Guerilla Tourism

On Wednesday I went to the Palasso Massimo museum with Art and Arch. None of the problems of the last trip occurred, in fact we got to the Metro station where we were to meet Marry Anne, the Student Life Secretary two hours early. Our unfailing nerd senses led the Doppelganger, Treco, Nick, and I straight to a bar for coffee, and then to Mel Bookstore, which is evidently the Italian equivalent of Barnes and Noble. We went in just seeing the store front, and surmising that it was long and then, but no bigger than any of the other stores on the street. Then I turned a corner around a bookshelf and discovered that it went much deeper into the building and there were exits on the street running parallel to the one from which we had entered, and that there were two other floors in the building. ^_^

The museum itself, one of the three National Archeology Museums, was smaller then the Capitoline Museums and it’s collection consists of Roman sculpture and portraiture. I liked it better than the Capitoline as well – its size made it easier to take in, and there were a lot of cool things there. If you have seen anything from its collection than it is probably either this, or possibly this, which is a Roman copy of a Greek original. My personal favorite, and that of everyone I talked to, was this room. When I get home I’ll show people the video I made of it, but even that does not do the room justice. There are frescoes like this along all four walls. It was originally an underground barrel vault from the garden at the private villa of one of the emperors. I also overheard more than one person express a desire to do this in their own home, an idea which I too plan to carry out. It was nice at the end of the tour to just sit down and look at this room.

So, I went to London this weekend, just, you know, because. Let me begin this with a definition and another note.

Guerilla Tourism: lurk underground then jump out and take pictures of the monuments while their guard is down, than disappear onto the Underground.

My partners in crime were Lauren, the Doppelganger, Nick, and Treco.

Treco is a lighting rod of hate. If anything bad can happen, it will happen to him. The trick is to stand near him, so that anything bad which would have happened to you will happen to him instead, but don’t stand to close otherwise you get all of his bad karma, plus whatever was already going to happen to you.

Our flight on Friday was to leave at 11:00. So, leaving an hour for check in, security, and passport control, we needed to be at the airport by 10:00. Presupposing the existence of a bus, it takes about 15 to 20 minutes to get to the airport, which means that for comfort’s sake we deeded to be on a bus by 9:30 at the absolute latest. Now the existence of a bus is a big assumption to make, if you want a 9:30 bus, you need to be at the stop at 8:30 otherwise you won’t make it. So, we made our first mistake and stayed up late the night before, and each of us got roughly six hours of sleep. Treco is nearly impossible to wake up, and may even beat me in the World Sleeping In Championship. So, at 9:30, when despite numerous attempts to get him moving, Treco was still not fully packed, the rest of us went out to the bus stop fully prepared to leave him.

We caught a bus which was more or less on time, and made it to Chiampano without much trouble. A consultation with the departures board told us that the flight has been delayed, so my cell phone was abused to call back to campus, to Angie, one of the Student Life Coordinators, whom we had spoken to at breakfast and who knew what was going on with our trip, and asked her to try and find Treco and tell him that he might still make it. She never did talk to him, because in the intervening time since our departure, he had finished packing and caught the next bus.

The rest of us got our boarding passes and changed our money (one of my 50 dollar traveler’s checks was magically turned into 19 Pounds by a particularly obtuse clerk who insisted on changing it into Euros before giving me pounds) and were just about to go through security when Treco came dashing in. We debated killing each other and decided to go to London instead.

He got his boarding pass and we all passed through security and passport control. The maniac their decided to stamp mine on the page across from my visa, underneath the little information notice from the Italian Embassy that is stapled in there. We did this just in time for the beginning of the line to board our flight.

Let me take this moment to say that Americans pay far too much for airfare. For the flight to London together with the flight back, we paid $87.55 per person, and we were grumbling about the price, because there are a lot of British airport taxes and the flight home was roughly three times as much as the flight back. As another example, in the Metro in Rome there are Lufthansa billboards advertising round-trip flights to Miami for 324 EUR. Why do Americans pay so much more to fly?

