Firenze è come un albero fiorito...

The Italian sun has been hot the last few weeks, reaching 35 degrees Celcius nearly every day. But I'm learning how to keep cool; hand fans, closing the windows in the morning to keep the cool air inside, walking slowly, and drinking lots of water. But the sun here is not as brutal as in the states, and for the frist time in my life, I have something that resembles a suntan. You may ask, "What?! Pale Nordic Lydia has a tan?" Oh yes. You won't recognize me.

You wouldn't have recognized me on Monday night either. During Italian class, Corinna, one of the teachers, came into our class and told us about a variety show that night. She needed 4 or 5 people to be models for traditional international clothing. I knew Francesco was involved with this variety show, so I thought "Why not?", and volunteered. Corinna's mother was in charge of the show, and told us where to go for trying on the costumes. I thought I would remember where to go, or that someone else would have remembered, but I was wrong. We all had the general area (By the tourist office, Sunrise Cafe, La Loggia, and that area)...but no one knew where to acutally go. We wandered around for a while looking for Corinna's mother, but didn't find her. I finally went to the cafe and asked the barista if he knew Corinna's mother, and said that we had a reahearsal, but didn't know where it was. An old man happened to be there, and knew exactly where to go.
This is a photo of Francesco and I before the show.

I ended up wearing a Spanish costume (think Carmen). The other blonde took Holland, the only thing either of us would have looked "authentic" in. So I took Spain. I had a good time, though, hanging out with Italians, and listening to Francesco's sketch. I think it was funny, but there was a lot I couldn't understand. But he's a great comic actor, and I anjoyed it. But the fashion show was fun, even if I got ordered around by Italian children.

Wednesday was our other program of opera scenes. In this program I sang Dame Quickly in the Letter Scene from Falstaff. Quickly is very low, and the whole scene is quite demanding. The two measures of laughter (chromatic pitches, yes!) was very hard to put together, but after finally getting a consistant tempo, I belive it worked. After the program, Judy told me, "You know, I'm going to have to change my mind about you. I don't think you're a soprano anymore, you might be a contralto!". So there's that discussion again...chi sa?

The biggest event of the week, however, was out Thursday trip to Firenze (Florence. I like to use the names of cities in their language.). We left Urbania at 8.00 am for the 3 hour bus ride. Since driving anywhere in Italy is a beautiful drive, I wanted to look out the window on the way. However, this was difficult, as we drove through Umbria, which is right in the middle of the mountains, and the motion sickness kicked in. And I wasn't alone. But once we arrived in Toscana, and the ground once again became flat, I was fine.

Because there is a high fee for buses to come downtown Firenze, out bus dropped us off in the suburbs, and we took public transit into town. There was slight panic as our Italian teachers figured out the bus schedule, and they finally just asked a lady in her apartment for help. After we arrived downtown, people went their separate ways to enjoy the day. I stuck with Andrew, Rachel, Amanda, and the two Lucias, as we all wanted to see some of the same things. After getting some lunch and a gelato (omg gelato in Firenze...)we went across the road to the Duomo (cathedral). What struck me first about the Duomo is how colorful it is on the outside, the stone decorated with different shades of green and red. The Duomo began construction in 1296 and was consecrated in 1436, and is simply stunning. Next to the Duomo is the Baptistry, where Dante himself was baptized. I didn't go into the Baptistry, but I did see the beautiful doors on the outside, called "The Gates of Paradise" because of what Michelangelo thought of them.

The Duomo is as beautiful inside as outside. Services aren't really conducted here anymore, so there are no pews to sit in, leaving the interior open to walk about in. The most splended and beautiful part though, in my opinion, is the inside of the dome, which is a painting depicting Judgement Day. Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven are all shown in the painting, with those in Hell being eaten by monesters or being beaten over the head by a frog-man (what the frog-man is, I don't know), Purgatory being a small place where people aren't haveing a great time, but there's also no frog-man, and Heaven being a great place. The beauty of the Duomo was almost overwhelming, and I could hardly belive I was there.

After we left the Duomo, we decided to climb to the top of the cupola. Normally, I'm terrified of heights, but I couldn't miss this opportunity to have this view of Firenze. There are about 463 steps to the top of the cupola, and many are small spiral staircases with little air. This is what actually made me the most nervous, and the spirals made me a little dizzy. Lucia counted all the steps, and she and Amanda cheered me on as I tried not to overheat. But once we reached the top and I saw Firenze in all of its splendor, all dizzyness melted away in the heat, and I was stunned by what I saw. Firenze is, as Rinuccio says in Gianni Schicchi, a flowering tree, and there may be nothing that can compete with it.

After visiting the Duomo and having a leg work out, we went to the Piazza della Signorina, which is a sculpture paradise. Most in the piazza are copies of the originals and have been put there for some reason or another. For example, the copy of Michelangelo's David is in this Piazza (And no, I didn't have time to see the original). However, that is where Michelangelo actually wanted the original to stand. One of the sculptures that is an original, however, is Benvenuto Cellini's bronze sculpture of Perseus holding the head of Medusa. It's a bit grusome, but at the same time fascinating, especially when I think about that this sculpture is about 500 years old.

