Wiesn 2010

Now. 

How many of you

understand the title?

Not many I would think.

Well, Wiesn is the

same thing as
Oktoberfest.

Its just what the

Germans call it.

...

So, if the Germans

don't call it Oktoberfest,

where did it get that 

funky spelling and who

started calling it that?

oh well.

I guess I'll have to go

back and ask

some Germans.

So, Oktoberfest.

It was a blast.

Let's just say,

it wasn't what i was expecting.

I didn't even like beer.

which made me wonder why

in the world i was on

that overnight 8 hour 

bus ride to begin with.

but it was too late at that

point, because we

were already well into

the Alps of Austria 

at that point.

On the glorious first morning

of Oktoberfest, 

my roommates and i trekked through

streets covered with lederhosen. 

and dirndls.

we made a typical rookie mistake:

DO NOT WATCH THE PARADE.

while the horses and outfits were nice,

by the time it was over 

we were stuck with standing

instead of sitting at the

beer gardens.

these things really fill up quickly.

and the people don't move.

they literally sit there and

drink all day long.

so if you miss your chance 

to grab a seat,

you might not get one.

so. rule 1:

first thing you do is 

go to a beer tent and

get yourself a table.

by the way,

they are not really tents.

more like giant temporary gymnasiums

of beer and music and singing.

So, saturday was spent

walking, and walking,

and a little more walking.

we ended up heading to the center

because we couldn't get 

into a beer hall.

so we found ourselves a nice

little, random, mexican restaurant 

in Munich just in time for happy

hour. 

i got a pina colada. 

and nachos. 

which was amazing

after weeks of pasta.

Now, since we learned

our lesson the first day,

on Sunday we went straight

into a beer house, Augustiner,

and found ourselves a table

near three guys in german hats.

After about 15 minutes of 

just sitting next to them

talking while they played

cards, they invited us to join.

Lance, Ash, and Jordan.

the first two were kiwis,

from New Zealand,

the last was born in Scotland 

but lived in New Zealand. 

They were highly entertaining

and kept the table lively.

soon enough Ora, from Israel,

joined our group. 

And with her came Steven from Munich,

a local who explained to me

what all the German meant

and that taking a stein from the

beer hall was perfectly normal.

So, we sat in that beer hall

from 9:30 till 2:20. 

Talking, laughing,

singing, playing cards,
talking to the old German

men behind us, 

and drinking.

Turns out German beer

is pretty good. 

Oh, and the giant pretzels.

those were amazing.

After 5 hours of merriment,

we had to go or risk being late

for our bus home at 3.

We bid farewell to our new

fairly drunk friends

and headed off into the chaos

that is Wiesn.

After buying nuts, a bratwurst, and

a glass boot,

we made our way through the 

crowd and met up with our group.

We reached the bus by 3:20,

where we proceeded to wait.

and wait.

and wait.

and yes, wait some more. 

There were some members of our 

group that had decided to 

drink so much that they couldn't 

remember they had to leave

or weren't coherent enough

to be able to tell time.

the groups leaders found them and

brought them back to the bus.

we left at 5.

let's just say the sentiments

on the bus towards those 5 girls

were not good.

Having slept the entire way to
Germany, I decided to 

make myself stay up on the way back.

And it was worth it.

The Alps were beautiful.

the landscape of germany, austria,

and northern italy was 

breathtaking.

there were even

random castles dotting the scenery

as we worked our way south.

At the early hour of 1:30

we arrived in Firenze.

tired, in need of showers,

with still a walk from the bus stop

across the city,

past the Duomo,

to our home. 

So, i returned to italy with four

things from the 200th Wiesn 

in Germany:

an experience at Dachau worth a thousand words.

a lovely burgundy/cranberry Bavarian hat.

a stein from Augustiners.

and a new appreciation for Beer.

i think my father will rather like the last one. :]

Walking into History

The small suburb of
Wolfrathausen was our
first stop and
the home of our
residence for the
next few days.

The town was adorable.
the hotel staff
were extremely nice
the breakfast at the hotel
was a divine mixture
of meat, cheese, rolls,
hot tea, eggs, coffee,
and different assortments
of jam and jellies.

Our room was nearly bigger
than our apartment in italy.
It had a loft,
which was pretty snazzy.
And they had a tiny
tv, that we got
to watch german shows
and soccer on.
It was a good place
to go back to after
such a packed weekend.

So, we arrived early morning
in the center of Munich.
It was chilly.
The wind didn't help any
and the only thing i
kept thinking was
that i was glad i didn't
sign up for the bike
tour around Munich:
since it was freezy,
it was lightly raining,
and we didn't sleep much
on that stupid bus.

