no orangemen

Friday, January 22, 2010

heat heat heat

my heat is broken. OHNO OHNO OHNO OHNO. oh no. take my money. take my laptop. but please, please, please don't take my heat.
i'll admit it, it was my fault. i'm a fiddler. i fiddled with it, the thermostat, and then the screen went blank. as i lunged, slow-motion, nooooooooooooo, a single tear ran down my cheek. or it would have, but it froze halfway down.
since i do not like frozen tears, i shed a few liquid ones for good measure. because if i had to take one more "shower" with the fucking tea kettle i was going to die.
i reason with myself. i think, "okay, your apartment is a tundra, but YOU'RE IN PARADISE."
like:
"so maybe the only sleeping position that renders you only mildly cold rather than arctic fucking freezing is knees to chin which happens to constrict your breathing. but you walk ten minutes to school every day ALONG THE SPARKLING MEDITERRANEAN.
or:
"so what if you have to wear a ski hat, ski socks and mittens to enter the kitchen? a sweet italian man let you feed ice cream to his fat dog today!"
or:
"yeah, the thirty seconds it takes for your hair to 'dry' (relative term) between your freezing tea kettle shower and your icy bed is the equivalent of having each eye slowly gorged out with plastic spatulas. BUT THE CANNOLI..."
you get the idea.
i love this place. i really do. but getting out of bed at any point in the day is mindfuckingly excrutiating. it's not that it's not warm outside; in the sun, it's actually hot. but considering my apartment is like most italians--kind of dark, bellowing and tucked away from direct sunlight--it's really just an icebox.
i was supposed to meet some friends at the school at 4 pm yesterday, so i set my alarm for 3:30 after siesta (which, i should mention, might be my favorite thing so far about italy...) but then I COULD NOT GET OUT OF BED. as in, NO WAY IN HELL AM I LOSING ONE CUBIC CENTIMETER OF BODY HEAT BY SHIFTING IN ANY CARDINAL DIRECTION. so i didn't go.
because sometimes, whether you're in italy or the bahamas or on the moon, you just have to watch greys anatomy (season one, before meredith started crying all the time for no reason, you know, the good season) in bed, with your knees curled up to your chin, breathing into your hands. sometimes you have to focus on merely functioning. sometimes, before you can appreciate the mindblowing beauty of your surroundings, before you can stand in a patch of sunlight and watch the waves crash against the rocks, wondering how you got so lucky, you have to learn to appreciate how you got there.

Thursday, January 21, 2010

so.

i arrived in sircusa yesterday. i can't breathe half the time because it is just. so. god. damn. beautiful. white lights strung in the streets, plazas so clean you can eat off then, the ocean everywhere you look, ancient architecture, lots of stray puppies to play with. the only words i can attempt to describe this place is fucking incredible.

i met some people at the airport and we took a taxi van to the city, and then to the school. upon getting out of the taxi and being introduced to ramzi, the actually crazy resident director who seems to know everyone on the island, i am told that everyone else can get their stuff out of the taxi but i have to leave mine in. everyone looks at me concerned, like i am being deported. i then squeeze into the front middle seat of the taxi between colermo, the driver, and ramzi, shouting over me in italian. and then this happened next:

ramzi: (huge grin, to me): you know we get you your own flat, ya?
me: SHUT UP.
(realizing i just told my resident director to shut up, and this is the first conversation i'm having with him, i try again)
me: um...what?
ramzi (still thrilled): si, si! zat was what you wanted, ya?
me:

.....

ramzi: you put on form you want single, no?
(note: i did, in fact, put that i preferred a single room on the housing form. but not, you know, a SINGLE APARTMENT.)
me:.........sssssssssi.....?
ramzi: so i get you what you want! zis is nice, you know, when you get drunk, nobody has to see you! you by yourself!
(yes, ramzi, that was my first thought, too! i am really glad that i will be drunk and ALONE in the very near future. grazi mille!)
me:

