tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291208292024-03-14T18:57:27.904+01:00cagli adessoAmerican college students have descended upon Le Marche again - as they have since 2002 - to document this oft overlooked region. Here is Cagli from the student's eye.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger76125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29120829.post-83521952144753123192007-06-20T15:08:00.000+02:002007-06-26T18:26:16.483+02:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcxdLYvJqc8Eci8Wpwt5k0bA0IEVPQDGX-4I3x80zR3CNuHS6grdulILFHSqv8SWQW8PC3ZOXjNS4sPuTbgK-iaeT1tDxQbRtvTXpN0m5Ui46MCp4O6-uBAbqluVOv9OtTR5vA7Q/s1600-h/gregory.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcxdLYvJqc8Eci8Wpwt5k0bA0IEVPQDGX-4I3x80zR3CNuHS6grdulILFHSqv8SWQW8PC3ZOXjNS4sPuTbgK-iaeT1tDxQbRtvTXpN0m5Ui46MCp4O6-uBAbqluVOv9OtTR5vA7Q/s400/gregory.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075838982492336338" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">TODAY I HAD A GREAT </span>local Italian experience. During the afternoon I was wandering around some of the older streets in Old Cagli and discovered this small store sandwiched between a macelleria and an apartment building. The sign on the wall was made of porcelain tiles and was intricately painted with a light blue and pinkish flower design, with the local artisan’s name going down the tiles. I decided to go in and explore.<br /><br />The store was filled with porcelain pieces painted in the traditional Italian style, with plates on every wall—clocks, vases, urns, and all types of things. The most exciting thing about the store was that it doubled as the artist’s studio. She had a desk off in the left back corner where she sat painting her next creation. She had tons of small black clay bowls filled with different color pigments. On the side of the desk was what looked like a tea tray that had small unpainted and unpolished pieces. In the middle of the desk, there was a raised platform with a light perched on top of it to help the artist to see what she was painting.<br /><br />She sat with her black apron and slowly dipped her dainty paintbrush in the colors and applied them in small, intricate patterns on the small plate she was painting. Before each application of paint, she would re-wet her brush in a mason jar filled with a murky brown colored water.<br /><br />It was a great experience to be able to actually watch a small portion of how the beautiful pieces were made. I’ve been places in Italy before and have seen similar pieces, but I had never seen anybody make them before. Actually being able to experience that made the pieces and the experience much more authentic for me.<br /><div style="text-align: right;">-Kathryn Gregory</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29120829.post-36665035865555311172007-06-20T14:51:00.000+02:002007-06-20T15:08:08.463+02:00The Beach<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-wxfAL6qFeykRfuPZBAL3mC8JCZEuFJ5YaQmrxxNOXJCks4gu-KQi_gyg5x_BM4i9_zV-zGxeX9nph-xXBIbj6Bc72KS5BvVFqdPoSXRSio1PFL92tMRYSrsbdUIVkoFyVwwipA/s1600-h/cirillo2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-wxfAL6qFeykRfuPZBAL3mC8JCZEuFJ5YaQmrxxNOXJCks4gu-KQi_gyg5x_BM4i9_zV-zGxeX9nph-xXBIbj6Bc72KS5BvVFqdPoSXRSio1PFL92tMRYSrsbdUIVkoFyVwwipA/s400/cirillo2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078132404834087746" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">I WAS EXPECTING </span>Italy to be warm and sunny throughout my stay here, but it’s been consistently cool and rainy. When I noticed that the weather seemed to be clearing up, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to go to the beach, so instead of going with the group to Venice on Monday, I decided to get a group of girls together to go to Fano.</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />The bus we had to take to Fano was way different than the public buses in New York. This bus was much more like a coach bus than a public bus in the US. It had large, cushioned seats upholstered with itchy fabric with nauseating neon patterns. Every seat, with its own moveable armrest, reclined. Each seat also had its own air conditioning vent with personal controls. I was pleased by the comfortable travel accommodations.</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />When we finally got to the beach, the sand was covered with rows upon rows of orange and yellow umbrellas. As we walked closer to the water, we realized that there wasn’t actually any sand. Instead of sand there were smooth rocks. Since the rocks looked so smooth I assumed they wouldn’t hurt my feet so when we got off the boardwalk I immediately took my flip-flops off. And immediately put them back on. The rocks were indeed smooth, but they were so many different shapes and sizes that the surface wasn’t flat at all.</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> </span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />After I tanned long enough to sweat I decided to swim in the clear but chilly water. It took me a while to get used to but once I finally went under it was extremely refreshing. I swam out to deeper water and noticed that the ground was no longer rocks, but something that looked like sand. I was afraid to go under and touch the “sand” because it could have been quick sand and I didn’t want to drown, so I safely hovered above the ground.</span><br /><br /> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">When I got out of the water I put on my ipod and lay down on my stomach. I was shocked and mildly amused when two little boys, about seven years old, poured water on me from a juice box. Katrina and I played with them a little bit but they got too into it so we made them stop. We didn’t want our electronics to be inundated with water.