Y'all want Gelato?

Castiglion Fiorentino.

That’s right, short of ‘ciao’ and ‘vino’ the southern grammatisation of y’all is the word I hear most around here. So, not surprised by the first two but stumped by the frequent use of the last word you say? Well, you see not only are there 48 students from 3 of California’s public universities represented here at Santa Chiara but we also have students from 2 schools of the Lone Star state and one from ‘Bama. Texas A & M and UT Austin make up the Texans contingency and Auburn from Alabama just rolled in early this week. Ya, you can imagine it’s a funny chorus of ‘hey guys’, and ‘y’all’ we sing in the halls of our former convent but, save for the occasional disagreement on menu selections and shoe preferences, we all seem to harmonize together fairly well.

Well, I ought to admit, I get a kick out of hearing the soft southern accent doused with the generous use of y’all but, more importantly, all this y’allin helps support my Italian lessons. See, Italian, as other Romance languages, makes use of the plural form of the second person pronoun. For any of my Californian compatriots, you (as in you-all) should be familiar with the Spanish use of Ustedes and Vosotros. Well, Italian’s got ‘em too only they come to us by way of Voi and Loro. So what about English I hear? Well, we English speakers we don’t really make distinction between you or, say, a large group of you. Most of us, that is, ‘cept the southern states of the US. So, when trying to explain the verb tense for second person pronoun, all our animated Italian instructor has to say is: ‘You know, you plural as in Y’all.’ And, you (as in you-all) know what? We get it.

Moments: Santa Chiara

Above: Santa Chiara courtyard
Above: It's hot. We get thirsty.











Dinner family style Watercolor class














Santa Chiara has become something of an animal sanctuary. About 6 turtles live in the courtyard (after being rescued by one of the directors of the school.) And then there's Henry--a pesky, but very friendly, bird who enjoys sitting on student's shoulders or tearing apart stray notebooks.

This afternoon Katie, Merilee and I went for a quick walk in the valley. We came across a beautiful fig tree behind the octagonal church and picked a bag full of fresh figs. Then the sky cracked open and poured out the first electric storm of the season. Cool wet rain on hot summer skin, sweet figs, e deliziciosa.



Around C. Fio:

Arezzo

It is late summer here in Tuscany—the color of the crops is beginning to shift from stalk to fruit as the heat of September harkens the next season. Back home it is the time of year when cross town rivalries are hashed out on football fields by pimply-faced, spindly teenagers. And here, in Tuscany, they too consider this time of year as an opportunity to settle the score. Only we are not talking turf, pigskins, and the potential for college sports scholarships. Nah, it’s more archaic than that. We’re talking a medieval display of sportsmanship—jousting. Yep, that’s right. And last weekend I happened to catch just such an event.

Arezzo, a 16 minute train from C. Fio, was hosting their biannual Giostra del Saracino, the Saracen Joust of Arezzo. The festival dates back to the middle ages and is full of costume, ceremony, and, of course, competition. To city is divided into quarters with two jousters representing each district. The jousters ride down the center of the Piazza Grande to strike the Saracen—a metal dummy with a large clubbed fist. The team of jousters who strike the Saracen with the most accuracy and style win the competition for their quarter. In true Italian style, the rivalry is fierce; insults hurl, spit flies, and fists pump. These townspeople are serious.

To illustrate the atmosphere of this cross-town equestrian standoff I’ll tell you of an event that happened at the pre-festival banquet. It was 2 nights before the joust and everyone of note in the Culcitrone quarter was dining together when 4 sweetly dressed school age girls from a rival quarter shuffled up in front of the banqueters. In their hands they carried a banner. The girls smiled, giggled and dropped the banner open for the crowd. Written on the banner in bold letters were the sporting words: “You all are pieces of shit.”

But it is all in good fun. I heard another story of a smartly clad signorina hurling a ribbon of profanity to her opponents that would have made my grandpa blush only to later run across the court at event end to deliver them a cheerful, good-natured hug.

Here are some photos from the parade before the event depicting the scale of the pageantry. All 4 quarters of the city were represented by a procession of trumpeters, drummers, swordsmen, crossbowmen, noble people, and, of course, the jousters in their respected festive colors. The processions seemed to be traveling in every direction of the town and all afternoon. One minute our path uphill would be interrupted by a wave of yellow and blue, and then, 45 minutes later, we’d have to stop for purple and gold headed in the opposite direction. It was such a riot to be sipping an espresso or shopping for scarves when suddenly our chests would thump from the drums passing by again.