.....si.
ramzi: your form, i could tell you were most mature.
(um...no.)
ramzi: i give you single room, because i know you are like me. sometimes we don't like people, no?
me (instantly horrified): i...like...people...
ramzi (undeterred):...so...maybe i read your request wrong?
me (god, i am sometimes so accomodating): no, no! i mean, si. it's fine.

and it was. well, is. the apartment is the farthest from the school (like 8 minutes walking, nbd), but about 10 feet from the water. once i did some rearranging (for instance, moving the bed from the foyer) it actually is really nice. the only thing i still don't know how to work is the hot water heater, which i can see causing some problems down the road (by which i mean, in about ten minutes when i walk back to take a shower) but you know, de puta madre. it's all good.

and besides, there are plenty of things keeping me out of the apartment. the kids on my program are awesome. honestly, it's cliche, but we were all talking about how we lucked out. there's 8 kids from bates, and then the rest are from all over the country. i really like all of them. seriously.

and there's so many connections. a girl i partied with a few new years ago in connecticut is now in my program, and another girl went to camp jewell for a long time. another girl's cousin goes to wooster, a guy has a summer house in a girl's hometown and they know the same people, etc. while a group of americans with all these connections might sound stifling, it's the opposite--watching all of us explore and (try to) interact with the locals is awesome.

i don't even know how to describe this place. i guess it is like a seaside town, and right now is the off-season, so its pretty much just us and the locals. the buildings are old and white and stone and fucking beautiful, everything is so clean and charming, there are balconies, wrought-iron that have been around for centuries, there's an open-air market. the market is the shit. there are no preservatives in sicily, so, unlike in america, organic, local, fresh food is the norm. and it's cheap! (a kilo of oranges for a euro). so for breakfast i had these huge grapes and a slice of just-made mozzerella and orange juice that was squeezed right in front of me. the entire thing is like one big dream sequence.

i don't get wireless in my apartment, so uploading pictures is gonna be a little difficult, but i'll get on that. oh and, they have these sick old-fashioned bikes with big baskets you can rent, um, to ride one of these has been a long-term goal of mine and will soon come to fruition. and i wasn't sure about the running community, but BAM within five seconds of arrival on the island i see three different groups of runners along the shore. which means i should maybe start thinking about maybe being motivated to start jogging for this half marathon in april..but we'll see. for now it's just amazing food and cool people in a ridiculously beautiful place.

ciao!
miss you all and love you

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

connected!

(sorry these photos are kind of small. i'll try to make them bigger in the future.)

piazza duomo (that's an elephant on top)

the fish market. man, these people take their fish seriously. i purposely didn't photograph the sign for "carne de caballo" and half a dead horse. that was a bit much:

view of the water from the top of via antonino. how sick is this? if you look closely you can see the water:

headless statue:

this is the ash i was talking about:

the door to my hostel. how sick is this? it takes about 30 seconds to open:

um, loved this:

more ash:

i read in this park for a bit:

i'm no expert, but the architecture here is incredible:

if i understood/could read italian, i would translate, but i can't. but i thought this was cool nonetheless:

view from the balcony of the hostel:

my room at the hostel. haha:

layers, from rebuilding after the volcanic eruptions:

who has two thumbs and is clearly at the center of sicily's religious spectrum? this guy. it's no where near the intensity of rome, though:

another church, plaza duomo. i should mention that this is the main tourist spot in catania, but it was almost empty every time i went:

another stereotype: italian graffiti is bomb:

but this was my personal favorite :)