We walked about town for a bit before deciding to have a go at the Uffizi Gallery. The Uffizi has some of the world's most important paintings, and certainly there is no better place to see Italian Renaisance art. The Gallery is famous for its long lines, and waiting two or three hours is the norm, but there was no way I wasn't going to spend a day in Firenze without seeing art. However, we were extremely fortunate, and only waited for about 20 minutes to get in. From what I hear, this never happens, espeically without a reservation. Inside the Uffizi, I saw some of the world's most famous paintings: Botticelli's "The Birth of Venus" and "La Primavera", Raffaello's Self-Portrait and Madonna of the Sparrow, Michelangelo's painting of the Holy Family, Da Vinci's unfinished Adoration of the Magi, Caravaggio's Medusa and "The Sacrifice of Issac", and Artemisia's "Judith Slaying Holofernes". In my opinon, the two most captivating were the unfinished Da Vinci and the Caravaggio Issac. The Da Vini is a hauntig piece, as the Madonna is content, while those around her have tormented faces and are climing up to see her. No one knows why these people look like this, or what Da Vinci's intention was. Caravaggio's Issac is powerful, and you can see the panic, fear, and sense of betrayal in Issac's face as his father prepares to kill him. The feelings of Issac in this story are often ignored, and seeing them displayed in such an open and naked way was more powerful than any words.

Sadly, we had to rush through the Uffizi because of time, but I'm more than glad that I was able to see it. As I felt when walking through Urbino's Palazzo Ducale, part of me finds it hard to believe I'm here, and that my eyes have seen these priceless pieces of history (because no matter what anyone says, art is history). Some of the pieces have been in the Uffizi for over 400 years, and when I see these paintings and think out their history, and the history of those who created them, and the history of the city where they are, I realize just how little I am in this world, but at the same time how one person can leave a legacy that can last for hundreds of years. It was humbling and uplifting.

After the Uffizi, we sped to Ponte Vecchio, where there are many jewelry shops, selling some of the worlds msot beautiful gold and silver. Ponte Vecchio is famous for many reasons, and is even mentioned by Puccini in Gianni Schicchi: "Andrai sul Ponte Vecchio, e per buttar mi in Arno." After a admiring the jewelry and taking a few photos, we ran to Santa Croce, even though it was closed for the day. But I got one photo! Soon after we baorded the bus for the journey back to Urbania. Needless to say, I was exhausted when I came back to the apartment; Francesco was still awake and doing some work, and we talked for a bit, although I didn't understand a word he said. I was that tired.

The rest of the week was fairly relaxed. Saturday afternoon Francesco and Leonarda's kids and grandkids came over for lunch, and I had a good time entertaining 2-year-old Tobbia, who might just be the most adorable child on the planet. That evening, Cate and I went to the Orotorio (school) play, where her English students were performing. The play was about the life of Saint Francis, and had music and break dancing. Yes I said break dancing. Her English students asked me how to say their names in English; Marco, Alice, Frederico, and Elena, and they laughed when I told them.

I went to Mass on Sunday morning, mostly because I wanted to see what it was like. I found that I could understand parts of what was going on, and maybe got the general idea of the sermon. As I was walking home, I heard a car horn sound and someone called my name. It was Cate; she had rented a car for the day and had been looking for me to take a day trip. So, we went to the beach town of Fano for the afternoon. It was a very hot day, and the Adriatic felt wonderful. I ended up with a huge sunburn covering my entire back, but that's what happens when you're pale like me.

This is my last week in Italy, and I can't believe how quickly the time has gone. I'm exhausted, but in no way ready to come back. There's something about this country that has captivated me in a way that no other place has. My next post will probably be after I come back to the States, so look next week!

I concerti, le prove, e gli altri cosi.

This week has been the most busy so far, and I'm slightly exhausted, although very happy. Monday evening was our Laude concert in the church of Sant Cristoforo. Donna, with whom I worked with at Interlochen, coached us on these 14th century pieces and also accompanied us on the organ. These pieces were written by common people in Toscana because they were not allowed to sing in church. But they're beautiful songs, and I love singing them. Most of the voice faculty here hadn't heard me sing since sending in the audition CD this winter, so I was a little nervous, like taking the frist test from a new professor. To top it off, I'd had a sore throad and a slight cough for a few days. But everything turned out fine, and I got some very good feedback from the faculty, which, of course, made me happy.

Tuesday was our first opera scenes prgram. For this, I sang a duet from Mozart's Cosi fan Tutte, playing Dorabella to Stephanie K's Fiordiligi. Our voices work very well together, and we look like we could possibly be sisters. She's working on Strauss's Presentation of the Rose and gave me an extra copy to learn Octavian's part. Again, I was nervous because of my health, but we were first on the program, and I kenw I'd be fine. Working with Stephanie was great fun, and I felt we did a good job with Mozart's beautiful music. After the concert, Cate and I went to a cafe for a bit. Now, everyone has warned me about the "dangers" of being a blonde in Italy, and I really haven't had much trouble. However, Tuesday night I had the experience of being followed to the bathroom by an Italian who claimed to be 20. Like I believed that for 1 second. The guys he was with are definetly sketchy, so I knew to turn him down. Yes, the attention is a bit flattering, but following a girl to the bathroom and then leering at her all night is not the way to win her over. So there. Cate and I have gotten to know quite a few of the older men in Urbania, who are far from the scetchy "20" year old discussed previously. That same Tuesday, we met another friend of Benvenuto's, Agusto. From him I learned something about my name; apperently, although my name is of Greek origin, it was also a common name among Roman nobility. So I have a Roman name, but look like a nothern Italian, kind of. Another friend of Benvenuto's (I think he knows everyone) was talking to us about music, and mentioned the singer Fred Buscolglione, and gave us a CD the following evening. I actually really like the music!