Now Ryan Air is a “low fares” airline, and part of the way they achieve this is at the terminal. They have itty bitty little airplanes that are accessed by stairs on the tarmac, not a gangway attached to the building. Our flight is parked on the opposite side of the air port from where the terminal is, and we have to take a shuttle bus to the plane. They save even more money by trying to sell things to you all throughout the flight: hot and cold drinks, food (although there is nothing stopping you from bringing your own), souvenirs, fragrances, children’s toys, and bus passes from the airport into the city (we did get that last one, because we had been warned by friends who went last week that they were far cheaper onboard then at the station and there was no other way into the city).

The flight itself was without incident, and Lauren got some great shots of the some mountains (the Alps?) and the costs of Corsica and France. We landed in London and were filling out the landing cards for customs when we realize that the Doppelganger had not printed the confirmation email for our hostel and we consequently did not have anything to put in the blank labeled “Address in the United Kingdom”. This wasn’t a problem for me because the guy had trouble finding where the Italian passport control officer had stamped my passport (I finally had to tell him) and that distracted him. My other four accomplices were read the riot act by an increasingly irate passport minion.

Finding the correct bus wasn’t any trouble, and not having any other instruction we rode it all the way into Victoria Station, which is one of the bigger Tube Stations in the city, in addition to being combined with National Rail, and a coach station. Just before we got there, we spotted an STA Travel outlet, and since that is where we had all gotten our Student ID cards we went there first. Treco inquired about replacing his stolen ID, and I called directory assistance in an effort to locate our hostel. I was less than successful, as London is divided into many small towns all of which are mashed together into one metropolis, rather like New York City. This means that if you call directory assistance and say “London” they will not be able to locate a hostel in Kensington or Chelsea (we never did figure out where it actually was) and they will treat you like an idiot for not knowing. Thus defeated, we went back to Victoria Station and at the ridiculous rate of 1 Pound ($1.80) a minute, the Doppelganger used a public access terminal to find the address of the Hostel. After that, we bought tickets and took the Tube across town to our hostel.

I will never say another word against the organization of the Roman Metro again. The Metro looks like this. The Tube looks like this.

We weren’t entirely sure where on the street our hostel was, so we took the Tube to one end of it, and started walking. The street number of the hostel was 149. We emerged from the tube at Number 8. Only the residential buildings were numbered, so the walk lasted a lot longer than it would have otherwise. It was a long walk, past another Tube station and several bus stops that we could have taken if we had bothered to try to understand the London bus system. One of the few amenities offered by the hostel was its location, it was 20 minutes by Tube from Victoria station, sure, but it was in a nice area, on our way there we walked by the Natural History Museum, the French Embassy, the Yemeni Embassy, and the Baden-Powell House [sorry boys, but I didn’t have a chance to stop :(]. We were next door to a large modern glass-and steel Marriot with waterfalls and torches out front. We checked in at the hostel, got directions to the Earl’s Court High Street, dropped our luggage and went in search of food. I’ll come back to the hostel later, but let me just say now that our plan was to check in and hit one museum that afternoon. Between the hour and a half on the bus and the confusion in reaching the hostel it was dinner time before we were ready to go anywhere.

We ate in the Earl’s Court Tavern, which had good food. We tried the appetizer nachos in homage to a favorite comedian who laments the lack of good Mexican food in England. He was right, they used Doritos for tortilla chips, and the chili included beans. On the other hand, the hamburgers we had were wonderful, and the chips were a welcome break from the pasta we’ve been eating. Our waitress was new, something we forgave her and left an over generous tip for after confirming that service had not been included in the bill. She was also not a native speaker of English: her understanding and usage were both good, but she was used to hearing British accents, and ours threw her for a loop. We found that everywhere we went our accents and idioms caused problems. Lauren found out the hard way that you do not ask “Do you carry Nutella?” at a grocery store. Apparently that means does the clerk personally carry Nutella. The correct form is “Do you have any Nutella?”