circle dog

ciao! still no charger, so no photos, so no evidence that im actually here in sicily, and not writing this from the basement of say, weber house in wooster, ohio, where i thought it would be funny to hide and pretend im actually going abroad, and then pop out at various theme parties to surprise people. of course, we all know that if that were the case, i would have taken distinct advantage of the jersey shore party, so i guess that is all the evidence we need.
augusten borroughs has this story about the worst date he went on, where the guy brought him back to his apartment and all the sudden puts on this dress-type thing and starts spinning around in circles, and claims he is training to be a whirling dervish. all augusten can think of to say is, "you remind me of Circle Dog" (FOUND THE QUOTATION MARKS!), who is this dog he used to own who would only run in circles. the reason i am relating this to you is so that you have some idea of what i looked like romping around catania today. circle dog.
at ten i went out and ended up walking around the city for two hours, which was awesome. catania is beautiful and shabby, a duality that can only exist when the city sits at the base of an active volcano, as catania does, rendering most things covered in a thin layer of ash. its cool to see how they built up the city after the two instances a long time ago in which mt. etna erupted and covered everything with molten lava. joking, sort of. but lots of buildings have parts that are sort of peeling away, and you can see all the different bricks underneath, which i assume is an archeologists dream, although my archeology friends can correct me as necessary.
i walked up this massive hill of a street, via antonio, and from the top caught my first glimpse of the mediterrenean (lord, i am going to have to learn to spell that word soon enough...) which was amazing. i then walked all the way back down to the wharf, checked out some boats, some churches, and statues. i ended up looping around a rather lot, not realizing that i was doing so until i ended up in the same place multiple times, but it was cool, because i just could not believe where i was.
so while i was playing circle dog, i wondered if maybe i was running into the same people, and not realizing it. because i was wearing a bright red cardigan over black and white plaid, and according to my careful observances of the outfits around me, italians dont wear plaid (stereotype #1,002). but then i thought, no, thats ridiculous, these people have their own stuff to do, why would they be looking at me? and then, tonight, lo and behold, i ran into a nice older gentlemen who asked me if i was from the states. startled, because it was the first english ive heard yet outside the hostel, i said i was, and he responded that he had seen me walking around yesterday (i was wearing the red last night, too). we talked about syracuse a bit, and i said goodbye and we parted ways, and in normal circumstances i think this might be a little creepy, that this guy knew i existed. but it wasnt, not at all, because he was not creepy at all, and i was hungry for english, however broken, and i thought it was nice that he cared. and so my circle dog game seemed to pay off.
after the two hours of adventure, i returned to my hostel and found the two owners, this really nice, young, couple, in the middle of a huge fight. which was awkward. once i got to my room, i wasnt sure when it was appropiate to leave again, because in order to leave the hostel i would have had to walk right through their altercation, which would have been embarassing for all of us. so i chilled in my room for a bit, watching scrubs dubbed in italian, and every so often clearing my throat to make it clear that i was in fact in the room, so that when i eventually did leave it wasnt a surprise that i had been in my room this whole time. later i trotted around the city again, feeling better about it in the dark than last night, and going to some stores, where all the graphic t-shirts were in english. which was a letdown. how else can i prove im in italy without italian scribbled across the chest? duh. (im joking. sort of.)
tomorrow morning im leaving to go back to the airport where i meet my group (ah) and drive to syracuse. i found out the island were staying off of, still part of syracuse but off the mainland, is only 1km long and .5km wide, which is sweet. and tiny. but cool, because i am the only one from my program living in this particular apartment, and i dont want to be isolated. which works.
i should also mention that today i saw a headless statue, a stray dalmatian, and an abundance of yankee caps. mafia what? jokin!
love you all
ciao

Monday, January 18, 2010

rambing

so even though i am an english major, i will readily admit to being a less than ideal reader--long ago i perfected the art of skimming whilst still retaining some sort of grip on content, and sort of ran with that. so reading long chunks of prose unnerves me a bit, as i am sure it does you, whoever may be reading this thing, because you are probably expecting pictures of me meeting the pope, skiing the Alps, suntanning on the Italian Riveria, and, you know, i get that. and have all of these events photographically documented, so don not even worry about it. however, my computer charger is of the american variety, rendering me unable to post any pictures (and jesus i take a lot..because i am a supertourist..i will explain in a bit) and thus forcing me to submit to rambling. but really, if you arent interested (and thats cool, you know what else is cool, not using apotsrophes because i cannot find them on this italian keyboard, so sad) feel free to...skim.

