I Went to Switzerland and All I Got Was This Lousy Adrenaline Rush

 

Guten tag, as the Swiss say, I’ve just returned from a weekend trip to Switzerland! And must I say, it is quite a beautiful country.  I woke up around 2:30 am, after dozing off during out nine-hour bus ride from Florence, to a flurry of snow going on outside my window.  The snow accumulation was so much that it looked like q-tips and snowmen were growing instead of trees.  Because of the view outside, it took me a few minutes to realize the fact that our large coach bus was winding around a narrow, snow covered street on a mountainside. My head became filled with thoughts of how this bus does not belong here – not because of the size of the road, but more so because I felt like I was in the barest landscape where humans could never survive without their technology or machinery.  To my right was a cliff covered in wired fence to keep boulders from cascading down and crushing any car that may be unfortunate enough to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.  To my left, the cliff continued down to a barren, white plain with a tiny village lit only by the fires I imagined roaring inside each home to keep the family from freezing to death.  How fortunate we are to have created such technologies.

At about four in the morning, we arrived at our hostel called Funny Farm.  At the door was a behemoth St. Bernard laying as if she was another piece of furniture installed in the lobby (Spliff, was her name, as I would soon find out the next morning lolz).  The hostel was an interesting place to say the least.  I think the only difference between a hostel and hotel may be that the s in hostel stands for shitty.  Walking into our room, I felt like I had stepped into the 1970s.  Our bathroom had a flowery hippy curtain and fake vinyl tiles that reminded me so much of the Brady Bunch house where Marsha and Greg would start their mornings.  Now, if only I had Alice to clean it up for me. 

My alarm went off at 8 am, playing its usual “Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl…” tune that so often jolts me out of bed.  Our all inclusive breakfast was not so much a breakfast as a loaf of bread that you could put jam on (for the big eaters, of course).  I’ve actually noticed that Europeans don’t really eat breakfast…very strange.  And bad for your metabolism.  Anyhow, I grabbed a piece of bread and darted out the hostel in excitement for my activity soon to come – sky diving.  But not just any sky diving, sky diving out of a helicopter.  What’s the difference you ask?  Do let me enlighten you:  when you jump out of a plane you actually decelerate from 180 mph to 140 mph (because the plane is already moving when you jump); however, when you jump out of a helicopter, the chopper is stationary which means you go from 0 to 140 mph in just seconds.  I know, I’m a badass.  To my parents…sorry I had to put you through reading this just now.  But now that it’s over, we can joke about it, right? That being said, stop reading this paragraph because you may not want to read what I’ve got to say about the experience.  The feeling that I experienced instantly after stepping off of the helicopter platform is like nothing I have ever felt before.  To say my stomach dropped like a roller coaster wouldn’t even begin to compare.  It was like I left my stomach in the helicopter while the rest of my body plummeted 14,000 feet over Switzerland.  Sheer adrenaline shot through me as I fell from above the clouds, then through the clouds, and finally felt the yank of my parachute slow me down to a glide.  Andrew, the man attached to my back, handed me the parachute controls as we did circles and I screamed in ecstasy.  This was by far the coolest thing I have ever done, and would honestly do it a thousand times over just to feel the rush again.

Even at 140 mph, I still thought to blow kisses.  If that's love, baby, I don't know what is.

Okay parents, you can resume reading here.  For lunch, we headed to the top of a ski mountain, which proved more difficult than expected.  Two trains, two gondolas, and lots of headache, we finally got to the top and had an interesting meal.  Let’s just say meatballs in Switzerland are nowhere near the same thing as meatballs in Italy.  Something gets lost in translation…

 

