Monday, September 27, 2010

Corri La Vita 12k


 This last Sunday, Florence held the Corri La Vita, a 12k that raises money for cancer research.  It was a great day for a run, and idea of running every mile seemed a little easier knowing it was for a good cause.  As you can see above in our pre-race pic, us girls were all just so excited at the idea of running a 12k, especially because we had heard rumors of the awful hills that this route had.  I mean, we have been eating all this pasta for some reason, right?! It was bound to help us power up those hills : ) 
The square where the race started.  It is weird to yell, "Meet me by the statue of the naked man!" when giving directions.  Weird, but somehow so great

That was our "competition".  Pshh. Whatever : )



We arrived at the race and were met by a hoard or Italians, as well as a fair spattering of American students and other confused looking foreigners.  What was interesting was the ratio or men to women, which by my estimation must have at least been 4:1.  Running seems to be a few steps (ha ha) behind in Europe, especially in competitive running for women.

The race began and wound through the city, ending up at Piazzale Michelangelo, which I swear is the highest point in the whole city, maybe even the whole country.  Okay, that is slightly dramatic, I know, but I'm telling you, those hills were steep and unending!


See the Duomo?  That is where we started and this pic was taken about where we ran to.  It's so high I really think the race should be marketed as half-race and half-mountain climb.
Regardless, we all finished with good times and smiles on our faces.  After the race, our athletic director Larry took us to the restaurant, called The Diner, that offered amazingly delicious American food.  I'm talking omeletes, pancakes, and even...(dramatic pause)... "American Coffee"!!!  I am sure you must think it is ridiculous, I mean, we are in the food capital of the universe and I am getting excited about drip coffee... but, let me tell ya, after being here for a few weeks in was the perfect meal.

Our post-race Gonzaga group


Tuesday, September 21, 2010

A New Side of Florence: Working at the Soup Kitchen




Today I went to a soup kitchen that was located just a few minutes away from Gonzaga's campus.  The coordinator had warned me that the people may come across a tad bit harsh and that they don't speak English, but I figured I could handle it, I have 6 siblings so I have pretty thick skin : )  My three days of Italian had definitely given me a false confidence that I could handle the language issue.  Note to self: just because you know how to order a cappuccino does not mean you can understand the damn language.

I arrived there and was thrown in to a mix of other volunteers, mostly the sweet grandmother type.  I want one of them to adopt me.  Or all of them could adopt me, I certainly wouldn't complain.

I threw on an apron, a rare sight indeed, and they looked at me with slight trepidation, and understandably so, due to the fact I was dressed ridiculously (just a skirt and tank top, really should have thought that through, whoops) and clearly I didn't speak Italian.  I apologetically tried to explain "Sono americanna" and that was met with a nod of understanding and little chattering that was undecipherable to my ears.

The meal started and homeless people began to file in.  They were all very polite, and we served them pasta, salad, bread, and fruit.  So yes, the homeless in Italy also get a four course meal, and the regulations in the quality of food guaranteed that the meal would be quality.  

It was overwhelming trying to figure out what the workers wanted me to do, what the homeless people were asking for, and generally what the hell was going on.  I mean, it took me a good twenty minutes to figure out how to pronounce the word green beans, not an easy feat by any means.  The first shift of people had me asking myself, "What the hell did I get myself into?".  I was rushing around and get frustrated at the lack of communication and felt like an idiot for not understanding anything. 

Then all the sudden, everything was okay.  Things started to make a little more sense and I got into the swing of things.  The homeless were all polite and appreciative and not by any means the stereotypical homeless person.  These were all people and all souls and they all had their own stories.  They all had families.  They are sisters, mothers, sons, and fathers.  A few of them actually spoke English and were chatty.

My shift came to an end and I left tired-out (sono stanca) but happy.  This will be a weekly commitment so stay posted for more : )

This experience made me curious about homelessness in Europe.  While traveling, I have come across a fair share of beggars and such, but that seems only natural in areas that bring in tourism.  All in all, I feel as if I haven't seen much homelessness at all, and which I contributed to the socialistic themes found in most European countries as well as a slight lack of tolerance.  After doing a little bit of research I found that there was much more to it than I had thought...

An article in Time, "Down and Out" brought our many issues I was unaware of.  "The safety net is failing some of the most vulnerable sections of European society," says Freek Spinnewijn, FEANTSA's director. "A lot of people are falling through — people with mental-health problems, drug and alcohol problems, and people who have suffered physical and sexual abuse." This makes sense to me, in that I feel this is an over-arching theme found in many societies. 