Wednesday, my Italian teacher, Lucia, invited a few of the students to go to Sant Angelo in Vado, her hometown, for the evening. Wednesdays in Sant Angelo are like Thursdays in Urbania, and she wanted us to see. So, 4 of us climbed into her cream and purple car and went. Sant Angelo is about 9k from Urbania, and has a very style. The roads in Sant Angelo are more winding, and everything is a little closer together. Sant Angelo has an interesting history; Pope Clement XIV was from there, and the words of Mussolini are painted on the inside of the city gates, although they are now covered in red paint to resemble blood. But we had a great time; real Italian pizza (freaking awesome), walking around town, and just hanging out. We got back a little later than I would have liked, but it was most definetly worth it.

This weekend marked the festival of Sant Cristoforo, the patron saint of Urbania. Friday, there was a special mass, and music by John, our Nemorino. Saturday was another mass, which I sang at with the choir, and a very long sermon. Very long. After Mass there was a procession through the town. About 6 men picked up the large statue of Sant Cristoforo, and with the clergy, musicians, and townspeople, we walked through the streets. Children were dressed up as angels, but I wasn't able to see them. Cate and I saw Francesco, Leonarda, their daughter Gretta, son-in-law Walter, and granddaughter Viola and joined them. I think I was supposed to go back to the church after the processional, but I didn't, and instead joined my host family for some coffee and conversation. I think this was the better choice.

I sang in the Performance Class Saturday morning. Since we didn't have great amounts of time, I had to make some cuts in my aria, "Parto, ma tu ben mio", which is my favorite aria. Judy, one of our teachers, gave me some wonderful feedback, and also some things to work on, especially with coloratura. After the class, I nearly ran to the bus station to catch the bus to Urbino, where I was meeting Cate. I got there in time, but met a young man from another music program here who had slept through his alarm and had been left in Urbania. He was more calm than I would have been in the situation, but he was still nervous about getting to Rome by himself with no contact information or anything. I hope he got there.

While in Urbino, I saw the Palazzo Ducale, which was the home of Frederico di Montefeltro and Battista Sforza (yes, of THOSE Sforzas), and is now the Galleria Nazionale Delle Marche. It was most definetly worth the 2 Euros to get in. Sadly, the furnishings of the Palazzo are no longer housed there, but are in Paris (I think). But there are paintings by Raffaello, his father, and other important artists. Since Cate and been through the Palazzo 4 or 5 times, I went through by myself. There wern't many people there, and at times I had whole rooms to myself. Just me, the history, and the art. It was overwhelming to think of the history of this place, and how important Urbino, and il duca Frederico are. Frederico di Montefeltro baisicly brought the Renaissance to this region on his own will, and is a very important figure in the history of this part of Italy. And I walked on the same floors, looked out the same windows, and touched the same doors he did. I noticed many painting of Sant Francesco as well; Assisi really isn't that far from here, and between him, Frederico di Montefeltro, and Raffaello, you realize how important this region has been to history.

In Urbania, the Sunday after Sant Cristoforo Day is the Blessing of the Cars (Cristoforo is the patron saint of travelers and cars). So, at 6.00, the statue of S. Cristoforo was again brought out of the church and taken to the piazza. A large group of clergymen also brought the relics of S. Cristoforo, a piece of his shoulder, supposedly. But after a prayer was said, the priests took turns holding up the relics as anyone in a car or motorcycle drove by. And there were hundreds of poeple. First a group of motorcycles went by (because every man in this region with a motorcycle imagines himself to be Valentino Rossi)
I saw people I knew drive by, including Donna, Carlo the choir director, and Cate's friends from Wales. Small towns in Italy take their patron saints very seriously, and it showed in the numbers of people who had their cars blessed; you even saw some go through twice, and sometimes in the same car. I enjoyed watching, because I'd never seen anything like it in the States.

I only have two more weeks left in Italy, and I'm shocked at how quickly the time has gone by. I was told many times that after a few weeks I would be sick of living in a different culture and trying to communicate every day in a different language, but that has proven to be anything but true. Sliding into Italian culture was a fairly simple process, and I'm picking up more of the language every day. There are new adventures in abundance, from eating something new to talking with the 92-year-old lady down the road to discovering that I've been saying "hooker" instead of "market" for two weeks ("marcato" meaning "hooker" and "mercato" meaning "market"...say that three times fast). But its worth it. Every single day.

Italy 3: Urbania, Pesaro, La Chiesa dei Morti, e La Storia di Urbania

Part of me finds it hard to believe that I've only been in Italy for 2 weeks, and yet much is still so new that I feel like I arrived at Fuimicino an hour ago. My language is improving every day, and my adventures in understanding this culture continue.

One of these cross cultural ideas that is all over the world is...the man cave. The man cave meaning a room, building, shed, whatever, that is full of guy stuff. Monday afternoon I did a load of laundry, and the washer is located in the garage, below the apartment building. There are about three types of things in this garage: the washer, dead computer parts, and Francesco's beloved motorcycle. Merlino even has a water bowl there. And that's about it. It's not important, I know, but it made me laugh.