So, instead, me and
my roommates headed out
to Dachau for the day.
it didn't take much to work
the German transportation system
and before we knew it we
arrived at the Third Reich's
first concentration camp.

It was eerie.
it was gray.
everywhere.
the ground, the sky, the buildings.
looking around
you couldn't help
thinking of the people
who were forced into labor
and died where you looked,
or even where you stood.

the two places that were the hardest
were the "bunker"
and the crematory

the bunker was the prison block.
complete with torture rooms,
medical experiments,
standing cells,
and solitary confinement.
all of which you could walk into,
besides the standing cells.
they were taken down
for some reason by the american
soldiers who liberated the camp.

as some might think,
not all concentration camps were
extermination camps like Auschwitz
Dachau was there for labor
in the armory industry.
but plenty died in their crematory
and fake showers that were
really the gas chambers.
and in the gardens around it,
there were the many graves
of the ashes found.


while the camp can simply
be described as haunting,
gray, and depressing,
i would suggest those of you
fortunate to make it to Munich
to stop by Dachau.

It was really an amazing experience
to be able to walk into a place
you've read about in a history book.
even one so difficult to face
as a concentration camp.

Courses and Accordions

So.
After my first full week of classes,
this is what i have to say:

why is there so much work?

I mean, come on guys.
I understand this is still school.
We are college students after all,
working towards our degrees that
half of us won't use in the
real world anyway.
But we're also American students
studying abroad in Italy.
Who knows if we'll ever
make it back to Europe.
We want to travel,
not spend our weekends
in the library writing paper after paper.

...

Oh well.
No use complaining
to an online blog.

Overall the classes look interesting.
I might actually even
read the required reading.
Something, that in the past,
I have let slip somewhat.

I think the most interesting
thing about my classes
are the way that they're
taught.

The first half we have lecture.
We have a short break
and then we go out into
Florence, and see
the things the teachers
have been talking about.
So i'll learn about the Medici
family homes,
then go visit them.
I'll learn about the Santa Croce
Quarter of Florence,
then go visit the quarter I
live in,
on the way learning anything
of historical significance
from a very eccentric professor.

Speaking of my quarter of Florence,
Santa Croce,
named for the Church that can
be found just down the street
 from my apartment;
it is very lively.

My neighbors are the Duomo,
and the Palazzo Vecchio.
And how could we forget
the famed Uffizi Gallery,
with its halls of renaissance
artwork and its street
of vendors, modern day artists,
statue-impersonators, and
my favorite, musicians.

And here is where
the accordions come in.

Almost every night,
we have this elderly man walk
down Borgo dei Greci,
teetering with the weight of
his instrument strapped
to his chest.
he settles down midway through the street,
almost directly under our window,
and begins his song.

For the past two weeks,
he has yet to change
this song.
Which is alright with me.
Its beautiful
and its at those moments that
it really hits home that
i'm in Italy.
I promise you
sometimes it still feels like a dream.

And our elderly Accordion man
isn't our only musician serenading us.
We have had guitarists,
clarinetists, an entire band once,
and even this guy playing
some weird steel drum like
instrument that makes the most
interesting sound.

The nights are rarely quite
near the Santa Croce.
Either its music or
the drunken songs of
Italians, Australians,
Americans, or any other nationality
working their way back to
their apartments after
a night of drinking and friendship.

And these ballads don't stop early.
and they occur every day.
even Sunday nights there
is yelling and laughing coming
from the cobble stoned streets
of Borgo dei Greci.

Apparently its very loud
as the noise echoes and intensifies
off the stone and cement walls
till it reaches our floor.
I am lucky.
I sleep like the dead.
My roommates are troubled
by the noise though,
so I hope it calms down
once peak tourist season is over.

although I rather doubt it.
Students will still be here,
studying, partying, traveling.
And I personally hope the
music doesn't stop.
I'm particularly fond of our
personal concerts every evening.

and even now, at 2:10 pm,
a trumpet player is practicing his skills
for us to enjoy.

And while I pray the noise goes away with the tourists,
I hope the musicians of Florence never
leave or cease to use the old,
cracking buildings of the
Santa Croce quarter
for their amplifiers.

Their songs weaving their
way through the Tuscan night
is a small portion of La Bella Vita.
The beautiful life.
the life that i am trying
so desperately to find
while on my 4 months
stay in Italia.

E per te

is a song by Jovanotti.
An italian artist.
It's quite a good song and
the first time I heard it was in
my 102 Italian class.
It means "Is for You"

Well, it seems like a lot of Italy is for me.
Let us start with the food.