After dinner we went on a lightning tour of the monuments by night, using what I called Guerilla Tourism, see the definition above. We started at Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament, then went to Westminster Abby. We walked up the street past Horse Guards Palace, the Admiralty Arch, and the turn off for Scotland Yard, ending in Trafalgar Square and Nelson’s Column. We hit a souvenir shop and a pub before heading back to the hostel for the night.

The hostel was the cheapest available, and we got what we paid for. It was sweltering hot, even with the window open. And the beds were tiny, although the linens were clean. Our rooms were divided: 2 in a 6 bedroom female dorm, and 3 in a 6 bed room mixed dorm. I drew the short straw and was in the mixed dorm, there was another girl my room, so it was sort of OK, we didn’t spend much time there. Anna and Lauren were in a room on, what the British called the 2^nd Floor, which means the 3^rd Floor to us. Nick, Treco and I were a floor above that. The stares were a continuous, orange painted, wrought iron monstrosity that started out with large good-sized steps, but got steadily narrower and steeper as it ascended, to the point that we regretted not packing climbing gear before we reached our room. The included breakfast turned out to be toast (your choice of butter and/or Apple-Plum-Rhubarb Jam) and juice. There were no smoking signs plastered all over the place, but the whole building reeked of cigarette smoke. We got what we paid for. My three other roommates were from Spain, and spoke very little English. The three of us colectivally knew German quite well, a little Italian, a little French, and a little Latin, but very little Spanish that wasn’t directly related to food or money. What Spanish we did know was Mexican Spanish, which is as different from Spanish in Spain as American is from British. We did not talk much, and I’m sure they 1.)thought we were crazy and 2.) wanted to murder me and throw my cell phone out the window after I hit the snooze alarm four times.

As we trekked down to breakfast, Lauren met Nick and me on the steps (Treco as up and
moving and swore that he was on his way down) to the basement where the kitchen was located and told us that the Doppelganger was sick. She was sick as in throwing up, but she had no temperature and was not coughing, nor was her nose stopped up. After we asked her several times if she didn’t want to stay there and I even offered to stay behind with her, the five of us got on our way. Our first stop, at the end of that block, was to a grocery store, where we got bottles of water, 7UP, and Milk of Magnesia (the only thing in the “Medicines” section that said it was good for upset stomach) and set out for a day of Guerilla Tourism. [I also found Dr. Pepper there. British Dr. Pepper tastes like the stuff in the glass bottles with the Imperial Cane Sugar that comes from Dublin, Texas. Good stuff, but more than twice what one would pay for it in the States.]

One can buy a day pass for the underground for the inner two zones (we only needed the first one, but that is as small as they come) for 3 Pounds 90, which is an incredible deal considering that a single ticket costs 4 Pounds, so that is what we all got. Treco, the Doppelganger and I all had change so we were able to use the machines. Lauren and Nick stood in line and bought the tickets from a real live human being. As Nick was leaving the teller, he heard the guy turn to the other one and ask Metro, tickets “You come to a foreign country without a quid in your pocket?” Our answer is of course, yes, when the exchange rate is this bad, although he restrained the urge to answer the question. We got as far as the Monument Tube stop, before the Doppelganger threw up again, although she did move away from us, and she had a bag handy. We exited hurriedly and began a search for a public restroom and a trashcan.

We made the discovery that neither thing exists in the Underground, apparently for security reasons. We landed at a Starbucks just outside the station, where the Doppelganger was able to throw the bag away. We all sat down to wait to see how the Doppelganger felt, and Lauren and I bought coffee since we were taking up space and using their restroom. After a while, in which Treco and I wrote a few postcards, Lauren and I drank our coffee, Anna drank a little water and had a dose of the Milk of Magnesia, and we re-plotted the day to allow for our troubles getting started, we left again.