Another cultural idea is the Sunday afternoon game or event. In America, this is football. In Italy, at least during the summer, it's Formula 1 racing. I think every male in Italy follows it. Francesco watched it at the apartment. Every cafe or bar you walked past had the race on, and there was a huge crowd around the TV. They love it. The cafe I'm sitting in just turned on a large projector screen with the race, actually. I guess I'll watch while I write? I can honstly say this is the first motorcycle race I've ever watched.

Suprises abound here everyday. Tuesday night, Cate and I walked down to the piazza after dinner. This is called "la passegiatta", meaning a walk with no particular purpose. When we arrived in the piazza, we found that a bunch of children's games had been set up, and that many families were there. Cate teaches English to small children, so we hung around and wached what was going on. We saw a few of her students and their families and talked with them. We also ran into Giovanni and Benvenuto, two older men we talk to often. If you go to the piazza almost anytime of the day, you're bound to find the older men of Urbania just sitting around and talking. They love to talk, and that's how we got to know these two. They're very nice and interesting to talk to. Benvenuto is especially funny, and enjoys picking on Cate and I, but also helping us with our Italian.

For some reason my laptop won't pick up the internet signal in the apartment, so I come down to the cafe to work. In Italy, cafes are called bars, but they are more like coffee shops that sell some alcohol. Anyways, what amuses me the most about the bars the choice of music played. Sure, I've heard some Italian pop music, but I've also heard things like Michael Jackson, ABBA, the Ghostbusters theme, "I'm too sexy". Believe me, sitting down to sip some Italian coffee to the unmistakable chords of Thriller is a slightly out-of-body experience.

Wednesday afternoon I had some free time and decided to go the Chiesa dei Morti (Churtch of the Dead). Back in the 1500s, when Urbania was still called Casteldurante, people who couldn't afford a proper burrial were burried under the church. In about 1804, some of these bodies were discovered in a perfectly mummified condition. This was due to a certain mushroom that dehydrated the bodies, slowing decomposition. About 15 of these bodies are on display at the church. I arrived just after a tour group had left, so it was just me, Giovanni the tour guide, and the mummies. It took about 10 seconds for me to get over the initial creepyness of being in a room with a bunch of corpses, which are all in a room close to the entrance of the church. Giovanni explained (in Italian, which is why I'm a little fuzzy on some of the exact names, dates, and other details)how the bodies were discovered, how the mummification process with the mushrooms works, and how each of the people died. This, in my opiion, was the most interesting part. There was a woman who had died of polio, another from a C-section gone wrong, a theif who had been hanged, a young man who had been stabbed in a fight (and Giovanni showed me the dehydrated heart. You can see where he was stabbed and all of the blood vessels), a young woman who suffered from Down syndrom, and a priest who had died from bad cholestoral. The most morbid of the corpses, though, was that of a man who had been burried alive. This man had gone into a coma; he felt cold, his heartbeat could not be heard, and he didn't respond. Thinking he was dead, he was burried. However, he woke up and suffocated. You can see from his expanded and uplifted ribcage that he was trying to get air, and the capularies all over his body burst.
I wondered as I looked at each body what these people were like during their lives, how they lived, what their personalities were, and that I am walking on the same streets they did, seeing the same hills, and speaking (or attempting) to speak the same language. I often think the same thing when practicing at the old school or rehearsing at the museo. The old school seems to be an old house, and I wonder who lived there, what it looked like 200 or more years ago, and what they were like. Its strange to think I'm practicing in a room where someone may have died, or where that same person might have been born. Did a child learn to walk in this room? Did a young man talk to the neighbors from the window? Did a married couple fight here? And its the same in the Grand Bishop Room where we rehearse in the Museo. What the did the Bishop think when he looked into the fireplace? Who came to visit him in this room?

I had two more lessons with Gary this week, and each time I work with him, we make more progress. I'm starting to see just how much excess tension I have in my body, and trying to get rid of it. The biggest problem with my body tension is that it isn't obvious; most of the time I can't feel it, and its hard to see. He also suggested some new repertoire for me, and roles that I should learn. Two that he suggested that really excited me were Der Komponist and Octavian, especially Octavian. The soprano I'm singing with in the Cosi scene is working on the Presentation of the Rose, and Gary suggested I learn it too, because our voices go so well together. Oh man do I want to sing Octavian! My second lesson this week was almost entirly devoted to one passage in my aria from Idomeneo, trying to figure out why it just wasn't working. We worked for a good 20 minutes on the different places the vowels are, and finally got it together.

Friday evening I went to la centra for a gelato (Nutella gelato might just be the most wonderful thing I've ever had. omg) and ran into Amanda, one of the other mezzos in the program. We talked for a bit with Benvenuto, who was sitting with Luciano, a friend of his. After Benvenuto left, we continued talking with Luciano, who told us some of the history of Urbania. We went on a short architechtural tour of Urbania, and he showed us where the moat used to be, which buildings were destoryed in the WWII bombing of Urbania, the houses of the nobility, and where the city gates used to be. He pointed to one of the streets in Urbania and said (in Italian), "See that street? It's older than your country." This town has been around since around 1050, and has gone through many changes; from a summer home for the Duke of Urbino to a functioning town, from Casteldurante to Urbania, from the capital of ceramics to the capital of jeans (All the jeans in Italy are made here, including those for Armani and Dolce e Gabbana). It made me appreciate the history of Urbania much more and made me more interested in the history.