More specifically, I was interested in the homeless population in Italy.  The article states, "In Italy, only rough sleepers qualify — there are around 17,000 of them, according to the official count."  So, that doesn't take into account all the people who are by all means without a home, or who can't afford to eat, such as the people that I met and saw today.  That number is shockingly low, and I can't imagine that it is realistic at all.

So what causes homelessness in Italy?  The article goes on to say, "Many are homeless because they are discriminated against, in jobs and housing — or simply can't afford Europe's high cost of living."  hmm, makes sense as well.  This also seems to be the cause of homelessness in the United States.  But if people are being taxed 35-58%, as they are in Italy, why can't a society provide for these people?  Therefore, does it come back to the mental health issues?  Is the homeless population here made up more of the mentally ill, those who are unable to function in society?  The article went on to quote Spinnewijn when he says that single women with children make up the majority of homeless families in Europe. "One of the main reasons for the increasing number of homeless families is divorce," says Spinnewijn. "There has been a rise in the number of divorces, and often divorced women with children find it very difficult to have an economically sustainable life."  Once again, shouldn't the state be helping out these women and families?

Unlike my own experience the article states that volunteers routinely encounter hostility, even violence, particularly from rough sleepers. "Those who've been on the streets for years get very uncomfortable when they are suddenly in a confined space, surrounded by lots of people," says Susan Fallis, project manager at a West London hostel, one of several run by the charity Broadway. "They are suspicious and angry, and get put off by even the simplest things."  It would seem the natural response for those who suffer with mental health problems, and simply seems to cement that fact.

Lastly the article brought up the point that social researchers know that "It's not a matter of giving someone several hundred euros a month and expecting them to find a place to live and make a life," says Martin Hirsch, president of EmmaĆ¼s France, a voluntary organization that runs shelters and provides housing across the country. "Money isn't enough for people with problems — physical, psychological — who can't take care of themselves."

I couldn't agree more.  There seems to be a marginalized part of society that is so much easier to ignore because I think people have taught themselves to look away, to grumble at their presence, and to brush them off.  That "dirty old man"  is dirty because he has no place to shower where he feels safe, he is old because of the life he was forced to live, and he is in the position he is in because he has no one to be his advocate or the help him get the medical help to work through his mental issues.  Thank God that there are people in this world who take care of people they know who can't handle the world on their own when they fall in the same family, but what about all the people who don't have that family support? Where do they go?  I understand that when the mental hospitals were used in the United States they were corrupt and the people were treated inhumanly.  There were many issues on all levels of management and care, and I don't mean to imply that as being a situation, but I do feel it should be reviewed.

But these people need a place, not only in our hearts, but in society.  So I challenge you (and mom, if you really are the only person who reads this blog, this mean you lol) to step out of your comfort zone and serve some meals at a soup kitchen or simple just say hello when you pass a homeless person on the street.  Realize that these people aren't homeless due to laziness, it is due to bad circumstances or mental illness.  Show the love of Christ.


Monday, September 20, 2010

F-I-R-E-N-Z-E is finally home to me!

A bus, a plane, another long bus ride and our final bit of traveling finally came to a close.  I had fallen asleep on the last leg of the traveling, and was awoken as we pulled up to school and met our pensione owners.  If you can only imagine being woke up and in the next 3 minutes finding yourself dragging luggage (again, I realize this whole luggage thing was completely self-imposed, but still, it sucked) and suddenly ending up in the place that will be home.  It was the most disorienting experience, and did I mention it was 12:30 am?!? Ahhhhh!  Well I settled in but was up bright and early for my first day of school.

My Italian teacher very well may be the very cutest woman in the history of ever.  She said, "Some days when you're tired, we wont do much.  When you not tired, we do more.  That's why I don't have a schedule."  Man, I love Italy : )  I am working so hard to learn Italian, but I have to admit I know a total of 5 phrases.  They all have to do with food or cute babies.  Awesome.

A low key weekend in Florence was just what I needed after all that traveling and opening tour.  We walked miles and miles all through Florence.   One night, after Gusta Pizza, we were walking to gelatto when lightening lit up the sky and there was a HUGE downpour!  We all crammed under a doorway and waited for it to pass before we made a break for home.  Experiencing a lightening storm in Italy is one of those things that you have to experience before you die.  Absolutely amazing.

Later that weekend, when we were out on another walk, we came across a crowd of people that were crowded (lol) around a curve in the rode.  Suddenly a bunch of police cars raced by, followed by support vehicles for bike riders. The crowd kept cheering and then all the riders rode speeding by!  It was crazy and amazing and the whole crowd was going nuts!  More cheering was followed by more riders.  The last rider rode by (poor guy) and the crowd dispersed.  Isaac, I thought of you!

