Il Mio Diario di Viaggio

the belated final entry

noreply@blogger.com (Aleesa) — Sat, 18 Jun 2011 02:22:00 +0000

Going through some old boxes at my parents' house, I found a cross-stitch project I started when I was 16. It was almost completely finished...except for one corner.

I tend to do that with things: work like mad until almost the end, then for some reason lose interest and never quite finish. I'm sure there's an interesting psychological reason.

But I'm determined to finish this blog, even if it is overdue. Two things: one, I know I promised to tell you about Rome. But I've decided to save my tale of adventures in the eternal city (including gelato, a strange Iranian, creepy hostels and a secret bakery) for when you and I next meet in person. I want to leave something for face-to-face conversation, because that is always preferable to online interaction. Now that I'm back it is much more possible.

Second thing: this is not the end of my writing. I am working on a project which I can't say too much about yet (although a few of you know). This is another I will see through to the end! It's something I hope to have published by the end of the year. I will keep you posted!

Thanks for all your support and enthusiasm and wonder. Spending almost a year in Europe was an incredible experience. Living now in Vancouver will be too, I think!

Kibbeling in Vlissingen

noreply@blogger.com (Aleesa) — Tue, 29 Mar 2011 18:41:00 +0000

Take a good, close look at this menu. I recognize only three words. I like eating in places like this!

This restaurant on the tip of Holland’s south coast, in the little town of Vlissingen, is where my other very good Dutch friend, Jikke, took me. (I ate kibbeling, which was white fish, battered and deep-fried.)

wonderful Jikke

no Dutch photo album is complete without one of these

lovely old church courtyard

a little odd, this

houseboat

town hall

We spent an afternoon exploring these little towns in the south.

The next morning we hung out in Rotterdam, where Jikke lives. I begged her to go to a real, live Dutch waffle stand, and we did – the only one in the city.

WHY can't we buy waffles on the street in Canada??

We also toured the city on foot and found some interesting sculptures. (As all good Netherlands residents do, we biked everywhere.)

Rotterdam's Erasmus Bridge in the background

On my last night in the Netherlands, one of Jikke’s good friends invited us and another friend for dinner at his place.

What a feast -- and what an experience in hospitality! Jelle prepared what seemed like a never-ending parade of dishes. And he served each course as attentively as a waiter at the Ritz, minus the attitude. Not to mention I felt like a celebrity, being Canadian and all. The others wanted to know everything.

This combined with some fantastic breakfasts Jikke had warm and waiting in the morning, a heated bag to warm up my bed at night, and a litany of other little, thoughtful gestures, made me maybe the best-hosted guest ever to visit Holland.

For fond memories, especially some fantastic conversations, this country is at the top of my list. I couldn’t have asked for a better experience. If only my souvenirs could have been my two wonderful friends Anne and Jikke.

Going Dutch

noreply@blogger.com (Aleesa) — Wed, 23 Mar 2011 21:52:00 +0000

After I finished working at the end of February, I spent a week in The Netherlands and another in Rome. Had to add a couple more magnets to the collection before leaving Europe!

In fact, the day after my last day of work found me on a plane from Milan to Amsterdam. I had met some wonderful Dutch people at Italian-language school in Genova, later found a cheap flight, and knew I couldn't pass up an opportunity to visit them at their homes.

Anne (pronounced An-neh) was an exceptionally lively man of 80. If you don't believe me, how many men of that age do you know that go and study a language in another country?

(This also goes to show that when it comes to making friends, age is nothing but a number! And that we all need a grandpa, now and then.)

It's true what they say: northern Europe really is a world apart from the south.

I had a fantastic time in the Netherlands. The weather was beautiful, Amsterdam’s canals and well-maintained canal houses shone, Anne and I discovered wonderful restaurants (a very cute Italian trattoria, a sumptuous Indonesian place, a French bistro). “What did we do,” he frequently asked, “to deserve this?”

One day he took me on a detour through a grand park he used to cycle through every day to work. “It made me really happy,” he said, “to think that at the end of the day I would be able to bike home through this.” Old thatched-roof houses, forests of green trees, almost-hidden lakes... “It was a FEAST!”

Maybe his most special memory was of this spot.

"In 1945 I was 8 years old, standing on this corner, when I saw the first Canadian soldiers coming down that street. That's when I knew the war was really over."

"So, everything's on me today," he continued. "I want to give a little back to the country that did so much for me."

* * *

We did a lot of great things together. He taught me a lot about the history of the international institutions of Den Haag [The Hague], his home city. (For example, did you know that the Peace Palace, which houses the International Court of Justice and the Permanent Court of Arbitration among others, was built with money donated by Andrew Carnegie? Who said “It’s a shame to die rich”?)

We went to a fascinating exhibition on Alexander the Great at the Hermitage in Amsterdam. (Because the Russian collection is so huge and can’t possibly all be displayed, parts of it travel to other Hermitage museums around the world.) Random tidbit: did you know that the word ‘barbarian’ used to be much less pejorative? It comes from the Greek for ‘he who doesn’t speak Greek’.

tried kroketten at the museum cafe (breaded sticks filled with potato and minced meat)

And of course we visited the Rijksmuseum. What a place for a Rembrandt-lover!

the entrance to the Rijksmuseum

Obviously a whole salon is reserved for maybe Rembrandt’s most famous, and definitely biggest work, the Night Watch. Up close it was possible to see not only the brushstrokes but also, in some places, remnants of the slashes made by a psychologically-disturbed man with a bread knife in the 70s. !

Anne also took me to Ons' Lieve Heer op Solder, “Our Lord in the Attic”, a 17^th-century Catholic church built in the – well, guess – of a wealthy merchant’s home, back in the days when it was against the law to practice Catholicism.