On Saturday, the students from our program took a day trip to Pesaro, which is about 50K from Urbania. Pesaro is the birthplace of Rossini, and even though he moved away when he was 4, it's the Rossini capital. Rossini died a very rich man, and dontaed much of his money for a oepra house and conservatory in Pesao. In fact, his money is still running the conservatory. Alberto Zedda, who is perhaps THE Rossini expert of this age, started a summer Rossini opera festival in 1980. He also started a 2-week intensive Rossini program for young singers. Lonfranco, our conductor for L'Elisir D'Amore, is Zedda's assistant, and invited us to observe a masterclass Zedda was giving, hence the trip to Pesaro.

The young singers in this program prepare as many arias and roles in a single Rossini opera as is possible; for example, if Il Barbiere di Siviglia was being studied, a baritone in the program would learn all of the baritone roles. In these masterclasses, Zedda will point to any given singer and say, "You. Sing such-and-such an aria", and the singer just does it. He's not a man you mess with, and you never want him to tell you something 3 times. At one point, he hit the table he was sitting at and shouted "Piu leggere! Piu leggere!" to an Italian bass-baritone named Marcello. The 15 or so singers in this program were from all over the world; many from Italy, 1 Russian, 2 Armenians, 1 American, 1 French and so on. I loved listening to the different singers, hearing how each sang a given aria differently, and the peculiarities of each voice. One of the Armenians, a bass-baritone, told me during the break that he could tell I was a mezzo because of my cheecks. I actually have no idea what that is supposed to mean.

After the masterclass we were free to do as we pleased in Pesaro. Amanda, Eric, Andrew, and I had dinner at a restaurant by the beach; it was pausa time and nothing was open. But it was a fabulous dinner; eggplant ravioli with a mozzarella, basil, and tomato sause, some red wine, and chocolate mousse (I splurged). Most of us had brought swimsuits, but it was a little chilly to swim (which was fine with us since it we had had scalding weather in Urbania all week). Instead, we walked in the surf of the Adriatic and waved across the water to Croatia.

We also took a tour through Rossini's birthplace in Pesaro. Most of the museum is pictures and drawings of important Rossini singers of ages past. These included Patti, Melibran, and Falcon (for whom the fach Falcon soprano is named). But I stood in the room where Rossini was born, which was exciting and at the same time slightly odd. The only bizzare thing in the house was the photo of Rossini's friends standing around his coffin, holding handkercheifs over their noses because of the smell. Poverino. :(

As I mentioned before, Pesaro is Rossini-land, and every major Rossini singer has been there. Tenor Juan Diego Florez has a house in Pesaro, and Lonfranco told us he's there now rehearsing fo the opera festival. Of course we all had a freak-out when he told us this, especially our tenors. But there were no sightings of Florez by anyone in our group. Our tenors were very dissapointed.

The bus did not take us directly from Pesaro to Urbania, and we had to switch buses in Urbino. We had an hour inbetween buses and decided to walk around. Urbino is basicly a college town, but also the home of Raffaello (Raphael). It's very hilly but quite beautiful, and I wish we had more time there. Going up the first hilly street we saw, we came across the Catheral. A wedding must have taken place that day, because crushed flower petals and rice littered the steps. The cathedral is huge and very white. This is a town I definetly want to come back to, especially to see the different Raffaello art exhibits there. Because where else can I see such things?

I took this photo in Urbino at the top of a street overlooking the hills outside of town. Perhaps this alone can tell you why I'm so in love with this country.

Italy 2: La Luce del Sole

I can honestly say that I have fallen in love with this beautiful country in the week I've been here. The culteral differences fascinate me, and I just can't get over how beautiful Urbania is!

Italian classes and music lessons began this week. Most of our rehearsals are in a museum, which was formally the Bishop's Palace. Our rehearsal room is covered with paintings of preists, bishops, cardinals, and popes. In the center of the palace is a small giardino, and a breeze is usually passing through, which is good, because it is quite hot here. On Tuesday, one of the other students and I were waiting in the giardino for our staging rehearsal, and two older ladies came in to have a look around. They began speaking to me and asking where I was from, and what I was doing in Urbania. I said that we were both music students from America. As soon as I menionted opera, the Italian lady picked up her videocamera and asked us to sing. We politly turned her down, but she recorded us speaking. She then told us she is from Verona, where there is a large outdoor opera arena, and gave me her phone number, telling me to call her if I'm ever there.

But these spontanious conversations with Italians are not unusual. As I was walking back to the apartment on Sunday evening, a woman, probaly in her late 70s, began talking to me out of her window. I wasn't able to understand most of what she said, but I did pick up something along the lines of "Oh, you poor girl walking all by yourself! Do you live far from here? Have you had dinner?". I told her I don't understand much Italian, and that this is my first time in Italy. She smiled, and then proceeded to talk some more. Like I said before, I didn't understand most of what she said, but I loved talking with her.

This is my room in Francesco and Leonarda's apartment.