It is simply amazing.
and i'm not exaggerating.
i'll admit, some places suck.
like, Brioso in Clemson, SC
is better.
but other places,
there's just no comparisson.
And one such place is
Vivoli.

Now, on one of our eating excursions
early on,
because we were still on the hunt
of a grocery store,
me and my roommates went out to eat
at a restaurant in a side alley.
Overall experience, bad.

The server clearly didn't think highly of
us stopping by his establishment.
The pork chop was dry.
the Lasagna was amazing though.
and we did meet two very entertaining Australians.

These two were visiting Italy from Melbourne
and soon enough we got into a lively chat with
the colorful characters from down under.

The lady began a ballad of their love story.
How they had met and dated in high school,
and the man gave her a gold ring
then promptly broke her heart
and dumped her.
They both seemingly moved on
only to find each other 50 years later in life.
At this point in time they ditched their lives
and began again with each other.

Lovely story, non?
but I have to say the best thing the
Australians gave us was where
to find the best gelato in the city.
They claimed they had been there
every night since arriving.
So, later that evening we went looking
for the elusive Vivoli.

Down the street and
take a right onto a back alley
and you're there.

when you walk in,
its seems like a normal
gelato stand.
UNTIL, you look around.
Then you notice something is wrong.

Where are the cameras?
the flip flops?
the tacky "I LOVE ITALIA" shirts?
Where are the americans and tourists?

This is how good this place is.
Its all Italians.
and select few of us
outsiders that have stumbled upon the place.

I would definitely say that
Vivoli is for me.

As i'm finding out,
much of Italy is for me.
The fanaticism of soccer
the art of the cuisine
the beauty of the streets
but i can't just focus on myself
especially since much of my time
is spent thinking about
others.

Of course,
all over the place I see things
that remind me of other people.
So here is my little segment of

e per te.

is for you.

Let's start out with family,
shall we?

First off,
every time I look up at the sky
i think of my father.
Dadu would love this weather.
Its been absolutely gorgeous.
With cool, perfect mornings
for running and walking "the pack"

My mother would love it here.
There's a church on every single corner.
Not to mention,
all the lovely religious history and
paintings and such
scattered across Firenze.
and she would definitely love
buying me things at all the stalls
along the way :]

The art, history, and
just about every aspect of
this marvelous city remind me of
my darling elder sister.
and i'm sure we'll get into plenty
of mischeif when she comes to
visit in Thanksgiving.

Now, I'll have to stop here.
Because although I'm in a foreign land,
and everything around me is so different,
and sometimes overwhelming,
these same differences
are constantly reminding me of people
and places back home.

And I could go on forever,
listing every dear friend
and every single detail
of my new life abroad
that reminds me of them
... but it is getting late.
and I'm a bit tired.

so I'll leave it as this,
as the singer on the
ponte vecchio put it
last night:

e per te.
è per te tutta questa città
è per te ogni cosa che c'è

for you less italian inclined:

is for you.
is for you throughout this city
is for you everything you need

thank you jovanotti.
you give me hope that
i might yet find  what i need
in this city:

the good kind of chicken ramen.

Buona Notte

Or good night.
well, tonight was good.
and very educational.

Around the early hour of 8 pm,
my roommates and I received an invitation
to a birthday bash of a friend.
so we got ready,
and headed down to the duomo.

I was looking quite italian.
in a dashing black shirt and
stylish blue, orange, purple, and green scarf.
and yes, i was joking about looking italian.
still sticking out here in the land of vino e gelato.

Anyway, we went on down to the duomo
and met up with the group.
we then proceeded to the bar
where we 'pre-gamed'

now, for all of you who are not familiar with the term
'pre-game' means to buy drinks at a cheaper bar or
liquor store before hitting the main event of the night
which will most likely have expensive beverages.
and, being Young Americans in a foreign land,
it seems like buying a drink is one of the steps
into becoming the ever elusive "fluent florentine"

so, i bought my first alcoholic beverage.
it was a long island iced tea.
now, i've had a sip of one
back in the good old US of A
and it was pretty good.

in italy though,
it was terrible.
let's just say, pretty much pure alcohol.
so, let me run it down for you:
rum, gin, vodka, and cola.
i had about 6 1/2 sips and
i said no more.

After this first time experience,
with me making a mental note
never to get a long island iced tea
in italy again,
we proceeded to the main event.

A club called Space.
yet there was anything but space
in the entire establishment
because it was packed full of american women
and italian men.
oh, and a few american men and italian women
thrown in there.
but mostly, it was american women
and creepy italian men.
and yes ladies, there was not a cute one in sight.