</span> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Hopefully I will finish my web site in time to go back to the rocky beach next week.</span> <div style="text-align: right;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:100%;">-Alex Cirillo</span><br /></div> <div style="margin: 1ex; font-family: trebuchet ms;"> </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29120829.post-73757430904322767152007-06-18T18:33:00.000+02:002007-06-18T18:35:53.887+02:00A View Worth the Climb<div style="text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="hide"><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-size:85%;">SWEATING AND PANTING, </span>Father Bruno and I reach the top of the mountain’s ridge. “There they are. Look right over there,” Father Bruno tells me. I frantically look around, but it takes me a minute to see them, because their coloring so closely matches the rocky area where they are located.</span> <p> <span style=";font-size:100%;" >“I see them!” I shout, which causes the mother goat to stand. Her baby remains seated, but looks in my direction as if to say, “You’d better watch it. My mom will kick your butt.” I decide moving closer might not be in my best interest.</span></p> <p> <span style=";font-size:100%;" >I’m standing on the top of a mountain and the beauty in all directions is something that I cannot adequately describe. I mean, I always try to be a descriptive writer, but I just don’t think there is any combination of words that I can give you that works, so I’m not going to try. You’re just going to have to make the climb yourself. I swear, you won’t regret doing it. However, I suppose I should give you a few suggestions.</span></p> <p> <span style=";font-size:100%;" >First, wear long pants. I didn’t, so heed my advice. Unless you don’t mind scratched legs. Mine look pretty rough, but it is not like they hurt or anything. It is just that the cute, short skirt I was going to wear tonight is no longer an option. The flower pattern of the skirt does not go well with striped legs. </span></p> <p> <span style=";font-size:100%;" >Second, don’t bring a camera. I know, I wish I had mine, but you need both hands to get here. Yep, you have to do some climbing, because the ridge is rocky and steep. Oh, by the way, don’t grab the bushes and attempt to pull yourself up. The bushes are thorny. That’s how your legs get so scratched. Plus, the thorns prick your fingers and that hurts. In addition, we all need our fingertips in top shape to type our stories.</span></p> <p style="text-align: left;"> <span style=";font-size:100%;" >Third, bring a tissue. You might find yourself shedding a tear. It is so amazing up here that it is an emotional experience. It makes the trip to Cagli worth every penny. You forget the less than ideal classroom setting; the snail’s pace internet connection; the limited equipment; and the seemingly impossible deadlines. None of these struggles matter up here. The only thing that counts is your ability to see and feel this moment in life. </span></p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> <span style=";font-size:100%;" >I hope you come here. Father Bruno will bring you, and I’ll come again too if you don’t mind. I’d like to see your face as you look at the city of Cagli from the top of the mountain; as you see the goats resting on a narrow ledge; and as you look at the side of the mountain with the multi-colored flowers. I promise the view is definitely worth the climb.</span><span style=";font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><div style="text-align: right;"><span style=";font-size:100%;" >-Cindy Dew</span><br /></div></div> </div><div style="margin: 1ex; text-align: left; font-family: trebuchet ms;"> </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29120829.post-28051114743300519262007-06-18T18:29:00.002+02:002007-06-18T18:31:17.324+02:00"In Topless"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqKl2BnhjUfebfx5X4OSR6lW-DzGnkO1GOYnTuv5JsOVXQUEB2N9SZCPjnVGIBoHSAZ_DRK9Em0MwQ4-8lBPjqplQRsUccwL3Qeo2TGge897WftMi0fHoyTa_0jsgBzLRManK0QQ/s1600-h/pappas.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqKl2BnhjUfebfx5X4OSR6lW-DzGnkO1GOYnTuv5JsOVXQUEB2N9SZCPjnVGIBoHSAZ_DRK9Em0MwQ4-8lBPjqplQRsUccwL3Qeo2TGge897WftMi0fHoyTa_0jsgBzLRManK0QQ/s400/pappas.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077442753345434354" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">I WENT TO THE BEACH</span> this weekend in Fano with my roommates, or landlords, their baby, and the babysitter. The beach was stunning and the water was beautiful and clean.<br /><br />I noticed that the Italians are very comfortable with their bodies. Ninety percent of the men were wearing Speedos. Ninety-nine percent of the women were wearing bikinis.<br /><br />Later that day, when I went for a swim, when I came back to the group, the babysitter was topless. I was shocked and immediately felt awkward. It just seemed inappropriate… she was the 45-year-old babysitter—she shouldn’t be topless in front of the family she babysits for. I realized that nudity is more acceptable in Italy.<br /><div style="text-align: right;">-Lauren Pappas<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29120829.post-79282339946010586912007-06-18T18:29:00.001+02:002007-06-18T18:31:55.838+02:00Healthcare<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH-yYgZwqWMWkaqghkrsfGS0-e3IMzGPaDsrve70K34qsp2luNMoEFH2XXww__T6GsUboR-VsJVyRJZC_oTIbawmFGcJ8Znsh7MJzuABf9me4vSbjGHbtRazs-q266b41G0XvucA/s1600-h/leung2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH-yYgZwqWMWkaqghkrsfGS0-e3IMzGPaDsrve70K34qsp2luNMoEFH2XXww__T6GsUboR-VsJVyRJZC_oTIbawmFGcJ8Znsh7MJzuABf9me4vSbjGHbtRazs-q266b41G0XvucA/s400/leung2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077442392568181474" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">I BECAME VERY SICK TODAY </span>and yesterday. I had not eaten seafood in large quantities here before and I stopped by the fried seafood stand at the market and proceeded to stuff my face with calamari and shrimp. Shortly after that I came down with a fever and sharp stomach pains.