Mia Famiglia

This is for you guys!!! Tomorrow I leave for Florence.. Bright and Early!! I have chosen not to bring my laptop with me. Lugging in on a train and to a hotel just doesnt seem wise. Plus I feel these 5 days away from the internet will be good for my cultural experience :) hehe. Of course this means I will have no way to contact you.. sad. But dont worry I am sure we will all survive. Also... If you would like any leather goods, olive oil, or balsamic vinegar from Florence or have any requests let me know by 7 am MY time tomorrow. Get on it people. But I will MISS YOU!! Love all of you!! Ciao! (see Im so good at Italian)

The Market Place

I can feel the eyes of the people on the street burning through me. What is it about us that gives us away? The blond hair? Ponytails? White sneakers? There is nothing we can do... We seem to move at a difference pace. Fourteen of us stampeding through their streets. We were lost.. they could tell.. wandering, pretending to blend in, to know our way. Walking fast, talking loud, we are the interrupters. Barging into the market on a mission. We will experience this"Go" "Observe" We split into groups searching. Immediately we are treated like outsiders. "Hello, New York?" they shout as us when we pass. Is it kind of them to greet us in our language. Or should I be offended we stick out like a sore thumb. Derek wants a jacket. 60 euro the man says. Derek will pay 30. The man is not willing to barter with us. People all around are getting lower prices. His things have no price tags. Why? To rip off the obnoxious tourists? The man ends up bringing the price down. 55 euro. Where are the savings? We have already spent so much time at the stall we have probably earned the 5 euro ourselves. Derek feels triumphant. 5 euro. But is it a win? No, he was still taken advantage of. Another boy bought a jacket last week, from a real shop for 30 euro. But a man with a stand at a Market can charge 55? Thats not right. I feel offended. We always worry about treating these people different. The immigrants, the outsiders. But here they take advantage of us. Because we are the immigrants and the outsiders. Is it fair for them to treat us differently when we are here to learn and grow to be more accepting. No we are all hypocrites.

Writing Assignment #3

Sometimes I feel so closed minded, so ignorant of the world around me. Since being in Rome I realize how much I have left to learn. Sure I can spit out some random facts every once and a while. Facts that I picked up watching the history channel for a whole summer. Others are often impressed by my useless knowledge, but really... it has no real significance. Being here learning about the past and the present has been eye opening. I could have never imagined the things that happened on these cobblestone roads centuries ago. There was no way of me knowing that somewhere out side my "perfect world" my family has created for me, people were suffering. Borders didn't exist not in my world. My issues were what cliques there were in high school.. some borders. Going to the Jewish Ghetto on Tuesday taught me so much. While our tour guide spoke I realized how little I knew about the culture. I was almost ashamed. Sinking to the back of the group to listen so no one could watch my shame. How did I not know these things? I couldn't tell you anything about the Jewish peoples beliefs. This made me feel ignorant. During the tour I learned so much, it helped me to expand my own horizons. While we were in the museum is when it really hit me hard. Looking in the last room at all of the receipts from the Blackmailing of the gold, or the concentration camp garb, it jerked at my insides. Piles and piles of receipts, I can almost feel the people rush to find any and all gold in their homes. The feeling of being betrayed, thinking I was safe one moment, and being pulled out of bed the next. The outfit they were forced to wear, in the freezing cold winters. I could feel the draft of the wind, and the itch of the fabric on my skin. It was unpleasant and my body shook with the thoughts of the terrible things they were faced with. But what can I do? There is no way for me to go back and change the past. I can make sure that these peoples suffering doesn't go unnoticed. That I can make a difference. I can prevent these things from ever happening again. The more I can learn about the past, the better I can make the future. This is what I will strive for, I want to make a difference

Independent Research Project

Sijia, Conner, and I will be focusing on religious festivals and processions that go on in the Eternal city. We will each choose one procession and one festival to be focusing our personal research on.