so i would like to say something about traveling. the physical act of traveling is difficult particularly if you are, like i am, hyperaware of some surroundings whilst being extremely unware of others. what i mean is, i trip a lot in airports, or run over peoples feet with my gargantuan suitcases, and then i immediatly look around and construct an imaginary conversation which always either involves me apologizing or me brushing my hair back and talking about french films like, damn, i am so well-traveled, if not a bit clumsy.
but my journey from new york, to heathrow, to gatwick, to catania, has rendered me a complete, as the brits would say, clusterfuck. this is because i packed two massive suitcases, and they do not match like every European ive seen thus far, so sorry bout it, but it is kind of embarassing. so ive been doing downright American things, like dropping my suitcases in front of buses and struggling Roloff-style to recover, or telling the coach driver that i was going to terminal n, i mean north, i mean n, i mean north...before realizing that terminal n and terminal north are (duh) the same thing. im not angry or anything, i just find it amusing that in the presence of such..what? why are these people special? because theyre not american, i guess, i suddenly lose it and regress back to toddler-style coordination. in fact, all the way to heathrow this morning, as my suitcases flew around the floor of the bus and i pretended they werent mine, i kept having to remind myself that i had a right to, you know, exist, in this entity, i had the same right to exist in this entity as the business guy with the leather shoes and the slicked-back hair and the tiny microsuitcase (WHAT THE HELL FITS IN THOSE TINY SUITCASES? NOTHING. THAT IS THE ANSWER.). i have this right because i paid, you know, i laid down my euros for this bus, and this flight, you get the idea, but also because i am a rather decent human being, for example i made sure the hotel room was clean before i left it this morning, and i always say sorry when i amputate someones pinky toe with the wheels of my 70 pound suitcase. so you know.

i took the coach from heathrow to gatwick (terminal north, thanks) this morning, and discovered upon arrival in gatwick that they like to play games with you. for instance, they dont tell you your gate number until a designated time before your flight takes off, or when they feel like it. in fact i looked down at my boarding pass and the little spot next to gate was empty. so theres this one huge lounge-type area, and everyone who is going on any flight is crammed into it, rubbing elbows, wondering what the hell is going on. every so often an annoucement comes on like all passengers on flight so-and-so to some exotic locale, lets say nice, we have important information for you, yes you heard that right, we are going to unveil your GATE NUMBER. I REPEAT, SURPRISE! YOURE LUCKY WE WERE HERE TO REPORT YOUR GATE NUMBER TO YOU, SO THAT YOU MAY FIND IT AND BOARD THE FLIGHT YOU LAID DOWN MAD MONEY FOR. now be advised that the gate you want, the gate youve been waiting for, the gate youve been forgoing food and water for so that you dont miss the little flash on the departure screen, the gate that was cruelly witheld from you for the sake of our fun, is a 15 minutes walk from here, and your flight leaves in seven. CHEERIO!
okay, it wasnt really like that, but close. and i ended up missing my own surprise announcement, because i just could not believe how clean the bathrooms in this place were. they were like palaces, and i felt like i shouldve paid admission. seriously. but anyway, i eventually made it to my gate, and thats when all english waned, replaced by rapid, loud Italian. i am going to stereotype right now, and these are two of many Probably Untrue But Still Obvious Stereotypes to come.
PUBSOS #1- all Italians have beautiful hair, skin, and nails.
PUBSOS #2- no Italians wear backpacks.
a little unnerved by the foreignness of of it all (if i didnt mention it before, i dont speak a word of italian..oops), i focused my energy on these four boys about my age, wondering if they were quadruplets (they werent. duh). which seemed to take the edge off. the flight was fine, but the sickest part was waking up and looking out the window to find were right above the alps, truly one of the most beautiful sights ive seen, ever. the second sickest part was customs--im telling you, these people are chill. this guy lokoed at my passport and waved me through. and after all that work for a visa..
so now im at my hostel in catania, which literally looks like that 70s show threw up on a national historic building, you know, which is sweet. i just went out and walked around a bit, it was dark because its 10 or so here, and many mental notes were taken: cars dont stop for you, street signs arent always present, restaurants dont open until something like 23:00, and middle aged men stare are you. all. the. time. PUBSOS? yes. i cant help it.
welp, thats it from this end of the atlantic. ill post some pictures when i can procure one of those adaptor things, and till then, take care and ciao (okay, i know one word, which is actually nice because it means both hello and goodbye. aloha!)