"open" restoration (meaning the museum is still open during work)

of course I'm going to take a picture of the organ

We went to another famous Dutch house, that of Anne Frank. It was a memorable experience to walk through the upper rooms where she and her family had once hidden from the Nazis for two years, before they were betrayed. The rooms were empty; yet full of ghosts.

Also sad was an unplanned walk through a section of the red-light district. Women, wearing practically nothing, posed or beckoned or pranced inside small, glassed-in cubicles. The feminine half of the human race has been fighting against objectification for how many centuries - ?? – and these ones depend on it to make a living.

(As for the famous Amsterdam pot...yeah, I did see or smell it a lot. In certain neighbourhoods. Still uninformed as to its quality, however.)

* * *

Other highlights:

- strolling through the stylish and serene streets of Den Haag

- feeling the sun and wind at the beach on the north coast

- having hot chocolate on Anne’s sailboat

But the best experience was on Thursday afternoon after lunch. We left the restaurant and headed along the street to a nondescript building. Anne quickly bought tickets to what looked like a small gallery and, holding his finger to his lips, hurried me through the hall. We came to a rounded staircase and ascended.....to arrive back at the Dutch coast!

That’s what it felt like, anyway. It was a panorama: a huge cylindrical painting of the 19^th-century coast near Den Haag. It was if we were on the highest hill on the beach. We could look out in every direction, over “real” sand dunes, and listen to the screeches of seagulls, the lapping waves and distant conversation.

How could you not enjoy your time with someone who shows you things like that?

Thank you, Anne, for showing me how to live a life more filled with curiousity, beauty and gratitude.

“When I’m in America,” he said, “and my children say ‘bless you’ after I sneeze...I say: ‘I already am! Eighty years old! Like this! Hey!”

The end is near

noreply@blogger.com (Aleesa) — Wed, 23 Mar 2011 21:41:00 +0000

Well, my friends, the time has come. My work visa has expired and I need to keep on moving.

My next destination was not originally in the plans. I had thought I might travel and work in Europe for years, flitting from country to country like a hummingbird.

But I realized that, at my advanced age (ha ha), that's not really what I want. Instead, I have discovered that I want to settle myself down in one place, where I feel like I belong, with friends and even family nearby. I have explored, I have examined, I have interacted. And now, some roots: that's what I want.

So that means that my next journey is a one-way trip home.

Vancouver, BC, here I come!

a Nice weekend

noreply@blogger.com (Aleesa) — Sun, 13 Mar 2011 19:45:00 +0000

Since this famous city on the French Riviera is only three hours by train from Genova, obviously I was going to visit.

Also because I just can't get enough of the coast.

Also because I discovered that Nice is home to a (small) art gallery of the works of Marc Chagall! This time in France I didn't get it wrong.

grounds of the gallery

I got to see two -- two! -- of his stained-glass windows:

as well as his Biblical Message series, which was an unexpectedly wonderful spiritual experience.

Chagall also created some fantastic mosaics in and around Nice:

Other discoveries: the very great church of Jeanne d'Arc:

more gorgeous French balconies (oh French balconies how I love you);

and this unmissable patisserie.

Plus I happened to be there at the right time of year for a Carnaval parade!

This was the Saturday afternoon Bataille de Fleurs (Flower Battle). (Unfortunately there was no actual fighting; it was just a misleading title.)

Someday I would like to come back here.

the most beautiful train station in Italy

noreply@blogger.com (Aleesa) — Sun, 13 Mar 2011 18:57:00 +0000

Nervi: a tiny, upscale coastal town (think Yorkville on the sea) just a twenty-minute train ride south of Genova.

Hard to improve on this.

Cinque Terre

noreply@blogger.com (Aleesa) — Thu, 03 Mar 2011 20:59:00 +0000

The group of five tiny villages along the rocky northwest coast of Italy is probably one of the most popular natural destinations in the country.

I spent a fall Saturday there with three friends: Erin, a fellow Canadian I met in Denmark; her brother Carl; and Prasanna, a new friend from Genova.

We started at the southern end with the so-called Via dell'Amore (don't think I need to translate that).

This isn't a great shot but I wanted to remember the absolutely terrible music this accordionist was playing. Think of the sappiest, corniest tune you know, THEN add cheesy synth-strings, plus an echoing tunnel, and you'll have some idea.

This, however, did not deter some happy couples...

I guess people are supposed to kiss here -

- then "seal your eternal love" with a padlock.

Or not.

The little villages were incredible.

Hiking in the hills above gave us a good view.

Pizza for lunch (after we'd hiked in the wrong direction, got trapped in the rain in a tiny bar, and caught a little mountain bus to the next village!).

Vernazza.

underneath those houses is the sea!

my neighbourhood

noreply@blogger.com (Aleesa) — Tue, 01 Mar 2011 11:12:00 +0000

Directions to my apartment:

1. Start above the train station, overlooking the port.

2. This marks the spot where you start heading uphill.

"little puppy, I miss you"

3. Keep going up once you hit this little street. Best to leave the Hummer somewhere else.

the cul-de-sac of five saints!

4. You'll see this view to the left:

5. Keep heading up the street and round the corner...

"Baby when I'm with you I'm in paradise"

6. Pull out the keys...

7. Climb to the top floor of the pale yellow building behind the red one...

8. ...and you'll be rewarded with this view!

9. And if you're really lucky, both Eva and I will be at home!

Milano

noreply@blogger.com (Aleesa) — Wed, 23 Feb 2011 20:56:00 +0000

Italy's fashion and design capital is only an hour and a half northeast of Genova.

And they do amazing things with marzipan there. (You could eat this but why?)