Our first stop was the Tower of London. The Doppelganger decided not to go in, so she went to one of the gift shops and took a nap while the rest of us went. We took the tour from one of the Yeomen Warders, which was free with admission, and well worth it. Between Nick, Treco, and myself, we got most of the tour on our cameras (we didn’t get the first section because we didn’t think about it and we weren’t allowed to record the part in the chapel because of copy write restrictions) which we have strung together for the Doppelganger to see. Then we went into the Jewel House, where no photography was allowed, so we bought postcards of it. If we could have, we would have spent far more time at the Tower, but there were other places we wanted to see and we didn’t want to leave the Doppelganger alone any longer, so we hit the gift shop, collected our ailing comrade (now feeling a little bit better) and moved on.

We then took the Tube to Blackfriars, and got turned around because we decided to try to reach our next location by following the posted signs instead of the map. Of course, part of the reason we got lost was because we only followed half of the directions on the map, but who am I to quibble? We doubled back and crossed the Thames via Blackfriars Bridge, which is a nifty piece of civic architecture put up by Queen Victoria. We walked down the Thames for a while, dutifully following signs that informed us that our target was only minutes away. We learned when we finally arrived that the Millennium Bridge would have been closer, but it was a moot point by then.

This is me at the Globe. ^_^

All the historic Any-things in London seem to close in the 4-5 o’clock hour, so we alas did not have time to take a tour or see the special exhibit that was there about Shakespeare’s connection with the Gunpowder Plot, both of which would have also cost money. We made up for not spending any money by blowing large portions of our remaining money at the gift shop. I spent 19 Pounds and some change, which translates to about $40.

We crossed the river on the way back to the Tube via the Millennium Bridge, which is a brand spanking new steel and glass footbridge – as wide as a two lane road, and not one of these narrow Italian roads either – that we could feel shaking beneath our feet with the weight of all the people walking on it. I didn’t like it because I’m afraid of heights. The others agreed that the shaking was disturbing and that Blackfriars was a much better bridge. On the flip side, the end of the bridge near the Globe and the Tate Modern was home to the best steel drum player I’ve ever heard. He was playing “Moonlight Sonata” and against all logic it actually sounded good. Nick recorded it, and I plan to get a copy from him. If any of us had had any change handy we would have left some.

Our next stop, just across the bridge and two streets directly north of the Globe, was Saint Paul’s Cathedral. Our stop there went something like this:

“Look it’s Saint Paul’s!” *click, click*

“So where’s the Tube Station?”

“Let me check the map.”

As for the map, we went through a song and dance every time we looked at it, which was often. It was a good map, but unfortunately it folded up into a continent pocket size and found a home in my purse. I had my camera, Augustine’s Confessions (which I was supposed to be reading for Theo Trad), and a growing collection of receipts in it. Every time we wanted the map we had to stop and spend a minute letting me search for it, declare I couldn’t find it, check the bag a was using for souvenirs, check my pockets, and then check the purse one last time, where I would find it tucked between two postcards. We did this EVERY TIME. In hindsight, we agree that I should have just given the map to Nick, who was my assistant navigator.

Our next stop was the British Museum. Finding it was a bit of a challenge, as there wasn’t a Tube stop that spit you our right at it, and Nick was allowed to navigate initially. The British Museum is cool. It’s big. It’s FREE (although they suggest a donation). They allow you to take pictures. We only had an hour before closing time, so we swung through the ancient Greek galleries and saw the Parthenon Room, we then went through the Egypt room. We saw the Rosetta Stone, some mummies, and a bunch of other nifty looking things, the names of which I can not for the life of me remember. We hit the gift shops(plural) and spent the last of our cash. On our way out the door we saw the main reading room, which is also very impressive. When I grow up, I want a library like that of my own. I’ll put it near the Roman frescos. Our last act was to take photos on the steps of the museum. While we were there everyone except Nick encountered some sort of trouble with their camera from Treco, who’s camera reported new batteries as being dead to Lauren, who’s camera randomly decided that it did not want to turn the flash on when we went outside. All in all, I could easily have spent a full day just in that museum and been perfectly happy.