One of my favorite things to do in Urbania is walk around the downtown area, or la centra. This is the oldest part of the city, with narrow winding cobblestone streets, open windows, and ceramic rooftops. Because most people don't have air conditioning, the windows are always open, and you can hear families and friends taking. If you go during la pausa (siesta), you can hear people cleaning up the plates and dishes from lunch. In the evening, half of Urbania is in the piazza just enjoying life. Of course, old men are always in the piazza doing whatever old men do. And you can usually spot a father taking a bike ride with his child. Italian children are simply adorable; they're spirited and curious, and talk non-stop.

Few of the students in my program are living with Italian families, and I'm very glad I'm one of them. Francesco and Leonarda only speak Italian, and it has helped me start to learn the language very quickly. For the majority, I can understand them, and they understand me. And they know I haven't studied Italian before, and that I've never been here before. They're very kind, especially when I can't figure out the door; it's hard to unlock, and I've only been able to do it about twice. On Monday I had to ask the neighbor to help me out. I knocked on the door. "Che e?" ("Who is it?"). Not exactly sure what to say, I waited until he came to the door. "Buon giorno. Io sono studenta, e io vivo con Francesco e Leonarda. Ho bisogno auito con la porta." (Hello, I'm a student, and I live with Francesco and Leonarda. I need help with the door.) But I think I've finally figured it out. =)

While in Urbania, I'm studying voice with Gary Ledet. We get two 45 minute lessons each week with our teacher, in addition to other coachings. We're focusing on my coloratura, as well as addressing body tension issues. We discovered that I carry a huge amount of tension in my neck, which I couldn't feel, but may be a big factor in issues I have with placement, intonation, and ease in my higher register. Issues with tension and trying ton control everything in my voice are not something new, and anyone who has worked with me knows this. I tened to have trouble letting go, not only with my voice, but with emotions and other things. I need to learn to trust myself, and this isn't something that will come overnight. I sang "Parto, me tu ben mio", perhaps my favorite aria, during my first lesson, and he liked what I did with the piece.

About 7 of the students in my program are singing with the choir of St. Cristophoro for a conert they're doing late in the month. John, one of our tenors and our Nemorino, will be the soloist, and any of the students were invited to sing with the choir. St. Cristophoro is a gorgeous cathedral, and the sound just hovers inside the dome. Carlo, the director, speaks only Italian, which makes rehearsals interesting, but fun at the same time. But I'm learning to overcome the language barrier with hand signs, intonation, and lots of "Mi scusi". This is the Catterdale.

Wednesday was Francesco's birthday. I never thought that finding a birthday card would be difficult, but it was. To begin with, I forgot the word for birthday. I could remember it in German, Russian, and French, but non in italiano. I went to the local grocery store, pharmacy, and Smoll (kind of like CVS without the pharmacy), but none there. I also looked downtown, and finally asked a clerk where I could find one. When I found the store she told me to go to, none of the cards seemed fit. But I finaly settled for one with flowers. But what do you get a man you're father's age you harldy know in a new country for his birthday? What do Italian men do or like? No idea. So I finally settled on some little baked goods from the shop down the street. He was happy, so I guess I wasn't an epic fail at gift shopping.

On Thursday Leonarda recieved the sad news that her 102-year-old aunt passed away. She was talking about it with a friend (or relative?) yesterday, but I wasn't able to understand a lot of what was said. I was able to understand that her aunt had passed away, and how old she was, but that was about it. However, that night she said, "Non piango. Sono contenta per lei. A desso lei reste in pace." ("I'm not crying. I'm happy for her. Now she's resting in peace." She seems to be doing well though, but said her cousin is having a difficult time. Cate told me on Friday that while at 102 it isn't exactly sad, it reminds you of the other people you have lost, and that's what makes it a stressful and sad time. But now, Leonarda and her family seem to be at peace and are happy.

Thursday nights in Urbania mean "Giovediamoci", which is sort of like a city-wide festa. There are bands playing, shops are open, restaurants serve discounted drinks, and everyone, and I mean everyone, is there. You see young couples, groups of friends, families, the old men that have been in the piazza since morning (I'm not kidding. They only go home to eat and sleep), students, teenagers, and everyone else you can imagine. It goes late into the night, but it isn't a wild or out-of-controll event. Italians, though they love their wine, don't seem to drink to excess very often. It isn't a part of their culture, and it makes me sad to see that many of the other students in my program don't understand that, and act as if they were in America. I'm trying to blend in with the locals (although as a blonde with my figure in Italy, that's difficult), and I hope that my actions prove me to be a good ambassador for my homeland. Italians think Americans are loud, wild, drunken, party animals. I hope to prove them wrong.

But the idea of Giovediamoci, that everyone of all ages comes together to simply have a good time in the fresh air, is something that wouldn't fly in the States. Since coming to Italy, I've noticed that there is a definate generational divide in the States, and a weak sense of a community, be it a family, ethnicity, religion, city, or nation, that involved all ages. Of course there are differences in generations everywhere, but I think Americans tend to overcategorize our people, placing the generations into strict molds that determine what we should think, and how we should behave.

And now I'll get off my soap box.