Also here: one of the most famous opera houses in the world.

La Scala (apparently the inside is much more impressive)

across from the theatre

Second-top tourist attraction: this bull, set in the pavement in one of Milan's oldest shopping galleries. Rub your heel in its you-know-what for luck!

Top tourist attraction (for good reason): the roof of the Duomo, Milan's largest church.

And of course:

Portofino for a day

noreply@blogger.com (Aleesa) — Wed, 23 Feb 2011 20:34:00 +0000

Back in the summer, took a day trip with friends and fellow students to Portofino, the famous, tiny, very posh Italian resort town. First we took the train from Genova to Santa Margareta (an hour and a bit):

Then we treated ourselves to an extremely delicious breakfast:

"brioche": gelato inside a croissant. Oh baby.

Then we took the boat:

Jikke (Netherlands), Cristina (Germany), Katerina (Russia) and me

And this is Portofino.

can't explain the pink bears

sailboats on the Mediterranean

We didn't do any shopping or dine in any exorbitantly-priced restaurants or even spot any celebrities. But it was a beautiful day!

Hiking the Diamond (Fort)

noreply@blogger.com (Aleesa) — Sun, 20 Feb 2011 18:46:00 +0000

On the way up:

you can see how far apart some of the houses are

Andrea, who if you can't tell is inspiringly boisterous

the city, far, far below

Genova in pictures

noreply@blogger.com (Aleesa) — Sun, 20 Feb 2011 18:39:00 +0000

outside a delicatessen

"closed in the afternoon"

"eggs, cheese, wine, drinks"

the church with the best bell tower in town

you'll find icons like this on almost every building

some in better shape than others

one of the best bakeries in town

another storied bakery

entrance to one of the many lifts that takes you up into the hills above the city

there's a long underground walkway

awesome 19th-century castle the local globetrotter built

scooter parking on a light day

love the colours of the houses in all the cities along the Mediterranean coast

Piazza di Ferrari, the main square

Back to "reality", Italian-style

noreply@blogger.com (Aleesa) — Sat, 19 Feb 2011 18:18:00 +0000

The behaviour of the Italian prime minister, Silvio Berlusconi, is once again international news (although he is on the front pages of the Italian papers almost every day). It's not for telling fellow Italians "don't pay your taxes" as he did in a recent interview abroad. It's not for conflict-of-interest charges because he owns several private media stations and also has control over many state ones. It's not for countless corruption, fraud or embezzlement scandals. It's not even for passing a law guaranteeing immunity from prosecution for a prime minister in office. It's something else. For those who don't know, B. has been ordered to stand trial on charges of paying for sex with an underage prostitute. (Prostitution isn't illegal in Italy but sex with a minor is.) There are also disgusting stories of wild parties at his villa with various Italian politicians, as well as international figures, where apparently young women were paraded before the groups of aging men, who were told to "pick one for the night."

Last Sunday, millions of people, but above all women, demonstrated against this excuse for a man and his treatment of women. There were gatherings in over 230 Italian cities as well as others around the world, including Paris and Tokyo. Here are some photos I took at the march in Genova (where approximately 40,000 people showed up).

"in defense of women, let's come out of silence"

just a small representation of the crowd

"Berlusconi, a total mess, goes to whores and is taking the country there too"

interesting juxtaposition, I thought, this very powerful female figure dominating the fresco behind, and modern women demanding rights

"Berlusconi is the man turning Italy into a brothel [complete mess]"

I realized that marches are much more powerful with drums

"if this is a man..."

there are many that say there is something psychologically wrong with him


"there's more than what you see here"; the sign behind reads: they deposed Ben Ali and Mubarak and there's never 2 without 3


what summed up the whole movement for me: this elderly woman joining the march with a homemade styrofoam sign saying "ENOUGH"

It's hard to describe the mood in the air that day. As I left my apartment and joined my friend Daniela, we were joined by two more people, then there were more people behind us, and more in front, and then there were more streaming from every direction down the streets toward the main piazza.

It's not often that I feel the kind of solidarity I felt there, as we swelled in numbers and waited for the march to begin. This unity of purpose within huge groups of people has always been inspiring to me...and yet it took the actions of a truly reprehensible man and his cronies to rouse us from our normal individual Sunday afternoon activities and gather together.

Later, the rain started, but we didn't stop marching. Some even began chanting "Piove, governo ladro!" -- It's raining, you thief of a government!

These ads have recently gone up all over Italy. The gist is, Berlusconi, get lost. You've dishonoured Italy, you don't have credibility, and you've stopped governing. Italy needs to look beyond to grow and have a healthy democracy (I accidentally wrote "democrazy", which perhaps is better). The last part invites everyone who agrees to go online and sign the petition against B. The organizers are shooting for 10 MILLION signatures (one sixth of the population of Italy).

National strike of workers and students for protecting workers' rights, including the right to strike.

This strike is not to be confused with the bus strikes which happen every couple of weeks, which are against -- well, it's hard to get a straight story. Talk to some and they'll say it's because the employees have been without a contract for months. Talk to others and they'll say it's because the employees don't feel like working.

And why should they, if their elected leader does anything but?

Turkey!

noreply@blogger.com (Aleesa) — Fri, 18 Feb 2011 20:15:00 +0000

After our adventures in Egypt we got back on board and sailed a day and a half to Kuşadası, a small, picturesque but cruise-ship-tourist town on Turkey's southwest coast.

Our guide was a tall, salt-and-pepper-haired Turkish gentleman who was exceptionally courteous. His pet phrase was “ladies and gentleman” and he sprinkled his patter with it liberally. “And now on your right, ladies and gentlemen, you’ll see an excellent shopping area, while on your left behind that Burger King, ladies and gentlemen, is the jewellery street, so as you can see, this is a very good place to spend the afternoon, ladies and gentlemen.”

