Tag Archives: student

Current mood: in love

 “Sono andata da Firenze a Ginevra e ritorno!”

Just got back from a calm and relaxing weekend in Geneva, Switzerland (“Ginevra, Svizzera” … Can you guess the title?!) where I visited my Aunt and Uncle for the weekend. (Or, I suppose, grand-aunt and grand-uncle would be more like it!) Screen Shot 2016-02-12 at 1.40.41 AMI thoroughly enjoyed seeing Geneva and their home, flying over the Swiss Alps on the plane ride there, and then again gaping at the view of the Alps through their kitchen window! Unbelievable.

We also saw some beautiful neo-impressionist art by a Swiss painter named Signac, enjoyed Swiss fondu and delicious chocolate (“il cioccolato”), took those naps, and indulged in life convos over coffee, croissants, and oj at the breakfast table! This was definitely my favorite weekend by far!!! I also heard tons of French (“Francese”) and learned a little bit as well, but just enough to get me through the airport and back to Florence!

“Oggi a Firenze”

“Today in Florence” for my Italian class, our teacher met us at the Piazza della Reppublica to practice our speaking and listening skills. We introduced ourselves to random Italian people, and we asked them if we could interview them for our class! All in Italian! It was so much fun! The people we spoke to were all very gracious in helping us do our assignment. Today was also an incredibly warm and sunny day (“oggi”), which has been quite a change from the past few. It was so warm, I was even able to hang out on the front steps of la Basilica di Santa Croce. Church (“chiesa”) steps seem to be a common place for Italians to hangout.

Current mood: in love

I feel like all the beauty in the whole world is just being revealed to me, and I’m just standing here speechless receiving it all in my heart, feeling tons of emotions, and loving everything. I’m so little (almost too little to handle it), but so in love, and I can’t imagine ever going home! (“Ti amo Firenze!”)

At this stage in my study abroad experience, I think the song “I See The Light” from Tangled sums it up perfectly…

Chorus
"All those days watching from the windows
 All those years outside looking in
 All that time never even knowing
 Just how blind I've been
 Now I'm here blinking in the starlight
 Now I'm here suddenly I see
 Standing here it's all so clear
 I'm where I'm meant to be..."

And, the people I’m meeting? Incredible. A good friend (“la mia amica”) of mine named Annie told me today, “It’s never too late to have a childhood. It’s never too late to be who you are, and it’s never too late to add to yourself.” She’s had some inspiring life experiences working with kids at her day camps. She’s like the kind of girl you’d read in a storybook! Like, Merida from “Brave” or Rapunzel from “Tangled.” She’s a brave, brave girl with a kind heart and a wicked sense of humor! She also has a horse named Annie too, but purely by coincidence!

I met a girl named Rena, who’s like a sister (“sorella”) to me! We are so similar! And, Cici, and Megan, and Brian, and Heather, and Nick! Such adventurous and endearingly optimistic people. And Sara, my beautiful friend from Florence, and David and Andrea, who work at the cafe next door to school (“scuola”) and put up with me trying to learn Italian!! What a dream this is! It must be!

 

 

Bus-Ride Dreams

Riding the bus through the mountains of Peru today, I saw the Pacific Ocean�s splendor underneath a beautiful setting sun. I couldn�t help but stare. This is a wonderful country to gawk at, and I�m glad I had the chance to pass through the endless sand dunes and sheer cliffs on the country�s shore.


When nighttime falls, the absolute darkness outside the windows still impresses me. No streetlights, no headlights, no signs of civilization. It�s the sense of the land being unspoiled by human development that I like, existing independently and unconsciously of us as if we didn�t even matter.

And when the fairytail-like twinkling of a new city finally comes into view, faraway, it fills me with a sense of anticipation for the experiences that�ll unfold there — the characters I�ll meet, the stories I�ll hear, the things I�ll learn.

This feeling of going to new places is akin to how I feel waking up before the sun rises, the realization that a whole life of unexpected moments exists ahead of me waiting to be discovered.

Being on the move, it�s easy to feel alive. Everything I see is so fresh. The downside is that those same places and people are so fleeting, and I barely have the chance to percieve them before they�re gone.

Currently in the town of Huacachina, another acquaintance on the road for me to glimpse for a short time, and only from the window.


Location: Huacachina, Peru

Discrimination – Getting Called Out in a Crowd

Cusco draws a lot of tourists. Expensive restaurants like Jack�s Cafe serve American-style burgers and hiking stores — due to the big attraction of Machu Picchu — swarm the streets near the central Plaza de las Armas. Many locals pinpoint foreigners to sell goods or ask for money. People actively pursue this so often that it becomes a headache.


A street artist waited for me outside a restaurant for an hour and a half with his portfolio. He managed to sell me a picture I didn�t even particularly like, simply because I felt badly for him.


