What Do I Call This Syndrome?

“I know I shall be homesick for you, even in Heaven,” said Beth to Jo as she lay on her deathbed in Little Women (the movie).

Homesickness is a strange and powerful phenomenon associated with travel in this world, and apparently the next as well, according to Beth. I won’t endeavour to address the theological controversies raised by her poetic sentiment, but I will stop to ponder homesickness for a moment. I must admit that it’s not a condition I have been afflicted with much in my life. Well… at least not since I was very young. My parents separated before I was three-years-old, so I had to learn pretty early on to get over being homesick for people and places because it was too torturous to feel that way all the time.

Though it started out in a pretty negative way, I think that over the years this aspect of my story has turned out to be a positive trait in my personality. It’s not that I don’t miss the people I love, it’s that I realise life sometimes takes us in different directions, but it doesn’t mean that we are not still connected. Also, in this day and age where technology is so multi-faceted, it hardly seems like I am out of the loop when there is email, skype, facebook, sms and of course the classic means of communication for travellers everywhere– the postcard!

Anyway, the reason I raise this topic is that, while I was in Bologna (the weekend before last), and also while I was in Slovenia for the past 5 days, I developed a mutated form of the homesickness virus. I’ve only been away from Melbourne for two months, and don’t feel homesick for it yet, however during my last few short trips I experienced something completely unexpected…

I was homesick for Siena!

This is new and unusual for me, not only because I haven’t felt homesick since I was a kid, but because Siena isn’t even really my hometown! I mean, I am living here for four months, but still… Even though I really enjoyed myself in Slovenia, I could not wait to get back ‘home’. When I awoke on my return train, and was greeted by both daylight and the familiar Italian landscape, I felt myself breath a little sigh of relief.

I still can’t explain it, but maybe it has something to do with the fact that I love this place and I am dreading leaving at the end of August. I remember the first time I sat at this desk, where I am sitting now, and looking out the window at the sun-bathed roof tops, I just knew that Siena was seeping into a little portion of my heart which, for the rest of my life, will feel at home… here.

Now I am totally at ease. I have cleaned the house and given – especially my room – the mopping it needed; my fantastic roommate is watching lame Italian game shows in the next room; and the streets below are alive with the sounds of locals singing traditional songs and merrily anticipating the Palio which takes place the day after tomorrow. Bliss.

What’s the Palio, you ask? Google it. If you can’t be bothered doing that, just wait a couple of days and I’m sure I’ll have something to say about it. For now, all you need to know is that il nicchio is the contrada you should be barracking for because that’s where I live. For the short time that I live here, I may as well be as patriotic as I can! Viva il nicchio!

Giant Sock

It’s a strange little community I’ve been mingling with the last couple of weeks. I’m talking about the community of language students that have come from all over the world to study Italian here in Siena.

I’ve been hanging mostly with Swiss people and our conversations flow with a mixture of German, English and Italian! I’m so glad I did German at school! I think that learning Italian has helped to cement something in the language-learning part of my brain because I’m able to keep up with the German conversations too (even though it has been ten years since I last studied it). Of course, this is good for practical reasons (i.e. being able to participate in the conversation) but it is also necessary for a more important purpose.

Language is such a vital and profound feature of the human experience. I have always been in awe of linguistics and the use of words, sounds, and tones to convey even the most deep and intangible concepts. It’s truly beautiful.

Here in this little community, I have perceived another side to the faculty of speech. My Swiss friend, Sandy, speaks Swiss-German and German fluently, but can also have a decent conversation in English, Italian and a little French. One day she expressed the feeling that she could not be completely herself unless she was speaking Swiss-German or German.

I think I get the essence of who she is pretty well, but the more I reflected on it, the more I realised that when you can’t fully express everything you think and feel, you can’t convey the entirety of who you are. Our opinions, thoughts, desires, and humour are all suffocated by the absence of words with which to express them. People who are unable to communicate with those around them – for whatever reason – must feel so unbelievably isolated.

