My Roman Holiday II

Part 2: When In Rome

Ok, ok, I know. It's been like a month since I was actually in Rome and I'm just finishing up the Rome posts now. Sorry, I was busy, I do have actual school work to do sometimes guys, and I just finished up paper season (phew).

In fair Rome is where we had set our scene. It was sunny and warm and I'd just had a wonderful little morning with my mom and aunt at an outdoor market. The rest of the day was decidedly less eventful. Mostly we just wandered around, we did some shopping, mom got her pair of custom made sandals (which she sort of needs since she has, essentially, child-sized feet), and we looked at some landmarks. I made it my personal mission that day to pick up every ironic postcard of the pope that I laid my eyes on, and boy was it a fruitful day. Everyone seemed to make some fun purchases, and we ate some yummy pizza and saw the sights.

The Trevi fountain was nice, though it was a little disappointing since there was a fence up around it and the fountain was devoid of water (wah wah), but it was cool nonetheless to see if "close up" (we couldn't get that close--see: fence). Then we walked all the way over to the Spanish Steps. It was getting kind of dark by then, and the plaza at the bottom of the steps was very, very crowded. I didn't even realize we were looking at the Spanish Steps until someone told me because, honestly, it was just a large outdoor staircase, and there wasn't much that made it stand out (yes I know, a heretical thing of me to say. I promise, I am an appreciator of art and architecture, but really, after several days of being on my feet all day with no alone time, can you blame me for being rather unenthused about a staircase, famous or not?). It, too, was fenced off, so, yeah that gives you a sense of the sightseeing portion of our Sunday.

At the end of the day, one of my aunts (cousins? again with the family tree and title thing) wanted to visit the Gucci store. Of course, me being me, I followed her and her husband in like a duckling following its mother because I was intensely curious to see the inside of a real designer boutique. I mean, the fanciest store I've ever been inside in my life is probably Lord and Taylor. I felt a bit like an imposter, like if I didn't walk right on my relatives' heels, someone would sniff me out and a salesperson would gracefully push me out the front door with their carefully gloved hands. I know, it sounds ridiculous, but it was all just so dreadfully chic and glamorous.

I found it fascinating to watch as someone bought an actual designer handbag from a designer boutique. It was probably the largest purchase I've ever witnessed someone make, aside from when my parents bought their car (though the car dealership wasn't nearly as aesthetically pleasing or amenable, I mean, they brought out free water in little glass bottles, with crystal tumblers to serve in all on a dark lacquered tray. I mean...).

After that, and a lot more walking, and quite a bit of time being lost, we made it back to the hotel and went out to dinner, sort of as a way to celebrate my last night there. Dinner was nice, I was exhausted, and we had to take a ton (and I mean, a ton) of group photos. I had a fairly tearful goodbye the next morning with my family, as they all piled into a van to go on their food tasting tour of the city, and I waited in the hotel lobby for my cab to the airport to arrive. I hadn't really realized until that moment how much I missed the sense of familiarity that comes from home, even just from being around other Americans (I haven't met more than one or two in Leeds). It was a strange, makeshift, portable version of home, but nonetheless, it was decidedly less foreign and I felt that.

I didn't have to miss it for too long though. Hahahaha. Haha. Ha. Ha...

I got all the way to the airport, stood in line, and when I got up to the check in counter, found out that my flight was extremely delayed due to some monster fog that had eaten the Netherlands. Consequently I was going to miss my connection back to Leeds. Yes. I stood there in the airport, breathing very deeply, insisting that the counter employee check every single flight back to Leeds that day. She kept clicking her mouse, mumbling to herself in Italian, and shaking her head, while I stood there focusing all of my energy on not crying in public. I tried not to think about the fact that I had three classes the next day, or the strict attendance policy Leeds seems to promote, or any of that. Nonetheless, I was stressed. I mean, I was Princess-Mia-driving-the-Mustang stressed. I was breathing very heavily, which made the airline person glance up in concern at me a few times. Finally, she said something to the effect of well, I see no solution for you today, but I can book you on a flight tomorrow! TOMORROW. Apparently, this fog was so crazy that a whole bunch of flights were disrupted, and so many passengers were displaced that every flight to Leeds, on every airline flying out of Rome to every possible connecting city was absolutely full.