And this is Merlino, Francesco and Leonarda's dog. He likes to go out on the balcony and growl at things, and also barks if the doorbell rings. But his one and only love is Francesco. Merlino greets no one at the door but him, and usually jumps in circles and runs around. He follows Francesco all over the house and sit under the table by his chair at dinner. Merlino is also a fan of lounging on the tile floor when it's hot, and likes to chase his tail. When I came back to the apartment on Friday afternoon, I caught him on the couch. I'm not sure if he's really allowed to sleep on the couch, but he jumped off soon after I snapped this photo of him.

And finally...the food. Oh. My. God. The food. I thought I was a good cook until I came here. My housing deal gives me breakfast and either lunch or dinner everyday. My breakfast usually is some good coffee and cereal with yogurt. For dinner, Leonarda usually makes some sort of a pasta dish; vermicelli with pesto, spaghetti with seafood, penne with shrimp and zucchini. That in itself would be more than enough, but then she brings out some sort of meat and a veggie for fruit. I go to rehearsal every night feeling extremely full. And I'm totally OK with that.

More next week!

Italy 1: La Prima

I'm currently sitting in my host family's living room, watching a Norwegian film dubbed in Italian.

Here's the low-down of my journey so far:

Atto 1: Chicago to Heathrow: Cracked Glass and Socks
To my suprise, O'Hare Airport was not the center of chaos that I thought it would be. Still, I was a bit of a mess as I got ready to say good-bye to my parents and go through security. Anyone that knows me knows that homesickness has been one of the biggest stumbling blocks of my life, and that at times it has nearly undone me. Given my past with homesickness, traveling half-way across the world scared me, especially travelling alone and flying for the first time. But it proved to be an adventure.
Security at O'Hare was slightly paniced, but painless. Lucky for me, I had a nice American couple and a kind gentleman from India to help me out. I had already put my shoes, laptop, and carry-on bag on the conveyer belt when the gaurd told me to remove my jacket and money belt. Seeing the freaked-out look on my face, the Indian man let me put them with his shoes; I could have gotten another bin, but I had no idea that was an option. But once I got through security with no other problems, I went on to my gate. It was too early to board, so I had a little time to read and get ready. But my nerves prevented me from being able to concentrate on Tolstoy, so I resorted to the USA Today special publication on Michael Jackson I bought. Don't judge me. It was totally worth it.
My flight from Chicago to Heathrow was about 8 hours. I had a window seat, but I kept the window shade down during take-off so I wouldn't fall ill. I sat next to a young English man and another man; I don't know where he was from, but his passport was in a language I couldn't recognize. Maybe the Baltics? He didn't say a word the whole flight, so I ended up listening to the radiologist from North Dakota sitting behind me talk to the people sitting next to him. He was wearing American flag pants and talked about how he likes to wear them and make the Brits he golfs with nervous. And we wonder why people think Americans are obnoxious.
My friend Lisa was right about British Airways food; it's quite good. I have no other airline food to compare it too, but it seemed fine to me. Since I had forgotten to take any medication that would help me sleep, I had a little wine. Of course, my plastic glass was cracked, and half of the Bordeaux eneded up on me. My book got most of it though, and my mother's blazer that I was wearing didn't get stained.
I was going to listen to music while I tried to sleep, but the opera station was playing some 20th Century English opera. Britten? I'm not sure, but it's not good for falling asleep. I didn't sleep well, but who does on an airplane? But I woke up as the sun was rising above Ireland. By then my body was beginning to feel tense and I was ready to get out of that plane. It was then that I discovered that in the pack with the sleep mast, there were a pair of Birtih Airway socks.
We landed at Heathrow about an hour later and took a shuttle from the plane to Terminal 5. Heathrow is a center of insanity. I stood for a few mintues in one of the hallways, not really knowing where to go, but finally just followed the crowd up to security.
Heathrow security was a near disaster. It's proceedures are slightly different than those at O'Hare; you can leave your sheos on, but they want your carry-on liquids taken out of the bag. The security person was beginning to be a little impatient with me as I pulled out the items, but I managed. As I was about ready to walk off, I noticed my laptop bag was feeling unusually light. Just then, I heard a notice on the PA system "We have a laptop at security". I picked up my things and went back, hoping that no one had taken it. It took a while to get anyone's attention, but I got my laptop back. yay!
Heathrow Airport, as I said before, is crazy. It feels more like a shopping mall with an airport thrown into it. The signs obvisously are a wonderful help, but if I could change one thing about the place it would be this; tell passangers from which gate they are departing sooner. Some flights from Terminal 5 require a short shuttle ride to the gates, but you don't find this out until a certain time (I don't remember exactly how long before the flight). Since I had a short layover, I was concerned about time. But then again, I'm freakishly paranoid about being late, so this is no suprise, and I was there in pleanty of time.