We spent some time online trying to find a specific festivals. It was really challenging to find one that takes place while we are here. This is a really important aspect because then we could see and feel the emotions and the experience. Last time we had check ins Julie showed us this book that we could get that tells all of the goings ons on the week. We will use this tool and hopefully Lisa and Julie can help us get steered in the right direction.

Here are few possible festivals/processions that we have found, one already has happened the others we will just miss one is on April 2nd.

The Pope leads a torchlit "Way of the Cross" procession to the Colosseum on Good Friday.

Capodanno Festival: This festival technically only lasts one day although in combination with New Years Day it constitutes two days. This festival occurs on December 31st annually and involves fireworks and concerts in the public squares of Rome to see in the New Year. The religious highlight of New Years Day involves a procession which takes place in the catacombs.

On one of the longest days of the year, in the golden twilight so characteristic of Rome, thousands gathered along the crest of the Esquiline Hill to participate in the 740th celebration of Corpus Christi. Carrying on a tradition he began many years ago as archbishop of Krakow, Pope John Paul II accompanied the Blessed Sacrament in an hour-long procession along the Via Merulana from the basilica of St. John Lateran, to that of St. Mary Major.

Writing Assignment #2

I will have to be honest; at first I was not too pleased about this assignment. There was a certain part of me that was angry. How can I be asked to go out and talk to people who don’t speak my language to speak to me about their country’s immigration problems? If I were an Italian and some young American dared come try and speak to me, in THEIR language about immigrants I would tell them “GO BACK TO AMERICA!” I stewed about this for a few days, just being upset. There was no way it was possible for me to do this. One night I couldn’t take it any more. I was laying in my room with my roommate Natalia stressing out about this.

“Carisa” she said, “You need to stop being ridiculous, just get over it and do it. It’s not that difficult and people have actually been pretty nice about it, the only trouble is finding someone that can understand you.”

Natalia had already been on a roll with her blog, I feel like she asked every person that passed us on the street. How did she do it? I didn’t understand how she could have the courage to speak to these people. I was still battling this barrier with the Italian language. This border is so hard for me to get past, everyday wishing that I could just understand the simplest things.

It took me a few more days to get this through my head. I needed to push my self, to do this even though I might feel uncomfortable. With out struggle there is no success, I told myself over and over. So for sometime I was searching for the right person. I didn’t know who the right person was, I sort of figured when I saw them I would know. After class I stayed in the Campo, wandering. Every person wasn’t right. They seem like they wouldn’t speak English, they look scary, they are too tall, and they walk to fast. They were all excuses. Even though I had made up my mind I would do this, I was still afraid. Why? A few moments ago sitting in Italian listening to Fede talk about different ways to say doctor in Italian, I was confident. Yet another thing was standing in my way. I went to go sit inside the doors of the Rome center to think (there was no way I was going to walk up all those stairs to my apartment just to walk back down).

It took me awhile but suddenly the panic hit me. What was I going to say? What would be appropriate? Ciao what do you think about the race riots in the South? Are You Racist? What do you think about Africans, or Gypsies, or Americans? What was acceptable? This is what I needed to find out. My family always seemed to tell me “be careful what you say, you never know how people will respond.” Thanks mom and dad, tell me what not to do but not how to get around it. One time when I was about 8 one of my moms friends from work came over for dinner. I specifically remember asking her why she didn’t eat rice all the time like Mulan because she was Asian. Needless to say that didn’t go over to well so I had my first talk about race and offending people. No one ever really tells you how to handle these things, I wonder why? I feel like there should be a book written about what’s socially acceptable.

While my inter monologue was running frantically I heard a “Ciao” come from behind me. Caught a bit off guard, I whipped my head around forgetting to return the greeting. There stood a tall, thin man smoking a cigarette and smiling at me. Roberto the doorman, at that moment I felt more relaxed. “Buona Sera Roberto” I said smiling, he had just saved me from the complete madness of my thoughts. He smiled again and started to head back to his booth where he likes to paint really colorful patterns. All of the sudden I knew. “Roberto, parle inglese?” I said using my brand new skills from Italian class. “Yes” was all he said.