Monday, January 11, 2010

be more chill.

i have not yet figured out whether or not this is a good thing, but i happen to display an intense dichotomy between being extremely high-strung--

"i want jessica to relax at school."

-mrs. hartford, fourth-grade report card, 1998

--and extremely chill--

"i took a xanax, and you should've seen me, jess, i was just like you."

-alena yarmosky, post-flight to peru, summer 2009

--...which is weird.

at the age of 11, i was diagnoesd with general anxiety disorder, which is basically saying i lacked this chillness, like i lacked vitamin D, and could simply pop a pill to get my daily fix. i couldn't, obviously, but somehow i managed--

"you are the chillest person i know."

-actual words spoken by college friends, no doubt long before finals.

--and sometimes i didn't--

"you, and i'm saying this because i care about you, realllllly need to get laid."

-a friend this summer, drunk, as i was fretting about work

--as you can see. (and i can't believe i'm posting the above quote for the entire cyberworld to see [i mean, if anyone's out there] because at the time i was insulted beyond reason, no matter how "friendly" this comment was intended to be. which, i am told, it was; and which just goes to show that my sense of humor clearly was not aligned with that of this particular speaker).

so anyway.

when i left for college in the fall of 2007, people wondered aloud if i was on some sort of tranquilizer; i kid you not--

"how the fuck are you so chill right now?"

-alena yarmosky, august 2007

--which i wasn't, obviously. but the thought of going to college was less anixety-inducing and more hazy, adventurous, soft. i couldn't explain it.

and now, four days before i leave for europe--

--"you need to calm the fuck down."

-alex yarmosky, january 2010

--i find myself, embarassingly, crippled with fear. i'm terrified.

i don't even know why.

it's not a palpable, controllable fear. it's not the anxiety i experienced in the fall of 2008 when i couldn't run cross-country and my roommate was psychotic and everything was kind of crazy. it's this dreadful, unspeakable feeling that i'm leaving behind so many things. so many people, so many experiences.

and honestly, i've never been the type of girl who turns down adventure--

"let's hike all the way to the top! our parents won't care."

-me at age 8, midway to the summit of lenox mountain with elyse and conor, also aged 8, sans supervision

--and i know for a fact that this adventure, or whatever it will become, will be incredible. indescribable, if i may be so dramatic. in fact--

"you are being stupid if you worry about all the things you're missing."

-my inner conscience

--so i know that upon arrival, i'll cut the lashes, breathe in everything, feel the cobblestones (cobblestones? black sand? whatever...) beneath my heavy feet, in the sea air, you know, all that stuff that comes with being somewhere new and beautiful and life-changing.

but for now i can only wait, anxiously, for whatever will happen to happen.

Friday, January 8, 2010

It's Fine 09

Inspired by my friend Erin's wicked cool blog, I thought I should do a 2009 Year in Review. It doesn't have much to do with Sicily, but...das fine. So...

JAN

-Rang in the new year at my friend Sandy's house. Attempted to eat 12 grapes in 12 seconds as per Spanish tradition. Unsuccessful.