has been inhabited for so long that people simply built on top of ancient ruins, causing the level of the ground to rise over time. As a result of this, it is very difficult to dig in Rome (for utilities and public transportation) because as soon as the first shovel goes in, ancient ruins are inevitably discovered and care must be taken. It's strange to think that we are walking in the same places that people have walked for thousands of years, often on the exact same roadways. In the Forum, I took the opportunity to stand at the rostrum, where Cicero delivered his orations and where Marc Antony incited the crowds to avenge the death of Caesar. Chills up the spine.

Today I visited St. Peter's Square. When I got there, il Papa was just finishing his Sunday address to the crowds, unfortunately by video screen since he is still at his summer residence in central Italy. I couldn't quite understand what he was saying, but it had a lot of "Viva l'Italia! We're #1!" stuff in it. The crowds loved it, needless to say. St. Peter's is one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen. Perhaps this is due to my childhood conditioning or my deep-seated (though strenuously denied) Catholicism, but it was quite incredible. Michaelangelo's dome rises up over Bernini's colonnade and leaves you absolutely speechless. I'm going to try to get an audience someday soon. For whatever reason, the thought of seeing (or fingers crossed, touching!) the Pope almost makes me want to pray. Almost. Plus it would make my grandma the single happiest woman in the world.

Well, more to come soon. Lots of stories to tell about the various European capitals that I've visited and surely even more when school starts tomorrow. Stay tuned!