<br /><br />Apparently according to Laura, you can get prescription drugs here without any kind of a prescription. I haven’t investigated this but I can see how this could be true. It makes me think about how healthcare here is free. This boggles my mind. Life would be so much easier for everyone if this was true in the States. People who needed treatment but couldn’t afford it could now get healthy. I think that there are a lot of things that European countries do that the U.S. does not that would make the U.S. such a better place. Italy as a whole just has such a different way of life. Coming from a country like the U.S., it makes you see that there are different ways to live out there past your own way of life.<br /><div style="text-align: right;">-Catherine Leung<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29120829.post-84676952878473263012007-06-18T18:27:00.000+02:002007-06-18T18:28:46.675+02:00The Bigger Picture<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbn5uuk0oUoHQtjsHV-tOH3bpgVVna6w6Ob-efBUGH2j4PGrn9hB4o1Y7kuqc9vqMGEjkb2Dk8ObnyyFAzROoI3IO_xh-CTRccCNjkMoaDkhWmi9DQpwiR8ZusiBAN5re8jP0kZQ/s1600-h/chanelcamera.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbn5uuk0oUoHQtjsHV-tOH3bpgVVna6w6Ob-efBUGH2j4PGrn9hB4o1Y7kuqc9vqMGEjkb2Dk8ObnyyFAzROoI3IO_xh-CTRccCNjkMoaDkhWmi9DQpwiR8ZusiBAN5re8jP0kZQ/s400/chanelcamera.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077442044675830482" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">TWELVE MORE DAYS </span>before we go home and this experience is over. Not that I’ve been counting down the time or anything, just been reflecting on time spent, lessons learned, and new voids filled in my heart. After hearing and witnessing many horror stories concerning homesickness, cultural mismatches, and project overload, I find myself focusing on the bigger picture—this experience as a whole.<br /><br />Opportunities such as this one come once in a lifetime for some and are golden gifts to those who make note of the special things trips like this can offer. Not only has this project helped me with my skills in communication and journalism, it has introduced me to people with everlasting impressions, taught me how to better work with others, be quiet when needed, speak when the time is right, and better understand Chanel and the path she wants to take.<br /><br />This experience has been beneficial in other ways that I hadn’t imagined and I’ll be bringing home a lot more than what I came with… I try not only to receive knowledge from lessons, but also wisdom from life! Class is in session!<br /><div style="text-align: right;">-Chanel Grundy<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29120829.post-92177433140875419712007-06-18T18:26:00.000+02:002007-06-18T18:27:39.664+02:00Free Drinks<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGw0cH7OYKbbBEyY1lwQ5I5I9_JfiwQPyczU14xJs4L4ZjngAOqQeijvyjbJccV9gEwXc_5aEBm81mYLpDEllUm77myyDoXaoigSzH7QvjvA_5nzWeMlWLjYDyD2BDuFk0D176hQ/s1600-h/reidcorna.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGw0cH7OYKbbBEyY1lwQ5I5I9_JfiwQPyczU14xJs4L4ZjngAOqQeijvyjbJccV9gEwXc_5aEBm81mYLpDEllUm77myyDoXaoigSzH7QvjvA_5nzWeMlWLjYDyD2BDuFk0D176hQ/s400/reidcorna.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077441842812367554" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">MY THIRD WEEK IN THE GRAND CITY </span>of Cagli, Italy has seen a great deal of “bonding” with the locals[…]. Twice now, I have been offered multiple free glasses of beer and wine from one particular ocal who I now know as Roberto. Roberto, in his broken English and heavy accent, tells me the reason why he buys myself and others so many drinks is that “USA and Italy are like this” (he says that of course while putting his two index fingers alongside each other).<br /><br />The generosity of the locals… can also be seen at the “wine bar”, where Seven, [the bartender] and I are on a first-name basis. Twice now I have been offered free shots by Seven at points in the night where I very much wished I was back home and in bed. The first time, a shot of absinthe was taken between myself, Seven, and the rest of the guys in the program. Knowing the illegalty of absinthe in the United States, I was hesitant at first about enjoying such a pleasure. My hesitation was thwarted however when Seven threw his arms around us and said, “You are my friends now, we all drink!”<br /><br />The second occasion happened just a few days ago[…]. We were all tired and planned on having only a “few” drinks before retiring home to our beds. Seven was playing some sort of dice game with one of the locals, which piqued my interest. My interest was not ignored, as Seven soon after came over with a shot for me to take. I asked to see the bottle so I would know what I was ingesting. Seven maintained that I could after the shot. I did so, to find that I had drank a 95% alcohol shot with a drop of strawberry.<br /><br />The point of recounting my drunken tales is to prove a point about the locals here in Cagli. The best part about living in a city such as Cagli is the fact that everyone knows each other, and even if they don’t, they are open and welcoming enough to make an effort to know you. Never in the United States would you run into a random guy outside of a bar who would not only buy you a couple of glasses of free wine, but take the time to get to know you as well. If that did happen in the States, I would imagine certain perhaps immoral actions would be expected on the part of the receiver of the free drinks. I myself would want nothing to do with that.