Our included chocolate tasting came next.  Yes, Mom, it came before dinner, sorry.  When I walked into Swiss Chocolate Chalet, I was delightfully surprised to see the cutest little Swiss Willy Wonka standing with a platter of chocolates.  The different types of chocolate flavors and shapes was enough to make Augustus Gloop poop in his pants.  (For Ricki: “Somebody save my Augustus! He is drowning!” No but really, If I’m ever drowning in a Swiss Chocolate river, please, I beg you…do NOT attempt to save me.  I’m enjoying myself more than you’ll ever know.)  The man went on to tell us how to taste chocolate, what the percentages and hours stated on the labels mean, the whole time feeding us the creamiest, most interesting flavors of chocolates I’ve ever placed in my mouth.  White chocolate with lemon and thyme, dark chocolate with pieces of chili pepper, champagne truffles, cappuccino chocolates that even LOOK like cappuccino, and anything else this little man dreams up in his chocolate factory.  I brought some back to Florence to bring home, but we all know that there is a slim chance I let that chocolate sit in my room all by its lonesome.

 

The next day I got to ski the Swiss Alps.  I got off the chairlift at the top of a mountain, looking eye to eye with clouds.  The views from up there are really something else.  Glancing around, I felt the mountains seemed so stoic.  After years and years of people climbing them, jumping from them, skiing all over them, they still retained the natural beauty and seemed unbothered at all that people were exploiting them for a quick shot of adrenaline.  The snow glistened in a way that looked like a child was pouring glitter in front of a fan and blowing it all over the place.  I was in my own snow globe and wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else in the world at that moment.  Then I looked down at all of the runs to be skied down.  I pulled my neck warmer up and my goggles down and booked it down the mountain.  My skies disappeared under the knee-high powder in between the trees and before I knew it, I had reached the chairlift again.  I admit, the mountain is a bit hard to navigate since it’s rarely marked (except for where not to ski) and everything is written in German, but you get a hang for it after a couple of runs.  This day was something I’ll never forget.

I told my mom that I was in love with Switzerland.  But I had also told her when I got to Florence that I was in love with Florence.  For giving my heart away so willingly, I was called fickle. I choose to refute this accusation, and instead I say that my heart is big enough to share with whatever country can steal a piece of it.

City of the Arts

Hello again, friends!  Yesterday’s activity took me all around town in a fascinating Art History tour.  Now, I must confess, I didn’t retain much of the details behind the artifacts, but I can tell you a few things.  I’m really hoping that my Art History of the Great Masters class will help me more, because this stuff really is quite interesting.

Here is the Florence Cathedral, often known as the Duomo.  I mostly use this enormously tall building with distinct outside design as a landmark to get me to the center of the town.  The cathedral’s real name is Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore and the gothic style architecture is reminiscent of old European style.  Interestingly, the outer façade of the building is not the original.  The Medici, during their reign, decided to hold a competition (I’m told the Florentine love competition) to redesign the Basilica since the Grand Duke thought it was outdated. The winner stands today in a triumphant display of neo-gothic design for all to see at the heart of the city.

The dome that you see was actually the last part of the Cathedral to be finished. In the beginning of the 15^th century, nearly a hundred years since the rest of the Cathedral was built, a gaping hole still stood where the dome was supposed to be.  The numerous technical issues with creating a dome led Filippo Brunelleschi to hold a competition among engineers and architects.  The competition was to create a dome that would hold an egg in perfect balance at the top of the dome.  After nobody could create such a thing, Brunelleschi pulled a fast one on the competition.  By carefully cutting the bottom of the egg off to make a flat surface, he won his own competition and was commissioned to build the dome himself.  Genius, if you ask me.  Michelangelo has even been known to feel that he himself could not create a dome more beautiful than this, and often sited Brunelleschi as a great influence on his works. 

The doors of the Basilica all look like this, huge masterpieces made of bronze that tell the story different major religious events.  This door (pictured below) represents the story of St. John the Baptist.  I found the most interesting part of the doors to be the realistic three-dimensional pictures – I can only imagine how difficult the bronze must have been to work with for Niccolò Barabino to make such a magnificent entrance. 