The pensione I am living in, Gallo D'Oro, is about 5 minutes away from the Duomo.  The owners are the sweetest people and the food is good, probably a little too good    : )  We are also situated by Caffe Cavour, which is run by 3 generations of Florence natives.  The coffee is delicious and cheap and happens to be right on the path to school.  Imagine that, lol


Till next time, CIAO!

Saturday, September 18, 2010

Sending A Letter for Etter? The way to do it Better : )

I have been getting some questions in regards to mail here and sending stuff soooo...

The Italians are funny in that not only do you have to pay to send the package, I also have to pay to receive it.  So a few things to know:

1. When declaring what is in the package, mark it as "used goods" or "used books" and say its worth is 2 or 5 USD.  But please don't send any real used books, I mean, really, c'mon : ) lol

2. Don't send any food, gum, lotions, vitamins, candy, ect.  It will get caught up in customs for eternity.  And trust me, I am not starving by an leap of the imagination.  At my rate, I should probably be sending food home.  I won't even try to deny the fact I ate a whole pizza last night.  Appropriate for professional football players, not so much for college girls. Also, there is a rumor of the "Florence 40"... as in the forty pounds you gain while studying here. eeek! 

3. Sending letters is cheaper for you and free for me to receive them!  So it is a little old school and I am assuming a few of my friends aren't even sure how to go about that crazy thing called writing a letter, I hear ya, but when in Rome... (cough cough Florence)... embrace the pen and paper lol

4. They school gets all the mail and distributes it there, so rest assured it will arrive and actually get to me when sending letters or packages.

My address:

Havilah Etter
Gonzaga-in-Florence
Via Giorgio La Pira 11/13
50121 Florence, Italy

The Duomo, my new home, hahaha JK! but I live a little to the left of it, down about 5ish blocks.
 

Czechin' out Prague

Prague, Czech Republic




The biggest dance club in Europe

Our group for our epic walk home.  When lost, pause and take a group pic : )  We managed to misjudge the distance and spent hours getting home.


A view from the top of the hill, the hill that I somehow managed to walk 9834759348 times in the three days we were there











Best tour guide in the history of ever.  Also, possibly a relative of Hagrid from Harry Potter.  You be the judge. 






Mass anyone?




People watching the changing of the guard at the palace

Our tour group for the day : ) Lennon Wall 



On the Charles Bridge




The return walk on that massive hill






Bears, Beers, and Berlin

Berlin, Germany
Hotel Hamburg

After leaving Ansbach, Germany, I made my way to Berlin. Taking a train at 5 a.m. tired me out but allowed me to enjoy an incredible early morning sunrise as I rode through the German country side towards Berlin. There was a dense fog that carpeted the landscape and draped the castles in mystery and mentally allowed me to see myself in a different time, of war lords and kings and horses and knights and ladys.  Sigh.  If only we had time machines. 

Upon arriving, we made our way to the Gonzaga group. 150 students trudged their way towards our hotel, Hotel Hamburg. The first night, we walked through a park when suddenly one girl in our group spotted a giraffe, also my spirit animal so I assumed it was a sign of epic porportion. Not that hallucinating at this point would have been surprisingly, lack of sleep and intense travel could have that effect, but in all reality we had managed to find ourselves walking through the Berlin Zoo. Berlin had so much more to offer than I had realized, and the zoo was just one of the many surprises that this city had to offer.

This was a block away from our hotel and we used it as our guide when we got lost.  It is an old church that was too damaged to be properly restored but is still kept as a memory.  A huge market surrounds it.

Companies buy these bears and decorate them in with their own advertisements or use them to bring attention to the business or store.  They were everywhere in Berlin and all decorated differently. 


Just an average street in Berlin


Molly and I outside Museum Island 

Museum Island



Caroline and I 



This was the square where the Nazis burnt all the books in the university's library.  We searched for it FOREVER, gave up, and we were walking home when we stumbled upon it. 

We ventured out on our own for a river walk






The next day we had the customary bus tour all around the city to spots like the Berlin Wall, the Jewish Memorial, Checkpoint Charlie, and other such historic sights. 





Part of what remains of the Berlin Wall


 That afternoon we went to something that was especially touching, the Jewish Museum. This was significantly different than the other museums we had been to, and one that I think touched many Gonzaga kids. It is the most visited museum by young adults in Europe and after going to it, I completely understand why.