Just my luck.

I was sort of in a daze as I accepted my new boarding pass, asking where I could find a cab. I didn't really see any other option except to just go back to the hotel. By this point I was totally out of cash, so I had to wait a while until a cab with a credit card reader could pick me up. I continued to do my paper-bag breathing (sans paper bag) all the way back to the hotel, where I walked up through the front doors to the astonishment of the concierge at the desk who had seen me off in the morning. I sort of just shrugged my shoulders and said, well, I'm back. He was very kind, asking me if everything was alright, and if my family knew what had happened. They didn't (since my phone didn't work unless I had wifi). Well, he said, this will be a nice surprise for the Aquinos (which he, and everyone else, insisted on pronouncing "Ah-KWEE-no", saying that it was an Italian name, even when we said it was pronounced differently in Southeast Asia. That's a different story, though).

I was so distraught and caught up in the stress (as I am wont to do) that I completely forgot for a while that if I was going to be stranded somewhere, at least I was stranded in ROME. Eventually I calmed down and managed to let my family know what had happened, then settled in to catch up on some homework before they came back. I sat at the desk with the window open and a cup of coffee and I felt a little better. My family was very sympathetic, and I treated myself to another plate of tiramisu at dinner that night (I deserved it).

Then I had to do the tearful goodbye again. My family was scheduled to leave early early the next day to catch a train to Venice, but my flight wasn't until the afternoon. I woke up briefly to say goodbye to my mom and aunt, but I was only half awake really. When I woke up again a few hours later, I was alone in the room, which made me feel a little blue and achy, but was what I had expected really.

This time, I actually made it back to Leeds. Of course, the universe wasn't going to make it easy though. The wrong terminal was printed on my boarding pass, so I ended up having to walk 2 terminals over, which was fine. But then, I had to take a tram all the way to the international terminal, and then I got on a bus to go out to the tarmac to actually get on the plane (which I really hate doing, it's just so much shuffling). After a few hours we landed in London Heathrow, which is just a hot mess, let me tell you.

I had to first figure out which terminal I was transferring too, since this would be a domestic and not an international flight, and it turns out that I would have to take a 20 minute long bus ride to my connecting terminal. There, I had to check in and pick up my boarding pass. All I had was the flight and ticket number that the woman from the day before (when I didn't cry in public) had written on the back of my first boarding pass. The man at the counter seemed a little confused, but eventually he sorted it out. Then I had to stand in line for another 45 minutes to get through passport control. They only had 1 person stamping passports that weren't UK/EU. Oh joy. Then it was another 30 minutes through security, and by then I only had 15 minutes to pick up a sandwich before I was scheduled to board. But of course, after running through the terminal to make it, I get there and find out that my connection has been delayed a half hour. Wonderful. I love traveling. So much fun. Adventure.

I made landed in Leeds only to be welcomed by insanely thick fog. Gotta love that fog. It was 8:30 PM before I actually made it back to my room where I promptly fell onto the bed in exhaustion.

After Italy, going back to school, going back to cold, damp, dark England felt like being pushed into the deep end of the pool: you sink all the way to the bottom and have to fight for some momentum in order to get yourself back up to the air, struggling to breath the whole way. I felt like Dorothy at the end of the story, when she leaves the Technicolor dream world of Oz and heads back to literally gray Kansas. While there isn't nearly as much corn and dust as Kansas, Northern England can certainly rival Kansas in dull grayness. I guess that every time it's cold and windy and rainy here (i.e. every single day), I'll just have to remember that I'll always have Rome.

Stratford, Stratford, Wherefore Art Thou Stratford?

Surprise, surprise, I went on another day trip this weekend! Bet you all didn’t see that one coming from a mile away. The never-ending day trips is all a part of my carpe diem strategy while I’m abroad—who knows when I’ll be able to make it back to this side of the ocean, so I should probably make the most of my time while I’m here.

Shakespeare's home and garden

This week my friends and I visited Stratford-Upon-Avon, hometown of Shakespeare. The drive was long and the stubborn English weather mocked us with rain all day long (until it was time to get on the bus home, that is), but it was still a really fun day! 