But his most interesting words were these two: camel + wrestling. Apparently this is a popular spectacle in some parts of Turkey!

(Here are other interesting camel facts. During mating season, male camels seduce potential mates by inflating special sacs inside their mouths and waving them around; and by producing as much foamy, frothy saliva as possible. If you don't believe me, watch this three-minute BBC Wildlife video. It's so disgusting you can't take your eyes off it.)

Our first stop in Kuşadası was the ruins of Ephesus. Actually, it was the tourist market just outside the ruins of Ephesus; my fellow travellers, in full-blown shopping withdrawal (after the disappointment in Egypt - see previous post), swarmed the stalls like a SWAT team on a Mafia hideout.

Once the thirst had been temporarily sated, we set off to explore what was left 2,000 years after the heyday of this once-magnificent city. These ruins were very, very cool.

a pipe

the goddess Nike and my grandma

apparently the public toilets were THE place to socialize and conduct business...

the library

Afterwards I indulged in a little shopping of my own, unable to resist the incredible hand-painted bowls.

I’d always thought that haggling with street market vendors would be difficult and tedious. Turns out it’s fun! Our guide taught us the secret bargaining phrase: "What’s your best price?" He said all we had to do was keep repeating this phrase and the price would magically descend. (As there are practically as many tourists as inhabitants in Kusadasi, everyone speaks English well.)

Well, I was keen to try this out. Who wants to pay a pre-determined price?

However, I don’t think I started well.

At the first store I spoke the special words, and the price did, amazingly, drop bit by bit. I kept repeating the phrase; “the vendor will grimace and groan as if he’s about to lose his shop, his livelihood and his family,” our guide informed us, “but he’ll never give you a price below profit.” This is exactly what happened and so I kept repeating the incantation...

Well, I guess at some point you should stop and accept what’s offered. Eventually he glared at me like he was truly insulted, turned on his heel and stalked off.

Practically all the products were the same at the store beside his, so it was hardly a letdown. At this place the guy was a little younger and a little friendlier...and I did indeed get my bowls at an excellent price.

With this success I was empowered and I started bargaining everywhere! The price can be practically whatever you want it to be – what a heady concept! Imagine if this system existed in our malls.

We also made a stop here.

We thought it would be pretty boring, but they surprised us, those Turks.

Extracting silk thread from silkworms

still using a manually-operated treadle!

I now know, without question, that I NEVER want to be a carpet-weaver!

Roll, roll, roll and FLAP! Dozens upon dozens of carpets unfurled like flags before us, thanks to the hard-working young sales assistants.

surprisingly beautiful grounds for a carpet school!

a lookout point we hit afterward

The other exciting event of the afternoon was that my entire group – that’s my grandma, Lethbridge-dwelling aunt, my dad, his best friend, his best friend’s mom, and my grandma’s sister’s husband’s brother – agreed to try out a completely foreign Turkish restaurant! (Guess the adventurous streak runs in the family.)

The waiters, all brothers or uncles or cousins, were very friendly and explained to our eager ears what Turkish culinary delights we could experience there.

Then we dined on fresh, hot bread and a variety of delicious dips and things.

Just as we’d leaned back in our chairs, patting our stomachs happily, two heaping plates of meat arrived. Telling each other we were “pretty full”, we still managed to make good work of the spicy and delicious kebabs, ribs etc. before us. I have to admit, at that moment being carnivorous felt pretty good.

As our ship was to depart that evening, most of the group decided to head back after the late lunch. But my fellow adventure-seeker Glen and I decided to squeeze every last drop out of our time in Turkey and stayed behind. We browsed pashmina shops, did a little shoe-shopping, skipped the same tacky knickknack shops that exist almost everywhere...and just enjoyed the atmosphere.

As the time to departure began ticking down, the previously-friendly sellers became positively effusive in their last-ditch efforts to make money for the day. Glen and I had picked up our pace, keeping a close eye on the time, and everywhere we went men called to us. Everything half price! Best souvenirs here! Don’t forget something for your neighbours! And my favourite: Your coat’s just arrived, come try it on!

Hurrying through the streets with everyone’s voices on our heels, heading toward the big boat that would take us away forever, made me feel like we were in the last scenes of The Truman Show, where all the characters know Jim Carrey’s name and are desperately trying to keep him from discovering the truth about who he is. (In this case our supporting actors just wanted to lighten our wallets.)

We did make it back to the boat in time (which was a bit anti-climactic). We joined the others on the top deck and watched the very last stragglers saunter back to the ship. Daylight gradually faded. A soul group started jamming on the pool deck below and the lights of the city began twinkling. The ship slowly sailed out of the port, each of us lost in our thoughts as we began the journey home.

Egypt round two

noreply@blogger.com (Aleesa) — Tue, 15 Feb 2011 17:33:00 +0000

Any normal Saturday in November, I’d sleep in, eventually drag myself into the snow and cold and do boring things like grocery shop before returning home shivering to have a hot bath and warm up. But this particular Saturday I woke up at the crack of dawn to make the three-hour bus ride from the port to the pyramids of Giza!


And then Moses sold me a ride on one of his camels!

This camel ride (a steal at 10 US dollars for twenty minutes), was definitely the highlight of the trip! And if you can believe it, my 90-year-old grandma braved a ride on a beast too!

My escort – a tough kid who demanded double the recommended tip and wouldn’t take no for an answer: “That’s just for my camel. You need to tip me, too!”

And now: Camel, Unplugged. In all its farting, heavy breathing glory.

And there's the Sphinx. And some guys digging for something in front of it.

I love tourists. Especially when they're family.