<br /><div style="text-align: right;">-Reid Johnson<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29120829.post-52782728460069596552007-06-18T18:25:00.001+02:002007-06-18T18:26:29.879+02:00Television<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLAzKZae3aJ0IrLh-tuJOG8Z29F5W38IYAa1GLVRwxH6j1i_dQkFfcJzPyYImYBFdntniNeMeEEFcvEI3KiqUanjfj04CWNJi_ZpGyUJmw78PVaUoD8-rCNI3EBhmB5df5pyUeAQ/s1600-h/lacey.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLAzKZae3aJ0IrLh-tuJOG8Z29F5W38IYAa1GLVRwxH6j1i_dQkFfcJzPyYImYBFdntniNeMeEEFcvEI3KiqUanjfj04CWNJi_ZpGyUJmw78PVaUoD8-rCNI3EBhmB5df5pyUeAQ/s400/lacey.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077441464855245490" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">SO I WENT </span>to Douglas’s house yesterday because I had to interview his wife[…]. [Something I noticed] while at their house is that their televisions do not even compare to the TVs in America. In their home and in other houses I have been in here, I notice that they just have one little television in the entire house. This TV is basically the size of a TV that Americans have just in one room of their house. It’s funny to see that their only TV is the standard size of America’s “kitchen-type” TV.<br /><br />Although this may not be the case in all Italian households, it seems about right that they do not watch TV nearly as much as Americans do. I find it rather humorous to think about how we have huge flat-screen TVs that basically fill up the entire wall in each room of the house—it just shows how Americans can sit in front of the TV all day and how important electronics like that are of so much more importance back home than they are here. Just another example of how lifestyles are different. Since I am not much of a TV-watcher, I think I could get used to the Italian way of not really watching or even owning a TV in my house… something I think many Americans would struggle with. Kind of sad to think about.<br /><div style="text-align: right;">--Kathryn Lacey<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29120829.post-60016411665198693472007-06-18T18:23:00.000+02:002007-06-18T18:24:48.662+02:00Sweatpants<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigIx9hQHPZK7Bzvrf3bvwB_XS9wDhXasQguY3Q1dNzEixGoQFbtD2mCX9tQHsoExBbBA3DKH9OBkuJjKpR0xzP4wm6QzPe4Shl4aSlUzKqP8hszN6O99DEU-7VRMHtgwlPaX58ow/s1600-h/lea.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigIx9hQHPZK7Bzvrf3bvwB_XS9wDhXasQguY3Q1dNzEixGoQFbtD2mCX9tQHsoExBbBA3DKH9OBkuJjKpR0xzP4wm6QzPe4Shl4aSlUzKqP8hszN6O99DEU-7VRMHtgwlPaX58ow/s400/lea.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077441108372959906" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">WHEN IT IS GROSS AND MUGGY OUT</span>, my first instinct is to throw on a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants as the day’s outfit. The gray and dreary weather on Wednesday and the fact that it was 7am gave me no choice but to put on my most comfortable clothes and head to class. The Wednesday market was in full swing an hour later, after Italian, and I browsed through the stands with a couple of friends until it was time for the next class.<br /><br />People generally tend to stare when I am walking past, I guess since, in a small town, the Americans really stick out. But people were staring so hard and long and it was so obvious that I had done something wrong! I would walk past and people would actually turn their heads to look at me.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It wasn’t until I realized that they were looking down on me (literally) that I realized they were staring at my sweatpants. I guess Italian girls (or boys, or men, or women even) don’t typically go out in such casual attire. I guess I understand that, but it was just interesting to me since the standard outfit of choice at any given American college campus consists of a t-shirt and sweatpants. People that get dressed up for early class are crazy (to me at least). I wonder what the Italian girls would think about that?<br /><div style="text-align: right;">-Lea Faminiano<br /></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29120829.post-86634092212832832622007-06-18T18:22:00.000+02:002007-06-18T18:25:12.541+02:00The Speedo<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9B7tqjJGzOdV6gntQ3-GO19qeONXMxKIQIro6e1mg2YJ4F8PeRYuCliysDvqEix2hm5Sdf50MDLEKdFwTsqGakN0deZLpZYi4M5CDxztrHvJKVvKZo2zvH_yP0g43vHpMPlA3Eg/s1600-h/schell2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9B7tqjJGzOdV6gntQ3-GO19qeONXMxKIQIro6e1mg2YJ4F8PeRYuCliysDvqEix2hm5Sdf50MDLEKdFwTsqGakN0deZLpZYi4M5CDxztrHvJKVvKZo2zvH_yP0g43vHpMPlA3Eg/s400/schell2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077440726120870546" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">MY SECOND DAY AT THE WATERFALL</span> was awesome. […] Most of the younger guys, I was happy to see, wore board short bathing suits, not like a majority of the men at Fano, who I noticed wore Speedos. Still, there were a few in Speedos, which the Italians thought was totally normal.<br /><br />Since there is only a small area of rock that is flat enough to lie out on and tan, we were a little crowded. One of the guys in a Speedo was lying on his stomach, and one of his friends lied down on his back perpendicular, using the first guy’s rear end, covered only by a Speedo, as his pillow! I was shocked to see that Italians, especially men, are so very comfortable with their bodies!