The Monroe Street Journal

Issue date: 2/4/08 Section: Features

Media Credit: Jennifer Kensok [Click to enlarge]

Media Credit: Jennifer Kensok [Click to enlarge]

Media Credit: Jennifer Kensok [Click to enlarge]

I write this article from a 16th century villa in a little town outside Florence, Italy. I've just returned from a weekend skiing in northern Italy, and look forward to Carnivale celebrations in Venice this coming weekend. Shamelessly bragging? Yes. Trying to make you all feel depressed about being stuck in Ann Arbor in January? Absolutely. I'm only a month into my study abroad adventure, and have already garnered a few stories worth telling and advice worth sharing. Enjoy the bits and pieces!

After spending my first weekend in Florence, I would definitely recommend coming to the city in January. It is warm enough, and although rainy it is still beautiful and incredibly tourist-free. Museum lines are non-existent, traffic is light, and the epic Duomo climb will be a breeze when only a few other people are on it. I've had a few great nights out at a live music bar called Loonies, and one not-so-great night of music at a different bar where the guitarist and lead singer seemed to be defiantly refusing to conform to the Florentine cutting-edge, always looking' sharp style, by dressing himself in corduroy pants-a few inches too short-and a jean button down shirt. That's right, jean. If he had at least been a good musician, it wouldn't have mattered, but he was pretty awful, so I didn't feel too bad about the mocking that ensued.

A weekend spent a bit further south brought more sun, even fewer tourists, and a taste of a livelier Italy. Florence has been called a "living museum" by some, and when we got off the train in Napoli, I immediately understood what they were talking about. Naples positively reeks of activity-literally, as we were there at the end of a garbage strike. Cars speed around their traffic circles, men push sunglasses and cheap purses at you, and cafes serve cheap wine from a box and sell lotto tickets to neighborhood men. The short walk near the train station at least was a bit like a walk through a seedy neighborhood in New York with palm trees. Our short stop in the city was a breath of life, a bit polluted, but still as welcome as the sun.

I, being the so-called "artsy" type, happily snapped pictures of graffiti on the subway trains and concrete on our way to Pompeii, where we spent hours wandering through the ruined city. The uncharacteristic lack of visitors made the deserted streets seem all the more real-although there was still a crowd of young Italians in the brothel, where ancient frescos of the building's "wares" got a lot of attention. Earliest known pornographic images, I'm guessing.
Sorrento was our next stop on this weekend. Shopping, eating, and lots of sitting by the sea made for an enjoyable time and some beautiful pictures. Positano, a nearby town, is reached by a thrilling and more than a little nauseating ride on a bus that careens around curves and up and down hills but has some of the best views I've ever seen.

The next weekend we took a different sort of trip. The Sud Tirol region of Italy was a part of Austria until after WWI, and residents haven't really given up any of their culture. The Dolomites, a part of the Alps with many sheer cliffs and great skiing, protect the Austrian heritage. I put 'mein' Deutsch to work, and we ended up at a tiny apartment in an even tinier town called Gossensass, nestled in a tiny valley next to what turned out to be a great ski hill. And it was there that I learned The Hatchet Game. This remarkably good time uses simple rules and simple materials: hit a nail into a piece of wood with the sharp end of a hatchet. Competing blow by blow with as large a group as possible, whomever hits their nail in first wins and the last must buy the entire group a round.

While playing, we met Peter and his middle-aged friends from outside Munich (they called themselves "the Drunk Bayrische"), and Mossimo with two fierce-looking Italian police officers. Deutsch, Italiano, and English were spoken freely by all (well, sort of), and for once I didn't feel like a dumb American.

One of the greatest, and most surreal, moments of that weekend was at the summit of a climb up the small mountain behind our little town. As we rested on a fence outside of a solitary log cabin overlooking the valley (seriously, it was a little log cabin), we heard a strange noise behind us. I turned and saw one of the greatest sights I've ever seen. A full-grown man was perched on a tiny toboggan, careening around a corner with goggles over his eyes and his teeth shining in the biggest smile I've ever seen. He laughed at us and shouted, "Da, hinter!" (Back there!) Before I could consciously react (I think some sort of shriek of wonderment escaped my lips), he was gone speeding down the mountainside.

We spent the rest of the afternoon thinking of ways that we, too, could be that happy, but that toboggan ride seemed to be the best solution. I now have another goal in life to add to my list: get back to that mountain, climb up to the very top, and toboggan down it.

Next weekend I'll be in Venice for Carnivale, which I've been told is a sight to see. And the weekend after that, Roma. For spring break, who knows?

Here's a shameless plug to get you all thinking: I had to go through quite a lot of finagling to get myself here, but it was completely worth it. What if Ross made it easy for students to come abroad? Don't let fears of unemployment or a lower GPA stop you. That's what phone interviews and pass-fail Italian are for. I sincerely hope anyone who's managed to read this entire article will seriously consider their own study abroad experience. Mine's only just begun, and I've already had an obnoxiously good time! Think what an entire semester will be like…

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