Those camels would never win a beauty contest but their stench is second to none. Therefore a post-desert stop at a perfumery called the Golden Eagle (another government shop) was welcome.

There were rows upon rows of beautiful crystal bottles of every colour. And we learned interesting facts like: most of the world’s perfume come from essences created in Egypt, which are then shipped to France, where the big perfume-makers mix them with alcohol so they’ll evaporate faster and you’ll have to buy perfume more often. True story.

Right from the source we could buy the essential oils, minus the alcohol, of such fragrances as cK One (essence of “Tut ankh amoun”) or the legendary Chanel No 5 (“Five Secrets”). For the more amorous some so-called “dangerous” scents were available.......“Arabian Night”, which we were told was good for honeymoons; or “Secret of the Desert”, to be used only after midnight – “but be careful, ladies,” warned our slick and entertaining salesman, “as just 3 drops make man like crazy horse!”

“Can you get this stuff in pails?!” someone cracked. (That person later bought a big bottle of each.)

I myself was tempted by “Harem Perfumes”...but then I thought, where would I wear it??

* * *

Lunch was a great experience at this open-air restaurant somewhere in Cairo.

American-style appetizers

Afterward we crossed the Nile to get the National Museum, with the most incredible collection of Egyptian tombs, mummies, jewellery and other artefacts that I will probably ever see in my life. The only downside was that the museum was so packed with tourists it felt like the Yonge and Bloor subway station at rush hour.

Unfortunately the masses also put an end to our plans for a visit to the open-air spice market and bazaar. A few of us were dreaming of brightly-coloured pyramids of exotic saffron, cumin, black pepper...but the Cairo traffic was so bad we hardly moved a block in an hour. I wasn’t completely bored, as the windows of the bus were apparently not tinted enough to prevent men catching glimpses of me and blowing kisses.

Our only chance for shopping turned out to be at a well-equipped rest stop/strip mall outside the city on the way back to the boat. All I wanted was a magnet, and I figured that I was used enough to Egypt by then that I could go off alone for a few minutes.

I stepped into a large convenience-type store and the two men inside were instantly all smiles. As soon as I asked whether they had any magnets, the younger one about my age, with short black hair and fairly bad teeth, somewhat furtively led me down the aisle to the right spot....

He stopped his questions only long enough for compliments. “Where are you from? -- Oh, I LOVE Canada! Your hair is beautiful! What’s your name? -- Your green eyes are incredible!!”
[They’re blue...]

He sidled closer and closer as he said all this, eventually slipping his arm around my waist before finally blurting, “Can I kiss you?!”

Before I had time to react, he’d leaned over and planted a big wet one...on my cheek.

Needless to say, I extracted myself rapidly and not-quite-ran out empty-handed!

I spent the rest of the break sticking close to the others...and thinking that Italian men have nothing on Egyptians. (Actually, for the record, I’ve never been harassed in Italy. Except for that one time on a packed Genova bus in rush hour...when the normal-looking guy next to me suddenly grinned at me weird and I looked down to see something sticking out of his pants...

YIKES!)

On Egypt

noreply@blogger.com (Aleesa) — Sat, 12 Feb 2011 21:19:00 +0000

First of all, what fantastic news of Mubarak’s resignation after 18 days of protest! Let's hope that Egypt will now be able to successfully transition to a democracy.

first stop

I couldn’t stop myself from shooting photos from the bus as we drove through the streets of Alexandria for the first time.

The streets were certainly a lot quieter than they are now, but that doesn’t mean they were quiet. Our guide told us as a result of many men drinking strong Egyptian coffee all day long, not a lot of them sleep at night and the streets are full of people until the early hours of the morning.

don't leave Egypt without it...or something

We only figured out afterward that our stop here was government-mandated (every foreign tourist group must visit one). As were the machine-gun-armed guards on all of our buses.

that's our guard...

Other stops our first day in Egypt included the Alexandrian catacombs, ancient tombs deep underground; the brand-new Biblioteca (the ancient library was one of the wonders of the world);...and dinner...here!

not really Italian...

After that most of the group retired to their rooms on board ship (seeing as how most of them were over 60 at least)...and the remaining young ones, that is five or six of us, went out to discover the real city without guards, guides, buses or any of that other nonsense.

Most fascinating: the night market!

identify the animal parts...

raw slabs of something (you can't really see the blood dripping onto the street)

how old is that scale, do you think?

pigeons, delicious pigeons!

another Egyptian delicacy

As a blonde woman my experience in the city was especially adventurous. I wouldn’t have believed it beforehand, but I was literally the centre of attention wherever I went. Men stared, grinned widely at me and struck up conversations whenever they could. I’m sure I could have had at least a dozen husbands if I’d given any of them a chance.

All the attention was unnerving at first -- never before had I ever wished for a headscarf!-- but after a while I got used to it and even started to enjoy it. It’s not every day you turn heads like a celebrity!

something else that turned heads - us foreigners', at least: preparations for the big feast of Eid, including cows being led home

most adorable little girl ever

The only regret of the night was something we didn’t do. Heading back to the ship, we were chatting enthusiastically about a wedding we’d passed at a mosque near the port. It looked like a great party: tons of people (of all ages), fireworks, dancing, singing and what looked like lots of food inside.

Someone said, “Y’know, they saw us and tried to talk to us. I think they wanted to invite us to the party!”

We all looked at each other.

I can’t explain why, but we ended up deciding not to go back.

Dumb!

Lesson learned: when in Egypt, don’t not do anything which you might regret not doing later.