“Do you mind if I ask you some questions? It’s an assignment for class. Don’t worry it wont be to hard.” As soon as I finished talking I realized I was going too fast. So I tried to slow down a bit, “Just a question for school.”

“Yes,” he said again smiling because now we were both on the same page. I knew Roberto was on good terms with the University and I say hi to him every day, so I felt a bit more comfortable asking him this touchy question.

“What do you think about the riots going on in the South?” He seemed confused at first; he didn’t understand the word riot. I needed to try something else, should I say immigrant? Race? This was so difficult! “The fights going on in the south with the immigrants?” That is what finally worked, after a few combinations of simple words this was finally the one I got a response from. I think Roberto forgot for a minute I didn’t speak Italian. He went off on a rant waving his cigarette around, laughing and smiling. I got the feeling he was happy I cared about his opinion, but got a little bit too excited and starting speaking Italian. This is great! I thought he must have a lot to say. Eventually Roberto and I created our own language, Engtalian. Which was our own mix of English and Italian, along with some pretty serious hand gestures.
“When people come to my house, they shouldn’t get things for less than me. People should not take justice into their own hands. Italians for immigrants.” He said in Engtalian. By house I think he meant home, as in Italy as his home. Roberto began to understand that I was now having issues understanding. Taking a long inhale of his cigarette I could see that he was trying to think of a better way to explain.

“When I go to the Market, in the campo. I buy oranges for 2.50 euro for a kilogram. But when the immigrants who (gesture of picking oranges) the oranges want some they pay .25 cents for the same. This is not good.” I understood where Roberto was coming from. Most of them were living here illegally he said previously, and it wasn’t right that they would get such large discounts on things. He seemed to really like his orange story; through out the conversation he told it to me three times. Once in pretty good English, another time in Engtalian, and a final time in Italian. This was a bit odd he would say it in Italian last… because clearly based on the rest of our talk I didn’t know very good Italian. But I could understand the basics. The words oranges- arance, immigrants, kilogram, the numbers, and of course the picking motion. “Si, Yes,” I said trying to let him know that I understood him.

“One side thinks they are good and right. But that doesn’t mean they can take the justice in to their own hands,” he said. “ I am on no side, I think no one is the right one. It is wrong what people are doing to them, but that doesn’t mean they should do things back.”

“That’s a good point, I think you are right,” I told him trying to do so as easy as possible. He was really helpful so far with the language barrier issue. Roberto was understanding about it and made sure to go slow for me. I asked him a few more questions, but really the same ideas kept coming up. Although we both were willing to try and converse it was really difficult. There were only so many things we could say to each other. The conversation ended quickly after this point. Roberto had nothing more to say that I could understand, and I couldn’t ask him anything else. “Grazie Roberto” I said smiling, extremely grateful he was willing to speak to me.

“Prego” he said back, “Buona Notte.”

I feel amazing that I completed this. Even though I didn’t talk so some stranger on the street. It was still a step for me. I feel like now it will be easier for me to speak to others. I know there will be some common ground. With Roberto most of the time it was hand movements, or words that had something to do with food. But I made this assignment much more difficult for my self then it should have been. Walking up the six flights of steps, where I knew my magical bed and my intensive itunes library was waiting for me, I felt confident. Yes, it was because I had finished the hardest part of my homework, but there was more to it. Small accomplishments like this help me to grow as a person. The thought of breaking down the border of language, what I think almost everyone would agree is the biggest struggle, was almost exhilarating. On the inside I was celebrating. I wanted to jump up and down (and if I wasn’t exhausted I probably would have).