A confirmation of this concept came while I was walking and talking with one of my Italian teachers, Claudio. He was telling me (in Italian) all these profound and meaningful things about his perspectives on life and travel and mortality. I understood everything he was saying, but I could not properly express all the responses that filled my mind. I felt that I couldn’t share the part of myself that had been activated by this discourse; I could not be fully myself. It was like having a giant sock stuffed in my mouth, only it wasn’t a sock – it was my lack of Italian vocabulary.

There’s no real point to this particular entry. I just wanted to put it out there because I’ve been thinking a lot about this during the past week. For me there is nothing like the feeling when you are able to find exactly the right words to express some nebulous feeling in your gut or thought in your mind. It’s so liberating. That’s what I love about words. They take the sock out of your mouth and replace it with a beautiful stream of expression that gushes out of you and flows into someone else.

Whelmed

Chastity: "I know that you can be overwhelmed, and you can be underwhelmed, but can you ever just be whelmed?"

Bianca: "I think you can in Europe..."

- From 10 Things I Hate About You

I love that scene from 10 Things I Hate About You - two ditzy rich girls aspiring to a metaphysical conversation. It's hilarious. I always laugh derisively and think they are complete twits.

However...

Yesterday I was reflecting on this present phase of my life - living in Europe - and I was searching for a way to describe how I feel about it. I am living in Siena - one of the most beautiful cities in Italy - and I'm living exactly the life that I want to be living in this moment. I'm studying a language I've always wanted to learn, I'm hanging out with fantastic people, I'm experiencing so many new and foreign things every day. I'm in Italy! I'm not working for six months and I am far away from all the usual stresses and obligations of daily life back home.

I am not bored, scared, sad or "underwhelmed". Nor am I stressed, busy, nervous or "overwhelmed". I feel like I am in a perfectly tranquil state of just being. I feel completely... whelmed.

Oh no! Maybe the air-head was right! Maybe you CAN be whelmed in Europe! It's a whole new experience for me to be quoting a "Bianca", but it's the best way to describe my emotional and mental state right now. I feel just right. Life is good and I'm happy with the choices I have made in order to get here.

It reminds me of another story that struck me once. In the book of Genesis there is a story about Jacob and Esau - two brothers who had a terrible falling out. Jacob ripped off Esau and Esau swore he would kill him if he ever saw him again. Many years down the track, Jacob was forced by circumstances to meet with Esau again, so he sent herds of several kinds of animals as a peace offering prior to their meeting.

When Jacob saw Esau approaching, he bowed seven times as a sign of respect and penitence, but he was surprised by his brother's gracious greeting. Esau embraced him, wept and asked what he meant by sending such an over-the-top gift. Jacob confessed that he was seeking to pacify the anger which he imagined still remained. Then Esau said something that I think is really beautiful (you might think I'm crazy, but try to see what I mean).

Various translations of the bible state it differently, but Genesis 33:9 contains, for me, a beautiful concept. Many versions (e.g. NIV, NLT and the Message) record Esau's response as: "I have plenty" (therefore keep the herds for yourself). However, other versions, like the New King James, translate it like this:

"I have enough".

Not copious and excessive amounts, and not a small amount that he stretched and spread thin in order to get by. No, he was at the right amount of fullness. He had enough. Just enough.

That's how I feel right now.

I have enough.

A Weekend On A Mediterranean Beach

Wow.

That pretty much sums it up... but for the sake of this blog I will elaborate.

Italians really know how to relax, and by that I mean, ITALIANS REALLY KNOW HOW TO RELAX!

The life of the Italian revolves around meal times and food. Common topics for discussion include, what you ate yesterday; what you will eat today; how you will cook what you're eating today; and what you will be eating tomorrow. However, there is another phenomenon in Italian culture that revolves around la spiaggia (the beach).

Every year, especially in August, thousands of Italians flock to the beach to relax, get a tan, and, of course, eat. As it is June, I experienced a fairly tame version of the beach scene, but it was nevertheless an intriguing cultural experience. Friends had warned me about the strange Italian beach processes, so I was understandably cynical; especially given my Australian upbringing. In my experience beaches are places where you don't pay anything, you bring your own gear, and you employ every 'sun smart' technique known to man.

No, no, no, say the Italians, that's not how it's done. It was a quick crash course, but I think I'll soon be a master of this fine art. Here's a little account of my initiation...