About the time we left the museum it suddenly hit us all that we had eaten a very small breakfast and has skipped lunch completely (well except for the Doppelganger, who was feeling much better but still didn’t feel like trying to eat anything). We trooped back over to Blackfriars, were the pub had been recommended to Nick by a friend. It was worth the trip, I got sausage and mash because 1.) it was not pasta and 2.) it was as about as British as it is possible for food to get and still be edible. Those mashed potatoes were at least as good as the ones I make at home. Good stuff.

A word on schedules before I continue:

Our flight back to Rome left London at 7:10 AM. It was the only Ryan Air flight going from London to Rome on Sunday, so missing it was not an option. Now, since unlike the Italians the British actually have something resembling customs and security, it was necessary to be there at least an hour early, which would be at 6:10 AM. We timed the bus going in and knew to allow an hour and a half, luckily the bus service was continuous, with up to three running every hour. Which meant be on a bus leaving Victoria Station at 4:30 AM. Problem: our hostel was a 20 minute Tube ride from Victoria and the first Tube in the morning to leave Victoria doesn’t come until 6:40 AM. Having already paid for our return bus tickets and being unwilling to chunk out money for a taxi, and totally unable to make heads our tales of the London bus system, we decided to take the only remaining option for us: stay in London as late as we could and then spend the night in Luton airport.

We went back to the hostel, collected our stuff, and checked out roughly 12 hours early. Treco wanted to get online before we left, because at the hostel it only costs 50 pence per half-hour. Unfortunately, the person before us paid for a full hour moments before he walked into the office. So we sat there and watched part of the Olympics on BBC2, which was kind of fun. We got to see the pair of skaters who came in first in whatever even was on Saturday.

We killed time in Victoria Station until it closed at 11, mostly by going to the grocery store in order to procure breakfast for Sunday, and at McDonalds. None of us wanted to go to McDonalds at any time this semester. We swore up and down that we would not be the obnoxious Americans that everyone complains about. Then we saw a billboard advertising Cadbury Crunchy McFlurries for 99 Pence, so we gave in and sacrificed a little bit of our souls to our evil corporate overlords.

When the station closed we caught the bus to the airport, there were four other passengers with us, but they got off before the airport. Anna and Treco managed to sleep a bit on the bus, the rest of us were kept wide awake by the driving. I did not know it was possible to get a bus moving so quickly, or handle it so sharply.

We arrived at the airport at a little past midnight and settled in to wait and wait and wait. Then finally the Ryan Air counter opened and we grabbed our boarding passes and went through security and waited for another hour, we were awoken by the cold wet air coming in from outside when a 6:30 flight to Milan left. We were the first people with out special needs or small children onboard out plane, and we were all asleep before it was off of the ground.

We got back to campus just in time for brunch, which was grabbed before retiring to our rooms to sleep.

Places where America has England beat: food, signage, and TV. If we pay far too much for airfare, then the British pay too much for food. One example: McDonalds has a 99 Pence menu, which equates to a $2 menu. A two litter bottle of Coke costs 2 Pounds, or $4. I would never pay more than $1 for any soda in the States. As for signage, the Brits always go for the most formal and wordy way to say anything. American TV programs are just better, hands down.

Funny Britishisms:

Quid- this is either 1.) a Pound; 2.) 20 pence (five to a pound); or 3.) a 5 Pound note. No matter what, it is defiantly money, and defiantly has something to do with the number 5, we didn’t have a dictionary handy, and certainly weren’t going to ask, but we are leaning towards number 2. Update: a consultation with a German dictionary (turns out the German for Quid is “Quid”) confirms that at Quid is, indeed, a Pound.

Underground- the subway, or Metro, sometimes called the Tube

Subway- a pedestrian underpass, sometimes connected with the Underground.

Way Out- Exit

Queue- used indiscriminately for the words line, traffic, or delay. Lauren has a picture of a road sign well outside the city with a picture of cars stopped by traffic and the sign says “Queues Likely”

Coach- a bus, not a person who leads a sports team.

Chips- French Fries

Lessons learned:

Don’t stay up late the night before you travel.