Atto 2: London to Rome: Mrs. Atticson and Jules
My flight to Rome was bout 2 hours and on a smaller plane. This plane actually might have been comfortable to sleep in. Oh well.
I was extremely fortunate to share this ride with two very interesting ladies. Mrs. Atticson (spelling?) is probably in her late 70s and was travelling with her companion, Jules, who is probably 40-50. Mrs. Atticson is a widow, and spoke a few times of her late husband, Percy. I don't know how she met Jules, or how they began travelling together. They were going to the Vatican, because Mrs. Atticson's sight is failing, and she watned to be able to see it while she still can. Because of her poor eyesight, I helped her with a few things like buckling her seatbelt and descirbing the scenery outside the plane window. She asked me about my travels, where I was from, and how I enjoyed flying so far. And she offered me great adive as well, telling me to hang on to my faith because it will carry me though tough times when I'm older. She also warned me about British coffee, "Oh, it's horrific!"
I was able to enjoy a wonderful view on this ride. We flew south of out the UK and into France, flying over Paris and into Italy. I was able to pick out Paris from 30,000 feet because of the Arc de Triumph and the roads going towards it, which, if I might add, looks amazing from above. Viewing landscape from above is fascinating, and each country has its own distince features. The Midwest, for example, is very square. England, on the other hand, is any shape it wants to be. Yes, there are squares, but I also noticed feilds shaped like triangles, and little towns that amophously grew out of one center. France is somewhere in the middle.
Fiumicino Airport is also chaos, but in a much different way than Heathrow. Again, I wasn't sure where to go, so I just followed everyone else and hoped they were going the same place I wanted to be. This turned out to work. But My freaking out began when my luggage appeared to not have come through. Altmost the entirety of my flight was waiting by the conveyer belt, but at first only about half of the luggage came. I had also tried to call home at this point to say I got there, but my phone wouldn't let the call go through. So there I was, standing in the stuffy airport with no luggage and no way to contact my parents, with no idea what to do. But eventualy the conveyer belt started up again, and the rest of the bags appeared. The phone stil didn't work.
When I came out of the terimal, about 50 people were standing there waiting for passangers. Many had signs, and I looked for my name or the name of my program, but neither were there. An Italian airport worker approached me and asked if I wanted a taxi, and I said, "No, grazie. Someone is supposed to pick me up, but I can't find her." "Che?" I was confused and flustered, he was confused, so I walked away when he started talking with someone else. I wandered around like this for about 45 minutes, called the program director, and still couldn't find my group. Finally, I started heading for another terminal, and someone stopped me. "Italian Operatic Experience?" they asked. My director had called the person meeting us. So, I finally was able to sit down and relax a little before the bus ride to Urbania.

Atto 3: Italia by Bus
The bus ride from Rome to Urbania lasted about 4 and 1/2 hours. I tend to enjoy raod trips, and this was by far one of the most interesting. Italy is a very green country; I noticed this first from my view from the plane, and even more so driving through the country. Trees are everywhere. We stopped at a truck stop about half-way to Urbania. Italian truck stops may be one of the most interesting things I've ever seen. This one sold pasta and fresh meat and cheese. There's something you'd never see in the States. But we continued on, and the motion sickness kicked in once we went through the mountains. I kept my eyes close from getting ill, but that meant I had to miss out on the beautiful scenery.

Atto 4: At home with Italians
Once we arrived at the bus stop, Roberto, one of the Scuola Italia instructors, was waiting for us with our housing assignments. We had the choice of either staying in an apartment with other students or living with a family. Suprisingly, only 2 students are staying with a family, and I am one of them. My host family is Franc esco and Leonarda, an Italian couple about my parents age. Cate, a student from New Zealand who has been here for about 3 months, is also living here. They also have a small and cute dog that adores Francesco, is fairly indifferent to Leonarda and Cate, and doens't know what to do about me. Francesco picked me up from the bus stop and drove me back to the apartment, which is about a block from Scuola Italia (which is wonderfu, because they told us that those living with families would probably have to walk 2 miles!). I had hardly put my things in my room when Leonarda brought me something to eat. While getting to know my Italian family, I realized that I know more Italian than I thought I did. Cate doesn't speak in English to me except for a few times, but it is nice to have someone in the apartment who knows English and can help me out. Cate and I took a passegiatta after I ate and walked around town. And, as my awkwardness is, the gelato I had melted all over the place. Great first impression, Lydia. But it was still a wonderful evening, and seeing people of all ages in the piazza is simply delightful.
I was happy to finally be able to sleep in a bed! This morning I had my first Italain coffee, which excelled my expectations. Coffee in America is very bitter, which is why I don't drink it all that often. But Italian coffee is very smooth and slightly creamy.
After unpacking and lunch, I took a walk around town. I found that my memory card didn't work in my camera, but found some American students taking a walk and we fixed the problem by me taking a memory card with smaller storage and the student paying me the difference. Shortly after that I had my first experience with Italian guys. There were 3 of them, Marco, Massimo, and Francesco. They asked me if I wanted to take their picture. I thought it was a slightly unusual question, but I said why not? I know I'm not the most worldly person, but I could see what was going on, so I went with it for a while. Marco asked me where I was going, and I said, the best that I could in Italian, nowhere in particular. He asked if they could accompany me, and I let them. Marco then asked after a bit if I wanted to go to the bar with them. Although it would have been interesting, I said no. I wasn't in the mood to have a drink, and the bar they were heading towards looked a little questionable. So they said ciao and went on their way. I came back to the apartment, put the key in the door, and it promply broke. Crap. So now I'm locked out, and I can't tell if Francesco and Leonarda are at home, and I don't want to shout to them from the ground. Eventually, I thought, somone has to come out of the building, and a teenager finally did. I showed him the key and said that I was livng with Francesco and Leonarda, and he let me in. They wern't upset with me, and said the keys are very old and it happens all the time.

That's all for now! I'll post photos when I have more than 2. Class starts tomorrow at 9:00 am.