<br /><div style="text-align: right;">-Mary C Schell<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29120829.post-63981091994903258072007-06-18T18:20:00.000+02:002007-06-18T18:22:42.472+02:00Depression<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1aKizS9mbMTrpQY5cc4HsZCGPkBmqic_L65mMQ1qzNgfq21Py7kneenxXxqdHhkGH29fv-0736v61K3PmnTNsV6Z6Z6kvhXjV-ywePPKRnYmbuDhGIWP6LtsslRhpUIhnrTt07w/s1600-h/becca2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1aKizS9mbMTrpQY5cc4HsZCGPkBmqic_L65mMQ1qzNgfq21Py7kneenxXxqdHhkGH29fv-0736v61K3PmnTNsV6Z6Z6kvhXjV-ywePPKRnYmbuDhGIWP6LtsslRhpUIhnrTt07w/s400/becca2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077440541437276802" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">LOOKING OUT ONTO THE MOUNTAINS,</span> I can’t help but wonder whether depression is even physically possible in Italy. Driving through beautifully green fields with exquisitely colored flowers laced throughout the edges of green and brown forests, breathing in the freshest, purest country air—how could anyone be unhappy in a place like this?<br /><br />I wonder if they are so used to it that it doesn’t faze them anymore. The way I walked swiftly and nonchalantly past the Empire State Building every morning on my way to work, yet people come from all the way across the world just to see it. Do they pay as little attention to clear flowing rivers as I did to the twin towers? And would they miss them as much when they’re gone?<br /><br />America is full of thick, smoggy air, dirty streets, dried up, dying plants (if any), flat, boring countrysides, and either tall, ugly buildings or small, broken-down townhouses.<br /><br />So, looking out onto the mountains, I wonder, would America still be America if it looked like Italy? And would Italy still be Italy if it looked like America? Somehow, I seriously don’t think so.<br /><div style="text-align: right;">-Rebecca Albert<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29120829.post-37593056802641577282007-06-14T15:25:00.000+02:002007-06-14T15:26:03.485+02:00Pets<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeUqB9tefL0ZSWRK_Qdnu3ol6v2iuXYNGm8BkN2OdYXfGY9R066o627s_jVQ-kB_bRHW_VqHuKcExRIBXbPRM2_p5v7nHdQtJuXSyx0Rre6sjmioi0efL4x0fxPujc8NwGw1PbAg/s1600-h/chanel.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeUqB9tefL0ZSWRK_Qdnu3ol6v2iuXYNGm8BkN2OdYXfGY9R066o627s_jVQ-kB_bRHW_VqHuKcExRIBXbPRM2_p5v7nHdQtJuXSyx0Rre6sjmioi0efL4x0fxPujc8NwGw1PbAg/s400/chanel.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075910695561278034" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">ENTERING LOCAL STORES</span> and diners in America, one may see a sign that lets the potential customers know- no shirt, no shoes, no service! When here in Cagli, I’m starting to wonder if anyone (store owners) have thought about customers having allergies to animals.<br /><br />Just the other day, myself and my roommates decided to get a bite to eat. We had been serviced and were finishing a conversation when a man walks in with a huge pitbull. In the U.S., this would never happen—unless, of course, the operator of the store owned a dog (a “store dog”) and customers were naturally aware the dog existed.<br /><br />We were not only frightened-- we were a little confused. We began to look around with bizarre expressions and started asking each other questions, since we aren’t as good as we’d like to be in speaking the Italian language.<br /><br />“Cultural mismatch!” was what I yelled, “You’d never see that in the United States!”.<br /><br />One thing that I have noticed, however, about the pets are that they are just that and are well taken care of and loved. So someone with allergies should worry, but being frightened is totally unnecessary because most of the animals (dogs and cats) are just like the people here: warm, happy, slow-paced walkers, and familiar with this small town… Cagli.<br /><div style="text-align: right;">-Chanel Grundy<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29120829.post-42695257094079192372007-06-14T11:12:00.001+02:002007-06-14T11:13:02.805+02:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhChaABuGT-XhmeuaImDXrbz4zHNo1bP66FWoVfuzJoInwKzTmAIPp8SSw-Yk8aTIZZRfGjLiSsxioI5q9T5JsAqxM_Lr3rF1cw1Y0nfxdmWCxTzk1DUQA9eSGKWurd0T4WL8kJ4g/s1600-h/DSC_0066.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhChaABuGT-XhmeuaImDXrbz4zHNo1bP66FWoVfuzJoInwKzTmAIPp8SSw-Yk8aTIZZRfGjLiSsxioI5q9T5JsAqxM_Lr3rF1cw1Y0nfxdmWCxTzk1DUQA9eSGKWurd0T4WL8kJ4g/s400/DSC_0066.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075845515137593762" border="0" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29120829.post-80568160533377680442007-06-14T11:10:00.000+02:002007-06-14T11:12:28.165+02:00Quite off the Beaten Path<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJyL2Vpicr90DN-SyqQAlZehcY4kcj9ev1JXtUygw9iQNkykr-WcQw3-oA8KFI5SlpIZQV6_j_GxphabF83pwR05Wa8Vde5wgZ0wRANLx4_I8hG1yuri4_U1H2J0wakYwmhQBZoQ/s1600-h/schell.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJyL2Vpicr90DN-SyqQAlZehcY4kcj9ev1JXtUygw9iQNkykr-WcQw3-oA8KFI5SlpIZQV6_j_GxphabF83pwR05Wa8Vde5wgZ0wRANLx4_I8hG1yuri4_U1H2J0wakYwmhQBZoQ/s400/schell.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075845343338901906" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">AS I BEGAN TO REALIZE </span>that my friend wasn’t going to make it to Cagli until almost an entire day after he landed in Rome, it really began to sink in: we are in a very isolated location.<br /><br />“The Eurorail is amazing, fast, convenient!” I heard before I left. “You will travel so much!” they told me. Well, I’m pretty sure if they told that to [my friend], he’d be ready to argue a different point. Even under the expert guidance of Father Bruno, our trip to nearby Florence took between five and six hours each way.