I caught the 7.50am bus from Siena to Castiglione Della Pescaia with two friends from my language school. It was a two hour bus ride and a short walk to our hotel where we checked in, got changed and headed to the beach. After an inquiry or two we were directed to the sea side bar where we payed for the hire of an umbrella and three sun-beds.

No, my fellow Australians, it would not do to simply spread your towel out on the sand and lie on it. You've got to really be able to lounge around on the beach. This requires, not even a chair, but a bed with adjustable head height, and don't forget the large umbrella!

I soon observed that most people regarded the umbrella as a type of flag that waved over their territory and served no other practical purpose, like, oh I don't know, PROTECTION FROM SKIN CANCER! Most people baked in the sun for hours and often bore evidence of a life time of sun exposure. It's ironic that Italians use the same word (pelle) for both skin and leather, because with many sun-charred beach-goers it was difficult to tell whether their über-bronzed exterior was in fact human skin or cured leather.

The first day on the beach (Saturday), I did nothing! I lay on my sun bed (under the umbrella) and alternated between napping, people-watching, revelling in the perfect temperature and just thinking. It was so incredibly relaxing; I realised that these Italians are onto something. At lunch time we moseyed up to the beach-side deck of the restaurant where we had some delicious food. A few more hours of lounging and before we knew it, it was almost dinner time. We went back to our room, showered and headed out for some beautiful seaside cuisine. The fish was unbelievably yummy (and that's coming from a chicken-eating-girl!)

The second day I was a little more productive - I wrote postcards to my family and actually went for a swim in the sea this time! Compared with Melbourne's chilly beaches (on account of being so close to Antarctica) the water was beautiful. There are no surfers, because there are no waves, so it was perfect for swimming.

Again, we lunched on the deck where our waiter decided to tell me he liked me "a lot" and wanted my number. He looked shattered when I said no, but I'm sure he'll get over it pretty quickly! It's summer, and he works on the beach where there are plenty of bikini clad girls. I hope this isn't heartless, but I feel better about being able to reject him in grammatically correct Italian, than I do about having had an admirer! Haha

Well, before we knew it, it was 6pm and we had to leave to catch our bus back to Siena. It was the perfect weekend and I have never felt so relaxed, EVER. Therefore, the conclusion to all this was very simple:

We're going back next weekend!

The Little Things...

Italy is an incredible country, and I love being here, but there are a few things that baffle me and a few that make me miss the comfort and familiarity of home.

For instance...

HOT DRINKS

The almighty coffee is king of the hot-drink empire here in Italy; and King Coffee rules the others with an iron fist. It took me a little while to work out why the waiters laughed at me every time I ordered a hot chocolate in the afternoon, or looked at me, confounded, when I ordered a tea (especially one with milk).

Apparently only kids drink beverages containing milk after lunchtime. The rest of Italy drinks King Coffee in all his undiluted glory. Hot chocolate is for winter (many places don’t even bother to re-stock their chocolate powder this time of year) and tea is an enigma to the Italians.

Australia was spawned by the ultimate tea-drinking nation, and so I feel I have a certain right to have opinions on this topic! First of all, they never give you milk when you order tea, regardless of what kind of tea you have asked for. They assume the milk-for-kids-only rule applies to all drinks.

Secondly, they don’t bother to ask you what kind of tea you want because they probably can’t be bothered with the ridiculous names (Earl Gray, English Breakfast, Prince of Wales, Russian Caravan). Instead, they bring out a cup, a pot of hot water and a small tea caddy containing several varieties of both herbal and non-herbal teas squeezed in against each other. This is not right, people. Different teas should never be stored together without some kind of substantial barrier between and around them. The scents and flavours diffuse between the thin paper coverings – mixing – and compromising the integrity of my tea! Also, being left out of a container of any kind weakens the flavour over time.

Hot chocolates are easy to come by in Melbourne and it’s not so FLIPPING DIFFICULT to find a good one there. The best hot chocolate I’ve had here is from the vending machine at school – yes, my fellow Melbournians, it is shocking but true. For some reason many hot chocolates served here are more like heated up chocolate custard. Oh how I miss the amazing hot chocolates at Koko Black, Ripe in Sassafras, and Coco Lounge in Glen Waverley. The last time I ordered one here, the waiter chuckled to himself. In Melbourne I am the consummate hot chocolate connoisseur; here in the Coffee Empire I am a mere laughing stock!