Jerusalem

noreply@blogger.com (Aleesa) — Sun, 06 Feb 2011 19:23:00 +0000

first look at the storied city

one of the entrances to the city, sealed a few hundred years after Christ

the temple wall where it is said Satan tempted Christ to throw himself off


the Brigham Young University Jerusalem Centre for Near Eastern Studies

Our day in Jerusalem was a whirlwind tour of some of the top religious sites in the world: not just the city itself, but the Garden of Gethsemane, the Wailing Wall, the Upper Room (where it is said that Jesus had His last meal with His disciples) and the Garden Tomb.

We also had lunch at the "falafel nazi"'s place. "Two dollars for drink, one dollar for tip!" he yelled at each of us on our way out.

Falafel lunch here. I don't know why it's called a Chinese restaurant either!

in the Garden of Gethsemane with my dad, aunt and grandma

We spent some time here in meditation, testimony-sharing and hymn-singing. And the inevitable picture-taking. After snapping a photo of one older lady, I complimented her on how young she looked, to which she quipped, "That's because there's a 2,000-year-old tree behind me!"

separate entrances to the Western Wall Piazza

I like rule #4

young soldiers, men and women, were everywhere

the Wailing Wall is to the left

fence separating the men's side from the women's

I was surprised to feel a beautiful spirit at the Wall. I was surrounded by women of all ages and backgrounds reading scriptures, watching their children, praying, nursing babies, or sitting in respectful silence. There was a feeling of reverence, especially as many carefully walked backwards away from the Wall, never turning their backs on it.

on the way to the Upper Room

ascending the stairs to the same place

the view from the open area on top of the building that once housed the Room

As our guide walked us through the events that took place at the Upper Room, we heard the call to prayer begin sounding throughout the city. The call is not exactly an upbeat, catchy tune. We heard it from every direction. I couldn't shake the feeling that the whole city was wailing. While it is obviously an aspect of the Muslim faith, facing the Jewish experience and history, it was as if the eternal mourning of the city had temporarily risen up from the depths.

(women's prayer section)

There was actually a curtain across the middle of the tomb, dividing it in half.

my feet never made it, but I still felt pretty blessed

Israel: Capernaum and the Jordan River

noreply@blogger.com (Aleesa) — Sun, 30 Jan 2011 15:30:00 +0000

(this little town is on the north end of the Sea of Galilee)

This is where Jesus taught, among other things, the great sermon in St John 6.

More of the original city:

Another stop later in the day at the Sea of Galilee, for some wading...

And a ride on the so-called "Jesus Boat": a small ship constructed after the typical boats of Jesus' time. We sailed around the calmest lake I've ever been on and in the meantime, our young captains enthusiastically hoisted the American flag and blared the anthem at top volume. Then they did the same for us Canadians. In the middle of the lake they also roped our two boats together and taught us all how to dance the "Haveh Nagileh."

It was all a bit surreal, considering the history of the place.

And finally:

where you, too, can be baptized for only 10 euro (video is extra)

Israel

noreply@blogger.com (Aleesa) — Sun, 30 Jan 2011 15:11:00 +0000

First stop (after three days of sailing from Venice):

It was about an hour and a half drive to this spot:


the Sea of Galilee (which is actually a lake)

and

one of the traditional sites of the Mount of Beatitudes

I hadn't thought much about the "religious tourism" market, but it's alive and thriving!

blessed are those who don't...

"unkeep", awesome

a church built on the site

decipher these Beatitudes, if you can

overall, a beautiful site.

Venice: the upgrade

noreply@blogger.com (Aleesa) — Tue, 25 Jan 2011 20:46:00 +0000

I was kind of already living a dream life before the Venice rendezvous.

Then, in early October, my dad said, “Instead of just meeting me and your aunt and grandma there before we go on our cruise, why don’t you come on the cruise with us?”

A chance to spend two weeks visiting Israel, Egypt and Turkey? With a bunch of relatives (including great-aunts and uncles) who are interesting even if they’re “golden-aged”? The answer is: YES!!

everyone's as friendly as they look!

My grandma, who celebrated her 90th birthday on board. Sure hope I look that good at her age!

I’ve got to say, Venice is one of those few places that actually lives up to its hype. It’s a magical city.

More pictures here.

a winter day

noreply@blogger.com (Aleesa) — Mon, 24 Jan 2011 20:09:00 +0000

This afternoon a two-hour lesson got cancelled at the last minute. With the unexpected free time I thought, well, maybe I should go into school and get caught up on some work. Then I had a much better idea. It was a beautiful, sunny day, and I was right near the train station, so I decided to take a train down the coast to try and find a new gelateria!

It was highly recommended by one of my students, and the path he described to get there was the best kind of treasure hunt. "Follow Corso Italia [the wide pedestrian walkway beside the sea] until the end, where you'll find a little church. Don't follow the road up, but take the path that goes down. There will be some stairs, and then just before the beach you'll find a tiny little gelateria on the left. If you go a bit further, you'll see another, bigger one, but DON'T go there because it's not as good!"

Shockingly, I was able to find the place without any difficulty (practically a first for an Italian address!). I got myself three scoops (cinnamon, a special Sicilian pastry-flavour and something called pancetta -- I don't know what it is either). Then I found a nice spot in the sun on the nearby, tiny beach. I shrugged off my heavy coat and sat in my shirt-sleeves for an hour with a book and not the most amazing gelato in Italy, but it isn't really that important if it brings you to this kind of perfect experience.

my (legal) drug

noreply@blogger.com (Aleesa) — Wed, 19 Jan 2011 20:34:00 +0000

It's official: I am addicted to the internet. I've just come out on the other side of an imposed two-week hiatus (breakdown of home network; cause unknown) and it's no coincidence that for that same period I was cranky and irritable to the point of misanthropy. I couldn't have it when I woke up nor before I went to bed; I was bumming it off friends; I was spending every minute thinking about how I would get my next fix.....and now, with the glorious restoration, I'm back to mainlining.