<br /><br />The bottom line: Cagli is like a small Vermont hill town: beautiful, serene, safe, and quite off the beaten path. For me, these places are wonderful to visit, and not so nice to live in.<br />There are plenty of perks to residing in a small town. In Cagli, my dollar, or shall I say euro, goes far. Yesterday I got a huge cone of two flavors of gelato, whipped cream, and a cookie for the low, low price of 1.50. Nightly my friends spend only two or three euros on big mixed drinks—drinks that would be about eleven dollars back in Philly. At Caffe d’Italia and Caffe Commercio, we pay minimally for food and libation, sit in a lovely outdoor terrace, and then neither pay a seating fee, which is typical in larger Italian cities, nor are we encouraged to tip, which is absolutely expected anywhere in America.<br /><br />On the downside, coming in at number one this week, is the lack of modern technology. I haven’t taken a hot shower in two weeks, I’m constantly fearful that I am going to burn myself if I try to light my gas stove, and as a result find myself eating fruit and cereal often. And although I finally figured out how to manually ash my clothes, they have been sitting on a drying rack for the past two days, damp and unwearable. I miss my dryer, my microwave, my electric oven, my hot water heater… and more. But there is a lot to enjoy and be thankful for here in Cagli, so that is what I plan to do.<br /><div style="text-align: right;">-Mary Schell<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29120829.post-11991658885536357702007-06-14T11:09:00.000+02:002007-06-14T15:27:00.202+02:00Mismatch<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisRkkJmJGhGH2UgrGhJZDx0mRce0n46svK3c8g_z76dmjPmCuAUQv4DcZborfXaJWEmqWQu4Tp99sds8bSWM0Gbu3pUohLSIAzmsZYOwVbdtGLiUaJdxjeYTwN6izKVy2QqEQMXA/s1600-h/MEL.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisRkkJmJGhGH2UgrGhJZDx0mRce0n46svK3c8g_z76dmjPmCuAUQv4DcZborfXaJWEmqWQu4Tp99sds8bSWM0Gbu3pUohLSIAzmsZYOwVbdtGLiUaJdxjeYTwN6izKVy2QqEQMXA/s400/MEL.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075910910309642850" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">TODAY WAS PACKED</span> with many events. The first couple were kinda weird. While walking to class I noticed a black woman at a local grocer. She dropped what she was doing and embraced me. She spoke little English but what I did understand from the conversation was that she lived here and that she never noticed me before. She asked how long and why I was here. She seemed kind of disappointed to hear that I was leaving in two weeks. Because I was already late for class, I cut the conversation short and ran to class.<br /><br />As I was walking home from class to my apartment, I noticed a black man. When he noticed me and my roommate, he came running – literally! Slightly out of breath we exchanged where we were from. He could tell we were Americans and immediately told us we would visit since he has a green card. I found that to be funny, but he was dead serious. He told us he was from Africa and studying dentistry in Florence. He was in Cagli just trying to sell some African artwork.<br /><br />[…]I had so many questions to ask him about the profession he aspired to work in, but the noises in my stomach made me cut the conversation short. […] We took his number and said our goodbyes.<br /><br />What made these two scenes culturally mismatched was that seeing a person with the same skin color is so rare around here that they all embrace each other lovingly. Back in the States, seeing other blacks is so normal that we don’t embrace each other when we see one another.<br /><div style="text-align: right;">-Melanie Edwards<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29120829.post-8982499384105180582007-06-14T11:08:00.001+02:002007-06-14T11:09:23.967+02:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWeJR70BO953p7ftho2ui8NOoEG0A3ioCSpr1T6keyS_cwTuN2eX6QU8g7sTanUgsAaIW-wHaggiCavwuwM1kfh76ZvdfMX-KS8udKwPrJrxL7RT-1YWUh02b7JS3ux_R4q30XNw/s1600-h/DSC_0032_1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWeJR70BO953p7ftho2ui8NOoEG0A3ioCSpr1T6keyS_cwTuN2eX6QU8g7sTanUgsAaIW-wHaggiCavwuwM1kfh76ZvdfMX-KS8udKwPrJrxL7RT-1YWUh02b7JS3ux_R4q30XNw/s400/DSC_0032_1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075844540180017538" border="0" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29120829.post-13149103556644173502007-06-14T11:07:00.000+02:002007-06-14T11:08:35.784+02:00Real Life<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6bLdDCUyRONMlLADIqmZe3Z6hSkzjlMM2X8_hJXCDI5ZGfctJmNvF3b55Zq4K7RjgT3uHoUAMlBgaJUuTX9w5_BJnJtfKAftYQ-us0mKcN9oeD1xBpo6svtMRi2H8d1H-8pmF6A/s1600-h/reid.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6bLdDCUyRONMlLADIqmZe3Z6hSkzjlMM2X8_hJXCDI5ZGfctJmNvF3b55Zq4K7RjgT3uHoUAMlBgaJUuTX9w5_BJnJtfKAftYQ-us0mKcN9oeD1xBpo6svtMRi2H8d1H-8pmF6A/s400/reid.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075844346906489202" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">SOME OF THE STUDENTS</span> who are taking part in the Cagli program seemed a little uneasy when they first arrived in Cagli, noting the size and population of the town. I found it funny when returning on the bus [from Florence] on Monday how many people were relieved to “get back to Cagli” so that they could take a break from the stress and noise that is Florence. I find it funny, because until coming to Cagli, most of us were used to and even embraced a chaotic schedule, involving college, working, and a heavy social life. I may be stretching here, but I feel like a good number of the students involved in the program have already begun to embrace the slower life that one finds in Cagli. People were so ready to get back from constant noise and motion that smiles literally crept across their faces as we turned the corner and caught our first sight of Cagli. I joked with my friend that night that this, Cagli, isn’t “real” life. I said that, of course, while sitting on my terrace overlooking Old Cagli, backdropped by an amazing sunset. Well, it may not be “real” life, but now, while we are here and can enjoy it, I must say it’s pretty damn good.