TOILETS

For some mysterious reason 90% of toilet seats I’ve seen in this country have a crack in them! What’s going wrong here? Do they need some engineers to investigate the design flaws? Do Italians have some strange toilet habits that give rise to cracking? Are the toilet seats of Italy having an identity crisis; thinking they are mirrors and attempting to reflect the cracks they view daily? Sorry… I know that last one was a little in the gutter… but hey, I’m just trying to solve the mystery here. A good detective considers all angles.

Keeping with toilets, it took me a while to figure out how to flush the first one I used here. The cisterns are usually mounted on the wall much higher than the seat and at the bottom of the cistern (about eye level) there is often a small button that you push UP, not down. It is camouflaged. Apparently a big round button that screams “PRESS ME” is not in vogue here. Like I said, the Italian toilet is a mysterious entity…

Well, just those two anomalies have taken up an entire blog. Perhaps at some point in the future, I will explore the anomalies of the wonderful Italians themselves! Tonight I am having dinner with Sandy’s landlady and her family – the “true locals” ought to provide me with plenty of insight into the Sienese mind!

Tuscany

When people ask me why I chose to study in Siena, the answer is very simple: It’s in Tuscany. All my life I’ve watched movies and heard conversations where people rave about how beautiful this place is. After years of hearing the same old gasp-filled orations, and seeing a thousand pictures with perfect sunsets over breath-taking vineyards, I was more than a little sceptical. Could anything really live up to the pictures painted by everyone, from medieval artists to Hollywood screenwriters?

Over the past couple of weeks, I have had the opportunity to find out. Two of my friends from Australia were in Siena recently and we decided to spend a night in the Chianti region. Our accommodation was located on a hill overlooking vineyards, and a seemingly endless landscape of lush green fields. Sitting in the little courtyard overlooking this panorama was so quiet, peaceful and beautiful that I was already beginning to believe the dogma pedalled to me all these years.

On Saturday we headed out to see the castle at Brolio where 32 generations of the prestigious Ricasoli family have resided (and continue to reside to this day). Their ancestors include the second prime minister of Italy, Bettino Ricasoli, who had his finger in more pies than just politics. He dabbled in botany, ecology, drawing and producing wine (the Chianti Classic red is still largely based on his original formula). However, like most great talents I’ve learned about here, he was perhaps not the most amicable guy you’ve ever met.

When the first king of the newly united Italy, Vittorio II, came to visit him, Bettino insisted that in his house HE was the king (and the alpha Italian male according to our tour guide)! Needless to say the alpha males clashed and Vittorio cut his stay down from two days to two hours! Can you imagine the hand gestures that were flying around that day?!

Though Vittorio missed out on the castle’s spectacular views and gorgeous gardens, I was there to lap them up and the Tuscan indoctrination continued…

From the castle we decided to do a trek through the countryside. With an obnoxiously vague map and non-existent knowledge of the area, it wasn’t long before we got ourselves thoroughly lost. Talk about an “off-road” adventure! We trekked through muddy, rocky, steep and seemingly endless terrain with no idea of where the main road or actual walking track were… or what kind of creatures were hiding in the suspiciously rustling grass.

Finally, after six hours of wrong turns and torturous uphill gradients, we found our way back to the main road and our car. We were exhausted but by the end of the day, I was convinced that Tuscany does live up to all the hype. Perhaps coming from the recently drought-stricken Australia makes me especially susceptible to the lure of abundant green hills, but nevertheless, I was persuaded.

The splendour does not end at the Tuscan border either. The neighbouring region of Umbria is also stunningly arrayed with unbelievable views. As the bus drove through the countryside, heading for Assisi, the vibrant poppies adorning the fields of tall, green grass were beyond the reach of even the finest cinematographer.

For fear of turning into one of those people who rave about Tuscany, I shall leave it there! The bottom line, I guess, is that the stories are true…

Tuscany is spectacular.