Ok. So i'll be honest.
I'm not one for physical interaction.
never was, and never will be.
(well, unless your name is christofer.)

so today's dance rave of tightly
holding onto your partner
while grinding down to the beat
just doesn't do it for me.

So i spent an hour or two dancing
in the space near my two roommates,
dodging the men looking for dance partners.
there was plenty of "Non Grazie" and "Non ballo" (dance)

There was one very good quality about this club.
They played the black eyed peas.
so that was fun.
i got to sing and dance and jump around.

overall, it was a good night.
My only wish is that they
would make sweet tea
instead of long island iced tea.
Oh well. I'm sure I'll find something I like to drink.
Maybe I'll try a Guinness next time.
Maybe beer instead of little fruity drinks
is the way to go.

I don't know.
Idk
Je ne sais pas.
Non lo sol.

so. i guess all i have left to say is good night.
or as the italians say it,

Buona Notte.

Italian Overload

When you think of first arriving in Italy, what comes to your mind?
Let me guess: Leaning Tower of Pisa? the Colosseum? Venice's famed canal ways and gondolas?
Maybe even wine, pasta, pizza, canoli, and gelato?
Well, some of these things were going through my mind.
But I'll tell you what wasn't.

Queen singing "Under Pressure"
but that is how I was greeted into the land of the Tuscan Sun.
With Freddy Mercury serenading our voyage into the city.

The traveling in general was tolerable, as any flight on an American airline is.
Luck was on my side though and I had no delays or troubles
getting through security in the US and in Germany.
I sat next to the most interesting person
and i dubbed her Hat Lady.

She wore a German inspired outfit, with matching black hat sporting feathers and flowers,
as well as a ukulele.
I have no idea what a ukulele has anything to do with Germany
but, she said she was learning how to play it
and hoped to be quite good at it by the time she returned.
Anyway, she kept things lively.
As did knowing an acquaintance, a fellow Ldm-er, on the plan.
And you'll never where I met this person.
Charlotte Airport.
And you'll never guess who she is.
My roommate.

She just came and sat next to me.
And while she was making a call to her credit card company, I heard her name.
And there you have it folks. Eavesdropping does have its positive points.

Now, once we arrived in Italia, survived a crazy taxi ride through ancient cobble stoned streets,
 and got dumped in the middle of a street with our luggage, thus holding up traffic
while we fought with the heavy things around parked motorbikes
and things too small to even be thought of as cars --
we promptly got invited to a bar with specials just for Americans
by two young Italian men and a young woman.

Let's just say its not hard to play "spot the foreigner' in Italy.
In fact, multitudes of Italian civilians and illegal immigrants make a career out of it.
May I introduce, the pickpocket and street vendor.

The pickpocket is easy to spot, if your looking that is. Disregard things like age and race,
because the perfect pickpocket is someone you wouldn't even imagine being one.
 Like a little boy nearly running into you with a ball as his sister comes up from the side.
 Too bad for him that I had a lecture from a Politzia that morning and saw him coming,
thus jumping out of the way.
I would make a joke now, but I'm too superstitious.
and i have 4 more months here to be paranoid.
and one of my paranoias is about seemingly overly friendly Italian men.
Like Mr. Leather.

So this nickname has nothing to do about what he wears
and everything to do about where he works.
There is a leather shop just across the way from my little humble Italian villa.
And Mr. Leather works there.
Oh, he told me his name.
I have no idea what he said.
So I have dubbed him Mr. Leather.
original, I know.
anyway, so Mr. Leather is very nice.
It seems like he has seem quite a few LdM students come through the apartment.
When we arrived, once again dumped in the street by a taxi,
he helped me and Taylor (my roommate) get our stuff out of the street
and into the foyer of the apartment.
He seems very nice.
he said hello when we saw him in the city.
he loves sitting on our stoop smoking a cigarette.
and always greets us, at least for the past two days,
when we return to our place.
So maybe he is just a nice Italian man
being kind to three foreign girls (Amanda is my other apartment mate)
who look clueless.
then again, Mr. Politzia earlier today told way too many horror stories.
So, now I'm paranoid.
or more so than i was.



My first impression of Florence on the second day is... overwhelming.
Italians are everywhere speaking Italian, and smoking. Lots, o LOTS, of smoking.
There are Frenchmen and Germans and Some Slavic speaking people all over the place.
but once again, it is nice to be able to spot an American from a mile away.
at least you know you aren't the only one looking like a Carolina Gamecock at Death Valley.

So overall, I'm glad I have more than a week or two in Italy.
There is no way you could actually experience the culture in such a short amount of time.
And I'm really hoping they let me into the cooking class......