<br /><div style="text-align: right;">-Reid Johnson<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29120829.post-72594328942454553882007-06-14T11:05:00.000+02:002007-06-14T11:07:25.670+02:00A Big Generalization<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge7n5Te6L7Q3US-BLX3SPUyn6bXIgCPmDHVFcASXJhmIVED-BVTh8kk_1YeMJSDMNuxJ1VzJZ0a0BLmmnU7rjoeY9IRHDhI83X2pm7irQR0X9-uDEL0TTSeYGAahD1AnnB31RMOw/s1600-h/koep.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge7n5Te6L7Q3US-BLX3SPUyn6bXIgCPmDHVFcASXJhmIVED-BVTh8kk_1YeMJSDMNuxJ1VzJZ0a0BLmmnU7rjoeY9IRHDhI83X2pm7irQR0X9-uDEL0TTSeYGAahD1AnnB31RMOw/s400/koep.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075844046258778466" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">I'M GOING TO GO AHEAD</span> and make a big generalization, then I’ll attempt to justify it, but it’ll still be a ridiculous claim. I think that overall, Italians appreciate and enjoy life more than Americans do. It just seems to me that every thing is a little more relaxed here. Everyone runs on “Italian time”, which means it’s okay to be up to a half an hour late. Even businesses seem to open and close pretty inconsistantly. L’Angolo pizza shop has a hand-written sign in their window promising that they will reopen each day after <span style="font-style: italic;">pausa</span> at 4:30pm. However, I have been there at 4:30 several times and rarely does that seem to be the case. They sometimes open their doors at 4:45 or sometimes even later. Work is not their main concern here. Whereas, in America, all anyone seems to be focused on is making money.<br /><br />Actually, nothing here seems to ever be rushed. The only time Italians ever seem to be in a hurry is when they’re driving. This makes absolutely no sense to me. It seems to contradict everything else I’ve observed about their culture. I guess maybe they just like driving fast. I probably would drive fast just for fun too if I knew there weren’t any police around that cared about giving out speeding tickets.<br /><br />But anyway, that’s my observation. Italians are generally more laid back and happy. Their main concern is enjoying life rather than rushing through it to get ahead. […] So maybe that’s a really broad assumption to make, but that’s what I’ve been observing about the culture here pretty consistently as of late… is this displaying a tendency to evaluate?<br /><div style="text-align: right;">-Katie Koepfinger<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29120829.post-7995507968667520872007-06-14T11:01:00.001+02:002007-06-14T11:02:13.550+02:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwWOYgVRE84Nk1Z_Rj5yEHonC7vgXgoidjlFOx5qWBx8pZw1r5TUbhvLANrnoTOWUVFMYcdmb1eTAC8M-555jMdBxo5QybleG4H3JClXJlgW8kj7wGkOyqUUEL70tiDCPiysILeA/s1600-h/DSC_0028_1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwWOYgVRE84Nk1Z_Rj5yEHonC7vgXgoidjlFOx5qWBx8pZw1r5TUbhvLANrnoTOWUVFMYcdmb1eTAC8M-555jMdBxo5QybleG4H3JClXJlgW8kj7wGkOyqUUEL70tiDCPiysILeA/s400/DSC_0028_1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075842658984341842" border="0" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29120829.post-21142140119710567302007-06-14T10:59:00.000+02:002007-06-14T11:00:52.375+02:00A Visit to the Hospital<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFELrvBxPAY7PVKZOe-wYthOe6gIrbQH0IDbNLReRRJU9_qCRkkdnfDM_hgM1RZeBT38BCtYZSYmJVpfUWhyh4ZP1ARu3alrRgOJ44XkR3IlJo2hs-qRRrfGbC4GiS09WT7z85vg/s1600-h/tami.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFELrvBxPAY7PVKZOe-wYthOe6gIrbQH0IDbNLReRRJU9_qCRkkdnfDM_hgM1RZeBT38BCtYZSYmJVpfUWhyh4ZP1ARu3alrRgOJ44XkR3IlJo2hs-qRRrfGbC4GiS09WT7z85vg/s400/tami.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075842354041663810" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">DURING THE COURSE OF MY EXAM,</span> the doctor ordered some x-rays of my back to be done. So Giovanni and I headed down the corridor to the proper room. When it came time to step into the room, the technician indicated I would need to take my shirt off, so I obliged. However, after examining my underwire bra and seeing the metal snaps on my shirt, the technician indicated that I could wear neither. It became readily apparent to me after a few seconds that he fully expected me to take off everything from the waist up. With no hospital gown in sight, I wasn’t about to stand around topless in front of two men. I would never even do that in front of my female friends!<br /> <br />The technician clearly got my point, let the room, and returned with a clean, packaged white gown. I knew they had to have them- it just seemed odd to me that it wasn’t just offered first. Doctors just don’t expect you to wander around half naked!<br /><br />Other than that, I was amazed that I walked out of the hospital with no charge and the medicine that was prescribed only cost five euros. In the United States it would have taken me weeks to see a doctor or the emergency room bill would have come to over $1,000. It makes me wonder about the level of heath care in the U.S.. It is touted as having the best health care system, but does it really? If citizens are slaves to insurance premiums and overwhelming medical bills, is that really an improved quality of life?