The Holocaust Memorial is a museum that is made to be a slightly interactive experience, the architect, , designed it so that the onserver would feel a sense of diorientation and confusion. He accomplished this by having uneven floors, and a floor design that made no logical sense, and many exhibits that used sight, sound, and feel. There was a Room of Despair in which you walked into and then suddenly you were surrounded by walls that were unpenatrably high with only a few slits to let in light followed by a ladder that was clearly out of reach, yet visible. It gave the observer a chance to feel the desolation that the Jews experienced during the Holocaust. Additionally was the Garden of Exile, in which hundreds of faces were made out of iron. It is nearly impossible to describe the train like sound that echoed throughout the walls as one walked through, but it created an eery sense. The museum redeemed itself in a sense by having a wishing tree as you exited that was covered in wished that had been left by the visitors.


Holocaust Memorial in the middle of the city


Also in Berlin, was the orbe like structure in the middle of their parliament building called Bundestag (Reichstag). A group of us girls walked all the way to the top, and this view was what made me fall in love with Berlin. From this vintage point, all of Berlin was visible, and the interactive tour pointed out what fell where.

Parliament building


The next day we went to a concentration camp,  Sachensausem . . . Naturally this was a somber experience despite the point that the camp we went to was tame in comparison to some of the truly awful ones. Many of the buildings no longer stood, but one that did and was especially haunting was the mortuary. In the basement of it (yes, I went in the basement) there were the original tables that they had used as well as the same cellars that had been used to store the bodies, and that was when it hit me what had gone on there. It was incredibly saddening to imagine the families torn apart and the loss of life that had occurred in the very building that I was standing in. It was absolutely heart wrenching. 


Concentration Camp

Walled in 
400 men would have 30 minutes to use the washroom before role call every morning


Friday, September 3, 2010

Rothenburg, Germany Has The Best Snowballs Ever


Today I went to Rothenburg, a well-preserved medieval town about 15 minutes from where I am staying.  The weather was wonderful and the cobblestones were cumbersome yet we managed to walk through the town, enjoying the people and the local shops.  I had an amazing dessert called a schneeballen (snow ball) which is friend egg dough covered in things like chocolate, cinnamon, or sprinkled sugar.  I very well may live off sweets and candy (my dentist is a lucky man) because I am not sure I particularly love German food, but I LOVE the chocolate (my gym owner is also a lucky man).






Standing on the castle wall.  It feels so natural being in a castle... lol jk!

I bet my parents wish they would have invested in one of these during those "fun" teen years : )


Eating the schneeballen

Thursday, September 2, 2010

"Raving" about Europe's Biggest Party (Mom don't read this one)

On our last day in Croydon, we decided to venture back into London for the Knotting Hill Carnival.  Knotting Hill Carnival is a celebration of the Jamaican culture, and it is the largest street parade in all of Europe, and generally occurs on Bank Holiday weekend.  Connotatively for Americans, a carnival would involve dodgy rides, creepy carnies, and deep fried everything.  Beth and I dressed with the anticipation of rain, watching a parade, and having a pretty low key evening... how very wrong we were (seriously Mom, you might want to stop reading about now)...

We got to the train station, and there was security EVERYWHERE.  In the UK, due to anti-terrorism laws, notably the Terrorism Act 2000, Section 44 powers (stop and search), an individual can be stopped, searched, and all without "reasonable suspicion".  We witnessed this occur again and again as we walked through the train station.  What was amazing was the racism that went hand in hand with this.  We were in a group  consisting of 5 white middle class 20-somethings and we were barely glanced at, yet the Black young adults were clearly being questioned and harassed. 

As we found some seats on the train, a group of Black men sat a few rows behind us.  The train started to pull away from the station, suddenly stopped and a group of police rushed on the train.  They ran past us, surrounded the group of Black men, and confusion ensued and there was words and slight threats thrown back and forth.  The police made the group get off the train and more police joined them on the platform.  And this point, there was mumbling of the fellow train riders.  Surprisingly though, was the anger felt by everyone... towards the police!  They were calling them racist and clearly seemed to detest them.  Beth and I looked at each other in surprise, seeing how we felt so much safer with the police around, and appreciated their vigilance.  Talking to the young adults that we were with, we learned that many people had a sense that the British police acted like, "Big fish in small ponds."  Racism and corruption has embedded itself so deep that there is a disconnect and mistrust, especially in the young adult population.

Deep in thought, we made our way to Carnival.  We squeezed on and off the tube in a rush of madness, Jamaican pride, and unprecedented anticipation of what was to come.  To our dismay, the weather was scorchingly toasty, and Beth and I had both worn snow jackets. Silly silly girls.  We weren't too concerned and were still thinking this was a cotton candy and fun little parade sort of event... (Turn back now Mom!)  