The Ponte Vecchio (shout out to mah gurl Alexa!), a bridge lined with shops and stands to hopefully catch the eye of tourists, was another highlight of the tour.  The bridge stands over the Arno River and once there, you must check out all of the locks that line the banisters.  It’s tradition here, if you have fallen in love in the city, to place a lock on the banister (if you can find room, that is!) and then toss the key into the river.  I thought it was absolutely adorable and know that I will be placing a lock there at the end of April, for I have already fallen for this city.  

Along Via San Francesco d'Assisi all sorts of artisans and musicians are stationed because they know every tourist will be coming to the Ponte Vecchio.  We're talking the artists always portrayed in cinemas where they sit along the river painting or drawing the next post card you'll be buying.

 After hours of walking and learning, our appetites had grown hungry.  Our tour had finished on the opposite side of the Ponte Vecchio from where we live which meant that we got to try a new restaurant.  Gusto Panino was to be the next victim of an American invasion.  Interesting fact - whenever you say "panini" back in America, you are actually ordering more than one sandwich.  It's like saying, "I'd like a turkey sandwiches."  Not gramatically correct.  I will be taking a stand upon returning home to say "panino" since this is the singular form, and I urge you to join in.  POWER IN NUMBERS, WE CAN CHANGE THIS!  I am also considering running for a political position to change this, so if anybody is looking for a summer internship, please let me know - I'll be needing a campaign manager and PR rep.  Jus' sayin'.  Anyways, back to the panino.  For just 3 Euro, pronounced here as "eh-ooo-roh" not "yer-o" and don't get it twisted, you can enjoy a heavenly warm melty cheese panino with spicy salami or whatever you'd like.  I must confess, though, I preferred the sandwich from Antico Noe more and felt the meat was a lot fresher.  At Antico Noe, Italian for Old Noah, they shave the meats as ordered, none of that sitting out all day or store bought meats.  This is the good stuff.  At either place, you're sure you enjoy yourself, as evidenced by the two pictures below. 

Spencer enjoying Gusto Panino. You can just tell that is one DAMN good sandwich!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I have no words to express the joy I felt eating this sandwich.  My mind has been blown and I will never be the same. 

Photo Credit to Teague Simoncic

And now, I must bring this entry to a close for a good reason.  Tomorrow starts the beginning of classes and I have never, in my entire school career been more excited to learn.  I'm sort of weirded out, but I'm sure my mom and dad are beaming with delight right now.  History of the Medici begins tomorrow and they seem to have been the big shots around here at one point.  This statue of Neptune stands in the Piazza della Signoria in front of the Palazzo Vecchio, a past residence of Cosimo.  Thought long since deceased, the ego of Cosimo de Medici is still dispersed throughout the city of Firenze and is seen in the face of this statue sculptured to resemble the Grand Duke himself.  Narcissists will be narcissists...

Chianti is for Lovers

The more time you spend in Italy, the more you fall in love with it.  Today has only made my thoughts repeat over and over "What the hell am I going to do when I get back to America?"  There is nothing like this country - especially in Chianti.  Today, the CEA students took a trip to Castello di Verrazzano (Castle of Verrazzano), which is atop the most beautiful hills in between Florence and Siena.  For those of you who have ventured to New York, you may recall the name of a certain bridge named for Giovanni Verrazzano who discovered the bay of New York and the main part of the East Coast of America.  Here at Castellano di Verrazzano, the family has taken to wine making, along with meat curing, balsamic vinegar, and olive oil.  I'm telling you, this place is a sight to behold.  The drive out from Firenze was about 45 minutes of twisty turny roads.  Mind you, we were in a huge coach bus, just barely missing tiny cars scooting along the streets. All along the way were tons and tons of olive trees lined perfectly in rows behind the cutest terracotte roofed houses.  One thing that I really enjoyed was that at the end of the rows was usually a single chair where I imagine the owner taking a seat to simply sit and enjoy looking out at the green countryside.  This is the Italy I want. 