Yikes.

Anyway, while I get my act back together, I'm posting for your reading pleasure a fascinating article from the Huffington Post on the so-called "last taboo" for adults...which ties in nicely with my previous comments on feeling the need to "earn" pleasure.

Thoughts on laundry, pleasure and umbrellas

noreply@blogger.com (Aleesa) — Mon, 10 Jan 2011 18:41:00 +0000

Dryers don’t exist here. But I’ve found that I enjoy the meditative aspects of hanging each item of clothing on the line. Of course it takes longer, but there’s something about simplifying, using what Mother Nature provides for free without any adverse effects. It’s nice. You feel good.

Also: hanging laundry comes with an adrenaline rush! My heart beats faster when I lean out the window, 6 stories up, with my favourite shirt in hand, consigning it to the winds and only a thin rubber-enclosed wire. My new house is not well-stocked with clothespins (mollette), so I can use only a risky one per item (I’d feel better with 7 or 8).

And I have a lot to learn about pinning techniques. While I hang my clothes evenly divided, half on each side of the line, for security, those courageous Italians pin their clothes only at the top. That’s a level of daring I’m not ready for yet!

Theoretically, of course, it wouldn’t be that difficult to retrieve anything that might fall to the ground floor. If it doesn’t get blown away, and there’s no feisty dog, and if I can make myself understood in Italian. But that’s a conversation I would like to avoid; it’s a matter of pride. “Silly American,” they would say [because all English speakers who aren’t British must be American], “can’t even hang on to her clothes!”

* * *

As an industrious Canadian I’ve always meted out pleasure for myself in small doses. And only after a hard day’s or week’s work.

It’s quite an idea, being here and considering that the enjoyment of leisure might not have to be earned.

Perhaps even the concept that pleasure is deserved is anathema to this way of life. Resting, walking by the sea, having an espresso with friends, it’s all as natural and a necessary part of living as buying groceries.

* * *

Once I came home and accidentally did something terrible.

When my normally-easygoing roommate approached me with a grave look on her face, she looked so upset that it struck fear into my heart. She took a deep breath. “Do you have any idea how much BAD LUCK you’ve brought into this house??” she demanded, pointing to the wet umbrella I’d left on the floor, open, to dry.

“Uh, no, gee, I’m sorry...what...?” I stammered. She seemed to mellow a bit when she realized I hadn’t deliberately conspired to bring the forces of hell against her.

Christmas holidays in Genova

noreply@blogger.com (Aleesa) — Wed, 05 Jan 2011 20:43:00 +0000

(In Europe, Santa gets creative)

What you might experience if you were in Genova in December 2010:

- panettone-flavoured gelato at the local artisanal gelateria (panettone being a fantastic sweet Christmas bread filled with nuts and candied fruit)


can't get enough of this stuff

- the local 65-year-old lady accordion busker playing Jingle Bells

- illegal Africans trying to sell knockoff Vuitton bags on the main shopping streets, jostling among the well-off

- a giant Christmas tree in the main piazza, and, if you’re there at the right time, Perry Como’s “O Come, All Ye Faithful” purring from speakers nearby

- a little cafe called Barbarossa, with a statue of Elvis in front and four menu pages devoted to different kinds of hot chocolate, so thick you can stand a spoon in it

- protest upon strike upon protest regarding highly controversial reforms to the university system

- midnight mass on Christmas Eve, where the biggest cathedral in town is jammed full of people and the fragrant notes of the organ music and the incense waft into the air

- burnt brownies baked by friends who love you more than they can cook

- a large hand-crafted presepe (nativity scene) at every church, some office buildings and even the local library

- high-powered spray from a salt truck that welts you in the knees

- ice-skating on the ocean!

at the port

- twinkling white and blue Christmas lights strung across the narrow alleys and streets

- giant kisses on each cheek and “Auguri!” (Merry Christmas + happy holidays + all the best + have a great time, all rolled into one)

- on a windy night, church bells that ring themselves

And of course, concerts. Christmas is unthinkable without them.

I saw a poster advertising a free concert the Saturday before Christmas with the choir Coro Soreghina at Chiesa di San Donato, a church in Genova’s medieval centre, just off the awesomely- named Vico dei Tre Re Magi (Alley of the Three Wise Men).

I invited a couple of friends and took my trusty, and worn, map with me; after four months here I’m still not sure of my way around in the ancient maze of veicoli (alleys).

For once I didn’t get lost. I arrived early enough to read the blurb about the choir, which was comprised of (mostly retired) men from the Alpini branch of the Italian army. That’s the one that patrols the mountains and gets to wear really cool hats.

Also exciting was that I recognized only two songs on the program: Silent Night and Adeste Fideles (O Come, all Ye Faithful). The rest were ancient Christmas songs from Trentino (Italy’s northeast mountainous region); Piedmontese hymns (the area north of Genova that includes Turin); old Latin verses, and a few antique songs in Genovese, the local dialect that not many people speak or understand anymore. (Speaking of understanding, no, unfortunately I didn’t! Guess I’m not at stage 2 yet.)

The concert was quite enjoyable, yet during the singing I found myself thinking about the oddest thing: WD-40. See, it was inside this small stone church, where everything from the bricks to the archways looked like it had been carved right out of the mountains. There were only about twelve rows of pews, and when the church began filling up, I thought the high-pitched whines I heard were the door hinges opening and closing as people entered. Yet even when people stopped coming in, the whining continued. Baffled and totally distracted, I looked all around the church...and found the culprit -- actually two of them -- on four legs and leashes. Yes, two animal- and music-loving attendees had brought their dogs with them.