And our misconception was quickly shattered...  

We were thrown into a crowd of craziness, it was mid afternoon and every other person had a drink in their hand (it is legal in the UK to have an open container of alcohol in public).  We stumbled into an outdoor rave, which was easily done seeing as how there was one every third corner or so.  After reading up on it, turns out there was about 40 different DJ stations all throwing their own huge dance parties, but we only managed to make it to a few.  Pot was abundant (no thank you), alcohol was cheap, and the food had an enticing aroma. 

Thankfully, Beth and I were with locals, and the boys kept a very close eye on us.  If anyone decides to go to Carnival, I would recommend only going with locals, who know their way around, because due to all the factors aforementioned, this was the perfect storm to get kidnapped or robbed in (Mom, I told you to stop reading a long time ago).  Also, pure common sense and confidence goes a long way in crowds of these sorts.  We saw part of a parade, ate some bbq-ed food, and I even got a raw coconut and drank its juice right from the shell. The music was amazing and very Bob Marley  type of genre.

The night came to an end, and Beth and I survived unscathed and slightly shell shocked at what we had experienced.  Overall, the people provided great "people-watching", the food was filling, and the entertainment was unending.  It was a drastic contrast to the posh, prim, and proper London we had previously experienced, but I suppose the multifaceted personality of London is part of its enticement as a world destination. 









Ode to Luggage Carriers

Roses are red,
violets are blue,
To the people who have carried my luggage,
a BIG thanks to you.

To the cheeky Brits in the tube,
even the one dressed like a goob,
the kindness I appreciate,
Because I was such in a flustered kind of state.

A million steep flights of stairs,
I looked at with despair.
but the owner of the Morgan house,
carried it all because he knew I have strength like a mouse.

To the security at the train,
I thank you for your pain,
Of carrying the luggage weighing 80 pounds,
Even as you made your rounds.

To Croydon's Peter,
it was dragged up the stairs without a teeter.
And as he carried it around again and again,
I thought to myself, "I do love a thoughtful man."

Thank you Ryan who carried my bag,
and who also works for the American flag.
A true hero you are,
Beth and I should take you out to the bar.


But frustration is directed to people of RyanAir,
Who wouldn't budge a hair.
A prince's fortune I paid,
because of what my damn luggage weighed.



And To Think We Were So Confident...


Traveling to Croydon
Our last day in London gave us a sense of urgency about the exploring the city, yet we set that aside, and we were able to leisurely stroll through Hyde Park which was filled with all sorts of people.  An odd thing started popping up though…. Twins!  There must have been at least 5 sets of twins cutely strapped into their double decked out strollers, with their parents lovingly carting them around.  Naturally, as they passed I became enthralled.  Slightly ridiculous considering the natural beauty that surrounded me, but if you know me, nothing trumps cute babies.
Due to that, as well as our general poor sense of direction, we managed to circle the park and miss our turn out.  Keep in mind, this park is the monster of all parks, filled with ponds and secret gardens and Kensington Palace. This detour caused us to get back to Morgan house later than expected, we ordered lunch that ended up being late, and so we set off for our train slightly rushed.  After arriving at the train terminal, later than perhaps would have been wise, we got on our train and head out to meet Peter, a friend we were staying with the next few days. 
The train ride was rather uneventful, and we passed cute little house after cute little house.  As our stop started approaching,  we gathered our bags and stood near the door, and waited…and waited…and waited.  THE DOORS DIDN’T OPEN! Our train starts pulling away from our stop and Beth and I exchange a look that could only be described as amazed panic.  Here we were, all confident that we knew our way around, no problem.  Yet, we clearly were flabbergasted and stunned into silence as the train started getting faster and faster.  
The British couple sitting next to the door, glanced at us in that typical “stupid American girls” kind of a look and explained, clearly amused at our predicament, that we should have pushed the flashing ‘Open’ sign next to the door. Ohhhhhhh.  As if they couldn’t have told us that 5 minutes earlier (grumble…stupid public transportation…grumble).  Regardless, we got off a few stops down, took the lift (elevator), hopped back on  a train the opposite direction, and finally arrived at out stop about an hour and a half after we were supposed to meet our ride. 
As we walked through the door, the security guards glanced out way, and with a chuckle and a cheeky Brit accent remarked, “Well, you girls must be the blonde and the brunett that lad was looking for!”  Guilty as charged.  Poor Pete had been looking for us that whole time, driving to different stations, and all around wondering where the hell we were.  One of the security guards gave him a call and we arrived safely at his house.  Lesson learned?  Always be "open" to new things LOL : )