After that, a shoe-shining man, seeing the leftover food I had in a doggie bag, proceeded to follow me and Sam halfway to our hostel several blocks away. He begged me for the food continuously. If I hadn�t already spent so much money on the painting, I might�ve given it to him.


Little girls on the street will look at me and smile. I�ll smile back. Then they�ll hold out a hand, saying in a sweet voice, “�Propina?“, which of course means that they�re asking for money.


People ask me for money so often that I don�t even know what to do with myself anymore. I just want to shout at them, “I can�t help the entire freaking world! I want to, but do you know how many other people I�ve helped today?”


And it�s ridiculous for me to get upset like this: I�m not the one begging on the street.


It�s in this context that, after visiting a church in the Plaza San Francisco, Sam and I were drawn to a street comedy show. A man had drawn a laughing crowd of 150 people or so and was shouting and acting obscenities. After one of his sketches, he pointed directly at us and shouted, “You! Whitey! Where are you from?“


Sam responded, the United States.


The comedian busted on him for a moment. Then he called me out, asking for my nationality.


I responded, the United States.


Everyone laughed and he joked about me, as if it that fact were impossible.


This was easy to smile at until the comedian grew progressively more incisive with his commentary. I don�t remember what he said exactly. He sarcastically mentioned people from the United States coming to have a good time in his beautiful country. He put on a blond wig of long hair like a woman�s, saying he now looked just like us. Everyone continued laughing.


He then said that us — these people from the United States — should give him money, right there in front of the crowd, or be disgraced. He approached us, holding out the wig in mock, exaggerated suppliance. Everyone watched in anticipation and the tension in the air was thick. Sam didn�t understand quite what was going on, and he was still laughing at the “joke.” Angry, uncomfortable and defeated, I reached into my pocket and gave him two coins. I wasn�t even sure how much they were worth.


“6 soles! Look, how generous! Thank you so much!” he said when he�d returned to the center of the crowd.


Even then he continued heckling us and abruptly Sam caught on and said, “Let�s get out of here.”


This scenario was still burning in my mind when we sat down at a poller�a (restaurant that sells almost exclusively chicken, fries and salad), less than 20 minutes later. Sam and I were eating quickly, having paid before sitting down because we had to catch a bus.


When Sam rose to fill up his salad bowl, a Peruvian man glared at me and said condescendingly, “Make sure he leaves tip. Don�t forget to leave tip.”


I was ready to freaking explode.


I scarfed down a few more forkfuls of food, shaking my head and getting angrier by the second. Sam saw my annoyance but I wasn�t even paying attention to him. Far past ready to leave, I tore 2-sole coin out of my pocket, held it up so the man could see and slammed it on the table-


As we were leaving, I leaned onto the table next to the man. He looked past me at the television screen, ignoring me. I said in Spanish while Sam put on his backpack, “I�m the son of two Peruvians, and he is one of best people I�ve ever met.“


“And I speak very good English!” he said turning his head.


I�m not sure what I�d wanted to accomplish. All I�d wanted was to combat ignorance or discrimination, I think, but what would the confrontation really get me? Nothing in the end. But I was so incredibly pissed at everything that had transpired before then that I wasn�t thinking straight.


“Don�t judge my friends,” is what I said, and I left the restaurant, shaking my head, a mix of emotions I�d never felt before swirling around inside me.


Thankfully, I�ve never experienced much discrimination in my life. If I have, it�s been inconsequential. So to walk around with Sam — tall, white and blond — while in Peru has been an eye-opening experience. People treat me so differently when I wander around alone, lending themselves more warmly to conversation, begging me for money less. Now I�ve been noticing the eyes watching us as we walk, and I stare pointedly back at them, wanting to say, “What is your problem?”


Things have been different since leaving Cusco, but those few days have been branded into my memory.


Location: Arequipa, Peru

Cities and Landscapes

Traveling over the mountains toward Cusco, I thought the landscape existed on a larger scale than anything I�d seen before. I�d post pictures to demonstrate, but the image upload on the blog is currently malfunctioning.

I�d heard references to landscapes before, describing them as nature�s works of art. I finally understand what that means; it seemed like God himself reached down and carved the hills and mountains, splashed some grass to add texture and plopped trees into the scene for good measure. Like a canvas.

Now I�m in Cusco, and the atmosphere of this city couldn�t be more different than the atmosphere of Buenos Aires. Cobblestone streets, colonial buildings, churches. It�s interesting to see the contrast, which I�ll describe in more depth later.

The people are different here, too. I hate to generalize, but there�s something in the affective manner Peruvians speak that makes them seem nicer. I bought a roadside snack, meat speared by a wooden stick. A little girl, hungry, looked at me while we were in the crowd and asked me if she could have some. Small, soft black eyes. I gave her everything I had left. It�s hard to not let that look penetrate you.


Location: Cusco, Peru