“Siamo in Italia!” (We are in Italy!) -- this is what people say, with a shrug of the shoulders, when something happens that defies logic.

New year, new look, new approach

noreply@blogger.com (Aleesa) — Sun, 02 Jan 2011 15:24:00 +0000

First of all, tanti auguri to everyone! Happy New Year 2011!

In shame, with my head held low, I must admit that I'm woefully behind on the updates (in case you hadn't noticed). I realize the point of a blog is not to publish what was happening to you four months ago, but what's happening now. So, with a fresh new year, I'm going to begin from where we are now, and I'll fill in the details as needed.

Number One: The Job

Well, as some of you know, I came to Genova with absolutely no job prospects. That meant I was in for a lot of pavement-pounding. Since I am in Italy, it was of course an interesting experience.

At the first ESL school the woman I met was friendly and open. And when I say “open”, I mean more than willing to tell me about the current economic crisis in Italy (hit even harder than other European countries, which in turn were hit much harder than Canada). Actually she was in a terrible mood: she lamented shockingly low salaries (claiming that some office clerks make just 5 euros, or $6.65 an hour) and the fact that some teachers in public schools, even after many years, don’t make enough to live on. “Why did you come here??” she asked, as incredulous as politeness would allow.

So, uh, you’ll call me when you have something, then?

The proprietor of the next school had taught English in such unusual classrooms as trains and cruise ships. I got a job interview on the spot and was offered some contract work right away....but, given the fact that the place was a chaotic mess, I had a feeling I wouldn’t enjoy working there. Also, it seemed to be the kind of fly-by-night school that unfortunately exists in large numbers: first interested in making a profit, then maybe imparting a few English-language skills solely through exposure to a native speaker who wants to “teach English” for a few months while partying it up in a foreign country.

The last school of the day was almost impossible to find, due to the completely baffling street numbering system here in Italy. There are two sets of numbers: red for office buildings and black for apartments (or is it the other way around...). They are not in any way related to each other, but they are interspersed along the block, which means you might have red 80, followed by black 3, after which you’ve got red 81 and 82, then black 4, then red 83...you get the idea. If there is some pattern to be found, I might never have enough time to find it out.

I lost count of how many people I asked for directions and, after some pointing and explaining (neither of which was extremely useful) they all asked for “one euro”. Ridiculous! I thought and walked away.

I finally found the place after receiving instructions from an old man who could’ve been the godfather of the Godfather: a short, stocky, dark-haired Italian with a rasp like a death rattle. His short, stocky, dark-haired Italian wife was next to him in the teeny porter’s office; it looked like they had been there for maybe sixty years.

Once at the building I finally realized what the others had been talking about: it was next to an elettrodomestic (appliance) store called UniEuro!

There have been a lot of moments like that since I got here.

Given the lack of funds, I did feel obligated to work for school number two for a while. Unfortunately all my instincts were right, and the time I spent at that gong show was miserable. However, luckily it was only a month before I found something much better.

I'm still with this much-better school and am quite happy there. Most days of the week I travel to company offices in and around Genova, teaching English to business executives. Sometimes I also teach one-on-one lessons at the school. The pay is fairly good, my co-workers are interesting (all four of them), and my boss is very quirky. Just how I like it.

I'm also doing a bit of English tutoring of my own on the side. To advertise, I took the poster I'd used for piano lessons, changed the graphic and the language, and it was good to go! I put up the poster at various university buildings and have received a lot of inquiries as a result. And boy, am I ever glad that I started studying Italian all those months ago, as it would have been practically impossible to arrange all of this without it.

Number Two: The Learning of Italian

I've been here in Italy for almost five months now. I don't get to speak Italian as much as I'd like -- in fact I have basically the worst job possible in terms of learning the language, since I have to speak English all week! However, lately when I've told people Ci provo di parlare bene (I try to speak well) they say No, non provi, riesci! (You're not trying, you're succeeding!)
At times I can understand exactly what someone else is saying. It's a great day after three hours of church, for example, when I can think, "Yup, today I understood pretty much everything!"
Other times I only catch words here and there and can only get at the fringes of meaning before the person's gone on to the next phrase.

But there was that one time I had a whole conversation with an old woman without any teeth! Now that's a sign of progress. I think it should be added to the How To Know How Fluent You Are list:
Stage One: You can understand a drunk person.
Stage Two: You can understand singing.
Stage Three (true fluency): You can understand a drunk person singing!

Number Three: The Apartment

Near the end of September I finished my five weeks of Italian class, which had also included a room in an apartment with other students. I had to find my own place...and was really lucky to stumble across something great on only the second try, even if Italy hasn't yet discovered the wonders of craigslist (gagh!).

Here's what was great about it: it had a view of the sea!

That was pretty much enough to convince me. Other benefits included a roommate who spoke English (she's Italian but lived in London for a while), proximity to town, and not way up in the hills somewhere. Because hiking hills sucks.

Number Four: So, Is It Like Totally Still Summer There, or What?

Actually, if you can believe it, it's snowed here. Twice.

But it's really not very cold (ok, after seven winters in Toronto it doesn't feel cold).

If I ever do say it feels a little nippy, every Italian for miles shrieks "But you're CANADIAN!!"

Number Five: Whether I Have Found a Hot Italian Man Yet

The short answer is No. The long answer is also No.

Number Six: So Are You Going to Stay Forever, or What?

Well, that's definitely not in the plans. Italy is an interesting place to be for a while, but I don't think I could live here for the rest of my life. (Confession: Italian food is great, but it's not my absolute favourite.) In later posts I'll write more about that.

Okay, I think that about does it! We're all caught up! Stay tuned for other updates as they happen...