Stratford sits on the river Avon (obviously) and is a quaintly preserved Medieval town. The Medieval buildings were interspersed with newer construction, and many of the antique structures were filled with modern high street stores, though there were still several quirky, unique little boutiques all over the place. There were a lot of candy and fudge shops, and along the main “Shakespeare oriented” road, there was a teashop in about every second or third storefront. We ended up getting lunch at a funny little pub called The Pen and Parchment. We ended up ordering traditional English breakfast all around (what can I say, I’m a breakfast sort of a girl) while praying for the rain to let up. It was a really neat little place—behind our booth there was a chalkboard with a record of the landlords going back to the mid 18th century. It was not only incredible to see the unbroken chain of owners, but also just really amazing to know that such a quaint and unassuming little establishment had such a long history. Then again, I tend to be overly fascinated by all things old, especially the exceptionally old things in Europe. 

For the most part we just wandered around. We visited the house where Shakespeare was born and raised. Apparently his family was quite well off due to his father’s booming glove making business. Interesting. We spent quite a bit of time in the numerous gift shops as well. Stratford is quite the tourist hub (and apparently has been for like 400 years…), so there were a lot of cheesy souvenir shops and the like. I didn’t mind it though—I sort of love touristy things and being a tourist: it’s fun to encounter places for the first time and look at them with a sense of astonishment, and I feel like you don’t always get that if you’re trying to blend in with locals or if you get used to a place, you stop exploring and appreciating. 

Medieval houses are small...

Real sugar cubes!!!

We also visited the house of John Harvard, founder of the American university of the same name. Apparently he and Shakespeare were nearly contemporaries! Who knew they hailed from the very same little town in England? After that we went to the home of Shakespeare’s eldest daughter and her husband, who was a doctor. By then it had started to pour torrents on us, so after walking around the house we decided to have some tea in the attached cafe. It was lovely and warm and by the time we had finished our snacks the rain had let up! 

Then we were able to go to the local church and see where Shakespeare and his family are buried. It’s amazing to me that he was baptized, married, and buried in the very same church in the same little town! I suppose the world was just a smaller place 500 years ago. After that, we mostly wandered around. We were told that the layout of the town was preserved from Shakespeare’s time, so we were walking the same paths he would recognized, which I found to be very cool and strange at the same time. Overall, it was a nice day even though we got drenched! 

Stratford church where Shakespeare is buried

As for the rest of the week, I’ve been busy working on school work and my project for Special Collections. I think I’ve narrowed down the scope of my Special Collections project a bit more—it’s so exciting to think that I’ll have something concrete at the end of the semester to show for all my work! 

School work is starting to pick up. I’ve got two papers due in the next 2-3 weeks that I really need to start looking at. I’m a little worried since the way in which papers are written here is a little different than what I’m used to. There’s a different reference system that doesn’t seem very efficient to me, and for my literature paper I’m expected to do a lot of external research, which is new for me. I’m used to just digging into the text and laying out my own thoughts and arguments. Still, that should be easier than the philosophy paper (*yikes*). I’ve never written a philosophy paper and the material still feels a little out of the grasp of my full understanding, so we will just have to cross our fingers and see what happens. 

The Curious Case of the Rain in the Nighttime and the Not So Silent Disco

I endured a few days of dull and repetitive meetings about rules and regulations and all sorts of other expectations. Though, these meetings weren’t quite as dull as Wellesley’s because they all had free wine—a nice touch. Meetings here seem to go a little differently than the dorm meetings back at Wellesley. For example, we had a meeting for all new students living in Devonshire the other day (so it was mostly Freshers). This, like most meetings and pamphlets I had encountered so far, outlined mostly the same things about safety, common sense, and various rules to be followed. What I found exceptionally strange, however, was the way the staff decided to demonstrate the lock your door constantly “suggestion”: at one point during the meeting full of several hundred students, the president of Devonshire displayed several items taken by sub wardens from rooms left unlocked by students. You either had to publicly claim the item or the staff got to keep it! It was sort of shocking and felt like a violation of privacy. I mean, I guess it taught those students to lock their doors, but still, that feels a little extreme. 