<br /><div style="text-align: right;">-Tami Dixon<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29120829.post-77412057300736258942007-06-14T10:57:00.000+02:002007-06-14T10:59:10.703+02:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPWVu-oVnmqcue4ig8ePn6sCYl56j1Fhwjx4gwFiLzWb51TOLy8aFfxCHw0wWXCW8pr_bI95LWOW0tbXkz2J96yQmmQ13afHyICXpnD86xm_Vl_3nDS2tJiJ_vRS-GL2sBEO1Mbw/s1600-h/becca.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPWVu-oVnmqcue4ig8ePn6sCYl56j1Fhwjx4gwFiLzWb51TOLy8aFfxCHw0wWXCW8pr_bI95LWOW0tbXkz2J96yQmmQ13afHyICXpnD86xm_Vl_3nDS2tJiJ_vRS-GL2sBEO1Mbw/s400/becca.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075841915954999602" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">IT SEEMS AS THOUGH </span>Americans are all about extremes. The <span style="font-style: italic;">worst</span> thing that’s <span style="font-style: italic;">ever</span> happened—at least twice a day, the <span style="font-style: italic;">nicest</span> person they’ve ever met—every other introduction, the <span style="font-style: italic;">slowest</span> computer they’ve <span style="font-style: italic;">ever</span> experienced—every time the clock face comes on the mouse on the screen. So, naturally, Americans constantly create stereotypes as soon as they meet someone or go somewhere and correct them as they go along. “Italians are so friendly!”—that is, until one of them doesn’t stop in their car to let you cross the street… then they’re vicious, impatient assholes.<br /><br />I, on the other hand, being the model citizen that I am, have attempted to stray from the rude American’s natural instinct to judge a people as a whole based upon a single incident. In light of this brave attempt, I have become a sponge to the puddle of Italian culture, absorbing by observation every aspect I witness and rejecting any thought or judgment that seeps through my pores.<br /><br />Thus far, I have been able to infiltrate the cultural barriers that generally cause the nose to crinkle and the mouth to turn down when Italians say: “the Americans”. I can sit in the wine bar with Seven, Domi, Francesco, and their Italian friends and watch them interact, like Jane Goodall in the forest of culture.<br /><br />When Reid walks in the room I observe a sudden change in the atmosphere—in their attitudes—like a foreign species which the chimps must be careful around, not sure if they can trust the spider-monkey. Yes, we are all monkeys, but calling a chimpanzee and baboon is just as bad as calling an Italian an American.<br /><div style="text-align: right;">-Rebecca Albert<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29120829.post-90940071724271557972007-06-14T10:56:00.001+02:002007-06-14T10:57:40.666+02:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJKwjHtaxH4CTIjU1qeDfNZB2K_0mWWfal7tH_EjTMx9hc3-ARLbnN6E3leUgEpwYXUQzWVKFQV4pXCAEUGcT_3jLlHrfI4n2P9YO0jWd1FNmHyi3FsWQWnQ4cRHL7X6ljhVC5xA/s1600-h/DSC_0023.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJKwjHtaxH4CTIjU1qeDfNZB2K_0mWWfal7tH_EjTMx9hc3-ARLbnN6E3leUgEpwYXUQzWVKFQV4pXCAEUGcT_3jLlHrfI4n2P9YO0jWd1FNmHyi3FsWQWnQ4cRHL7X6ljhVC5xA/s400/DSC_0023.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075841520818008354" border="0" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29120829.post-22631569791653248762007-06-14T10:54:00.002+02:002007-06-14T10:55:27.315+02:00A Run off the Beaten Path…into the hills of Cagli<br /><br />I was a little sore and tired from my run the day before. The Italian air is different and the terrain challenges a runner’s legs to test new levels of endurance and strength. The all-American iPod helps here—tremendously and gratefully.<br /><br />I ran many pathways. Some led to fields filled with red poppies floating in a meadow; some led to quaint homes richly colored with gold, green, and terra cotta; some took me to chicken patches while others led me to vistas my eyes has never seen. I have officially redefined the term ‘eye candy’. […]<br /><br />Can I bring Cagli back to Greensboro?<br /><div style="text-align: right;">--Debbie Schallock<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29120829.post-48304182599307031872007-06-14T10:52:00.000+02:002007-06-14T10:54:19.195+02:00Festa della Repubblica<span style="font-size:85%;"> [IT WAS] FESTA DELLA REPUBBLICA. </span>I was expecting a big parade with bands, banners, and babies, but all we got was one band, many balloons, and every public official (plus their city vehicles) in their uniforms with the Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts. The mayor gave a speech, kids released their balloons, and the band marched around the piazza… once.<br /><br />Not that I didn’t have a great time, though. I love to see the people of Cagli and how much they love and respect their city. […] One more observation that I made[…]: every parent let their children run about the piazza with no worrying. In America, no parent would let their child out of sight at a big event like that.<br /><div style="text-align: right;">-Claire Davis<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29120829.post-7340663274053434552007-06-14T10:51:00.000+02:002007-06-14T10:52:49.694+02:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvf1SC64rYyumJ4Jcl5HitRFUAzyu4rIyztUW06YwUx1vnF4TjKvKHS5kAXMtVB4cRcAm3d-s-OQgn3bgIQOadBbuHz_1nZpbMvTJAp86Ibabv3Jb26B4JmGqyDaLNQHeYsZvMOQ/s1600-h/DSC_0056.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvf1SC64rYyumJ4Jcl5HitRFUAzyu4rIyztUW06YwUx1vnF4TjKvKHS5kAXMtVB4cRcAm3d-s-OQgn3bgIQOadBbuHz_1nZpbMvTJAp86Ibabv3Jb26B4JmGqyDaLNQHeYsZvMOQ/s400/DSC_0056.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5075840215147950354" border="0" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0