When we got to Castellano, we were given a tour of the whole place. Enormous barrels with enough Chianti to fill the lake outside my house and then still have some left over for dinner were everywhere.  Each one made is with a different type of wood, in order to ensure different tones of leather or rose or walnut.  During our wine tasting, I was told that these tones can only be picked up from each person's individual "olfactory archives" - things we have smelled throughout our lives that remind us of the scents.  I'll need a bit more practice on what our guide said in his Italian accented English, "I don't know, I thinks you need to smell life."  I could not agree more sir!  They say that smelling wine is half the experience of drinking it and now I truly understand why. 

Following the wine tasting, lunch was to be served.  Fresh bread and olive oil so fresh I swear I could taste the dirt it was grown in was placed on the table.  Waitresses then brought out a large bowl of penne pasta with marinara sauce - by far the best pasta I have ever had in my life.  The simplicity of the food here is just that.  So simple.  But the flavor that comes from letting a tomato be a tomato is something not to be missed and never to be forgotten.  

 

My friends and I sat back in satisfaction when out of nowhere, “Prego?” asked a heavenly voice from above my right shoulder.  I glanced up to see a giant silver tray with all sorts of meat on it.  This meal was not over, in fact, FAR from it. The prosciutto I had just seen hanging in a cellar of the castle was now sitting on a plate for me to devour.  Salami and other sorts of charceuterie covered the whole platter.  Then, plates with bread drizzled in olive oil, bread covered in beans, bread covered in roasted onions, more meats, roasted vegetables, chickpeas, chunks of pecorino cheese were somehow stacked on the table.  I still have no idea how we fit the food on the table, let alone how I managed to fit it in my stomach.  After two hours of chatting and eating, the whole time with a giant grin on my face, the meal seemed to be coming to a close, but certainly not before dessert.  Vino de Santo (Wine of the Saints, used for special religious events like Christmas or Communion) was poured into a tiny shot sized glass to accompany the almond biscotti, emulating the sweetness of the entire day at the Castellano.  This is a day I will most certainly remember forever.

Ciao for now!  Art history tour tomorrow, so brace yourself for some knowledge bombs about to be dropped on you Americans.

Ciao di Italia!

Ciao! To start, I'd like to complain to my parents for not raising me in Italy.  This place is absolutely stunning - the people are stylish, the architecture beautiful, and the food sent down from the gods.  Everybody here seems to really take their time, no matter what the activity they're doing.  Lunch seems to take hours upon end, but hey, I'm definitely not complaining.  It's comforting to see that the native way of life is just living in each moment, especially because I frequently have minor freak-outs from culture shock and not being able to speak the language here.  Speaking of language (ha!), Italian sounds so suave talking to each other that I often find myself staring at two people conversing, not understanding a single word, but listening to the inflections in voices while watching hands fly left and right and up in the air.  Today, we (my roommates and I) asked a couple walking for help with reading a map.  The two began talking to each other, when out of nowhere the man yelled, "AH!" and threw his hands up then just stormed off.  Meanwhile, the woman just kept repeating something in Italian speaking slowly as if her partner were a child...reminds me a bit of when I have to explain technological things to my mom (HEY MOM!) 

The language barrier is the hardest part of living here, although most people speak english, I think. Whenever I'm in a cafe or shop, I see the Americans say English words slowly and loudly...as if this is going to help the Italians understand us.  I'm pretty sure it just makes the Italian feel like the American is treating them like a foreigner in their own country.  It's because of this that I really look forward to learning the language.  Not only will help in understanding the culture, but it would be really nice to be able to get along in the city for a day without a giant target on my forehead saying, "AMERICAN". 

Anyhow, I've got to get some food so this blog entry will have to wait.  We all know how much food takes precedence in my life.  And don't worry, mom, I'll chill out on the gelato.  Oh and Steve, THE SALAMI IS AMAZING HERE!