After a few days of meetings, however, my friends and I were able to let loose a little at a silent disco! For those of you who don’t know what a silent disco is, essentially it is like any sort of club or disco, but instead of blasting the music through speakers, everyone wheres bluetooth headphones, thus making the club “silent” allegedly. It was loads of fun, possibly even better than the roller disco! There were two DJs each playing different music, and you could switch between the two channels on your headphones. Both DJs played great music as well—everything from classic bass-heavy dance music, to 80’s ballads, to early 2K pop throw backs, to The Lion King. It was amazing. And one of the best parts was taking off your headphones, and watching everyone dancing neon lights, singing along to music that wasn’t actually playing. I took a video, dedicated to Vickey (we’ll get to 30,000 plays!), of a what it looked and sounded like when a Linkin Park song came on. You can see that, even thought the music isn’t pumping through the air, the “silent” disco is fairly noisy.

We finally left when it became just a tad too crowded, and started to make our way back home. One of my friends, Sara, said that in just 2.5 hours, we had taken about 9,000 steps according to her step counting watch. Needless to say, we were starving. Luckily there are several late night restaurants on our way home. We ended up stopping at this place called Mahmood’s (except the o’s in the sign were silhouettes of burgers), which served a mixture of knock off McDonald’s and KFC combined. We ordered our 2 am burgers, which were beyond satisfying. As we sat there at the counter, eating in silence, I stared at the off-brand KFC they were selling in boxes plastered with a happy rooster giving you the thumbs up and a slogan stating it was “lip lickin flavour”. It was a poignant moment: 2 in the morning, silently eating warm, satisfying, yet also gross burgers, and staring at an imposter rooster on a cardboard box. 

We finished up quickly and headed towards Devonshire, but halfway back to the residence, it started to precipitate. Then it started to precipitate harder. Now, I had checked the forecast, and it was only a 20% chance of rain that night. Yet, as we were walking down the street, we found ourselves cowering under a tree, as the rain started to fall in thicker, heavier drops. Even though it’s only September, this was not a warm rain. At home, when it rains in the the summer, it’s not always unpleasant: if might be a welcome relief to the sweltering, swampy weather, a warm shower that feels like a present from Mother Nature, cleaning out the gunk from the air. The rain in England, where it is perpetually fall, is cold. It makes you and everything around you damp and chilly. 

So there we were under a tree, which was becoming increasingly insufficient coverage, facing a decision to wait or to forge ahead. The catch was that it was 2:30 am by this point, and I had a meeting at 10 am the next day, so we couldn’t really afford to wait long. Of course, we continued, and of course, about 2 minutes in the rain became even stronger. By the time we reached the residence, my clothes and hair were soaked through, and I was chilled to the bone. The rain stopped just as we reached our courtyard (what else would I expect, though), and even though I took a steamy shower, I still woke up with a sore throat. C’est la vie…

I’m Singing (and Walking and Shopping and Living) in the Rain!

As we all know, it rains in England. Quite a bit. 

Although it hasn’t rained all-day everyday, thus far, as I thought it might, it still has rained enough to notice. Today was the first day I had to go out in real rain, like a nice, steady, measurable rain. It was raining when I woke up, and didn’t seem as though it was going to let up any time soon, so I forged ahead with my friends as we all needed to purchase a few clothing items and home goods for our rooms. 

I broke out my new raincoat just for the occasion because, guys, I do not live all that close to campus or the city center. I could be further away, it’s true, and European vs. American sensibilities on walking distances are fairly different, but I’m used to Wellesley's bite-sized campus, where everything you need is within your sightline. My residence is a 20-30 minute walk to campus, and campus to the city center (where all the stores are), is another 10-15 minutes. And all this in the rain. I wasn’t exactly feeling like Gene Kelly, if you know what I mean.

Yet, the craziest thing is that while my friends and I had our raincoats and umbrellas wrapped around us in an attempt to stay dry, the locals seemed to hardly notice the rain. I saw people walking around in shorts and t-shirts and canvas shoes, running through the park, dressed up in heels and dresses all as though it was not steadily raining. Some people had hoods, or held their bag over their hair, or had a jacket, but many moved about as though it was sunny! It’s not as though this was just a drizzle, if I hadn’t had my raincoat, by the time we had reached campus I would’ve been drenched, my clothes would’ve been soaked straight through. 

The rain can’t be avoided though, and I supposed the blinding purple color of my coat wasn’t the only thing that made me stand out as a foreigner today. When you live in a rainy climate long enough, I guess you just get used to it.