All the people show support for the team by wearing scarves in the motif of their quarter.

Next Stop: Castiglion Fiorentino

I am in Italy. In fact, I've been in Italy for the past seventeen meals. Seventeen savory, delicious, nurturing, tantalizing meals. And, a few pastries. And several cafes. A few limoncelli (Yes, they are a Southern Italy thing but Ieszic loves them. And, it was his birthday.) Many glasses of vino. And, of course, a king's share of gelato.

Let me explain how I found myself blessed with such culinary karma. A little over a year ago I took a leap out of my compact corporate cubical and traded in my favorite pin-striped blazer combo for a pair of flip-flops and a student’s checking account. At the time I thought I had signed on for 3 years worth of cheap noodles and late Saturday nights spooning my laptop. But, turns out, the grad program I so serendipitously joined studies abroad in the fall of the second year. What fortune, hey?

So, here’s a recap of how I got to Castiglion Fiorentino:

August 29

I spent the better part of the past two months scouting and prepping for items that will fit into the 20 Kilos of baggage allowance allotted by Aer Lingus to last for my 4 months abroad (and 2 seasons, 5 countries, mind you.) I wore a bare path in our living room carpet as I tracked back and forth to store making purchases, trying on items, and, then, returning items that proved too heavy or frivolous. Just call it a frenzy of anxiety assuaging consumer therapy. Well, the panicked planning all came to an abrupt end last Friday when I Mom and Grandma drove me the two hours to LAX to catch my flight. In a hurry I tossed my bag on the scale of the check-in counter. The weight ticked up as my anxiety drained down. Suddenly, all my worries and concerns about what to pack, how I'd get from San Diego to LAX on a Friday afternoon, if I'd make my flight, mattered no longer--I was checked in and on my way to Europe.

August 30

Flying Aer Lingus saved me a few greenbacks and gave me the opportunity of spending 21 hours in the sleek city of Dublin. I landed at 10:30 am and it seemed wise to do what I could to avoid falling asleep in an attempt to align my jet-lagged mind with European Continental Time (which is 1 hour ahead of Ireland.) So, I dropped the pack and spent the next 12 hours exploring the streets of Dublin on foot. I found the city captivating—each time I resolved to take my weary bod to the hostel to nap, another shiny, enticing corner of Dublin would lure me on. Finally, I grabbed a bite of lasagna (odd choice for a woman on her way to Italy), a pint, and collapsed into the sagging hostel bed.

August 31

Up at 4:30 am. No, not due to jet-lag but because I had to rush to the airport for a painfully early 7:00 am flight to Milan. Now, if you've ever been in a foreign town on a Sunday, not much is happening at that time in the morning. And, clearly for good reason. It's early!

Milan was just my Italian starting point on my way south to Castiglion Fiorentino but, before I hopped on the train, I made a brief tour to check out the amazing Duomo and Galleria Vittorio Emanuelle II. The Duomo was beautiful, the city was hot, and I was surrounded by the incessant murmur of Italian. Ah, yes, I had arrived to Italy.

Following a pleasant meal with Martin, a fellow German traveler I met outside the Duomo, I navigated my way through the metro to the train station for a train to Firenze for the night. It had been 8 years since I was last in Florence and the city seemed much more crowded, but every bit as vibrant, as I had remembered. Stunning Italian women in strappy dresses on motos and stylish, handsome men crowded the narrow streets. I ended the day sitting over the

Arno River with a heaping scope of gelato, a watercolored sunset, catching up and sharing laugh with my classmates. My first day in Italy, completed.

Firenze over Arno River

Next Stop: Castiglion Fiorentino

September 1 marked the first day of courses and my classmates and I made our way down from Firenze to C. Fio by train. Through the windows we could see the growing season is edging on in the Tuscan

countryside as marked by the many fields of yellow corn and tired dying sunflowers. Shortly south of Arrezzo our train made the arc around the hill revealing a town perched high above the olive trees: Castiglion Fiorentino--much more quaint and beautiful than I had envisioned. Twenty minutes by foot up the hill, right at the obelisk, through the medieval gate, and on round to Santa Chiara, the former convent turned art center which is our campus for the next 3 months. We had arrived just in time for our first meal; it was outstanding. A bit dazed from the travel, really, am I in Italy? I can hardly believe I am finally here.

Lower Left photo: View of valley from our apartment. Lower Right Photo: Our apartment building--my room is bottom right window.