Colosseum and The Roman Forum

Here are a plethora of photographs for you guys. It was rainy all day which was sad. But there was something eerie about standing in the Colosseum with the dark weather. Also included is a lovely picture of me and my fantabulous professor. Oh and thats Natalia my roommate with the sweet blue umbrella.

Borders in a Borderless World

“If we really want to know what borders mean to people, then we need to listen to their personal and group narratives. Bringing theses case study narratives together at an aggregate level should help us understand the notions of ‘difference’ and ‘other’ in the real daily lives of people, rather than as abstract sociological constructs.”

This quote is important to the entire article. It helps us understand how the study of borders has progressed. At first being something so physical and now is so physiological in many ways. I chose this because I thought it fit the theme of our class perfectly. It is one thing to talk about borders and study facts. But to actually be able to speak to people and read actual accounts of people makes things much more real. Even reading the Salvation story opened my eyes to things that I didn’t even think about. Its much more effective to actually feel these peoples pain. Rather than just look at statistics.

Writing Assignment #1

In my opinion the most impressive qualities of the human race is our ability to communicate. We all under appreciate how important it is to be able to convey our wants and needs to others. There are over 6500 languages spoken today and to think that we can easily communicate with most of these is incredible.

Since being in Rome communication has become a more prominent focus in my daily life. Having to ask directions, order, or just talk is developing into a whole ordeal. Whipping out my handy Italian phrase book every second to do things as simple as asking for a bill. This is the biggest struggle and border that I have faced here.

Seconds after stepping off the plane I already had to face my first challenge. There were signs everywhere. Still a bit groggy from my attempted napping on the plane, I stumbled off with my passport in hand waiting to escape the madness of the crowd. But I was lost. There I stood on the platform… there were two trains. Which one was the one for me? Frantically trying to read all of the signs and flipping through the pages of my Italian phrase book. I turned to ask others on the platform for some guidance. First I asked an old couple. They looked at me almost awestruck that I was speaking to them, then rolled their eyes and jumped on a train. So I turned to a group of people, trying to use a bit more Italian now. “Mi scusi, dov’e borse?” It was almost embarrassing to use my jumbled up words. The group stared at me for a brief second, and then continued their own conversation.

Alright I needed to do this on my own, I would take the next train. While is pulled into the terminal I grabbed my luggage and prepped my self to fight the mad rush of people trying to get on to the train. There was no going back now, the train was moving and I was on it. People were everywhere. We were all mashed together along with tons of rolly suitcases. As we pulled into the next terminal I closed my eyes and wished really hard I had gotten on the right train. The boy next to me seemed to notice my small panic attack. “Don’t worry this takes us to baggage claim,” he said seeming to notice my distress. He was an exchange student from Illinois studying in Turkey for the rest of the semester. We stuck together through customs then we split for baggage claim since I was meeting someone for a ride. Thank god for Americans and their politeness. I never would have thought that it was possible for people to be ruder than Americans. But somehow the Italians have managed.

Through out the week I have only continued to experience the boarder that is setting me apart from everyone. The inability to communicate and speak to people is really starting to get to me. I hope that between Italian class and my own ambition to learn more this border will start to come down. But all I have is time; because I know that it wont happen right away.

Capitoline Hill

Today for Art History Class we visited the Capitoline Hill. We learned about the myths of the founding of Rome. Then we went into the Capitoline Museums. It was a really great day! I came home and I feel exhausted!! I was high on art and had a major crash!!! But it was AMAZING! Are you guys ready for a million pictures?? I know I havent been writing as much.. but I know all you do it look at my pictures :) and I will tell you all about them when I come home, so dont worry. Anyways here are some pictures of the Capitoline!

Crepes!

GROUP DINNER IN GIRLS KITCHEN!! CREPES!!!

Jewish Ghetto

For class we went to the Jewish ghetto to study boarders within Rome. It was pretty interesting. Its only a few blocks but you can tell it is rich with culture.