Don’t oversleep.

Don’t get sick.

Cheaper is not always better.

More TIME is always better.

Never ever sleep in an airport.

Always bring as many batteries as you can carry.

Pay cash.

Always print the confirmation as soon as you make a reservation.

Know where your towel is.

Ciao,

Yami

P.S. repeat after me: Roman copy of a Greek original. This is in the Palasso Massimo. This is in the British Museum.

P.P.S. The Doppelganger is feeling much better now, although her stomach is not happy about throwing up five times in one day, neither is she for that matter. She swares that as hard as it was to keep moving she would not have missed it for the world.

Solo Act

In hind sight, this was a really stupid thing to do, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. You see, I went to chuch this past Sunday at St. Paul's within the Walls, in Rome.

I got up early Sunday morning, along with my roomates, one of my suit mates, and another friend of ours. They were all going to Saint Sebastians, or Saint John Lateren or some such, I was going to St. Paul's as it is one of two Anglican churches in the area. Jeanne was going to go with me, but she decided to sleep in.

So at 8:30 in the morning, Anna, Bridget, Lauren, Erin, and I are all standing out at the bus stop trying our hardest not to look like Americans. There are also two Italians there, ignoring each other and us. Naturally the 8:40 bus comes late, and when it does it is litterally packed to the gills. The Italians cram their way on, we decide to wait for the next bus, which arrives about the same time as the first one finnaly left the intersection. This bus is slightly less crowded, and we shove our way on board. The driver didn't open the front doors, so we had no way of getting up to the front of the bus to validate out tickets. Oh well.

We were packed on pretty well to begin with, but the bus stopped three more times on the way into the city and more people shoved their way on. I spend the thirty minute ride to the city standing in the isle, pressed up against three of my friends, and four locals that I did not know from Adam. Even when crammed in like this, you still have to hold on to something on the bus, otherwise the first time a corner is rounded you start off a domino effect that results in the people on the ends going flying out the windshield. I grabbed the overhead bar and hung on for dear life, trying to convince myself that the cold feeling in my wrist was just air from the open window and not blood loss.

We got into Anagnia without any injuries from being crushed by the crowd or passing out from lack of oxygen, and onto our train. The great thing about Anagnia is that it is the end of the line, so while there are a multitude of buses, all runing behind schedual in different directions, there is only one train going one way, so one would really have to work hard to mess up getting on the metro there.

We lucked out, and the train we were on was one of the shiny new ones that havn't been vandalized yet. All five of us got seats, because it was Sunday morning and there are never enough people waiting at Anagnia to fill a train, the realy push comes at rush hour, but that's another story.

So the others got off at San Giovani to go do their thing, leaving me to ride four stops further down the line to Repubblica. Those three stops were delightfully incedent three, and I got off at my stop, hoping that Jeanne's mumbled, sleep induced directions were good. They were, I guess God looks after fools and travelers.

One leaves Repubblica station in the Piazza Nationalie, one of the nicer parts of town. Then, just looking down a main street, you can see the Wedding Cake* at the other end of the street. Saint Paul's was only about two blocks down the street from the Piazza. It is a pretty little church built sometime in the 19th century, which means by Roman standards it's brand new. A set of ornamental bronze doors on the street side are accompanied by a legend that says they were built to celebrate the meeting of Pope John Paul II with the Archbishop of Cantabury. I'm not sure when exactly the doors were commissioned then, except the current ABC is named Rowen, and his immidiate predicessor was named George, and the ABC listed in this enscription was not either one of those. The doors are suffering from Late-70s-Early-80s-Post-Modernism-itis, so that combined with the ABCs name makes me think that the doors are older thean me, but not by much, easily the most recent anything I've seen in this city.

The interior of the church is home to some absolutly glorious mosaics and stained glass -- the next time I go I'm bringing my camera and a little money for postcards of the place. The church itself is part of the Episcopal Diocese of the Meditaranian, and the congragation was a real cross section of the Church. The priest is Latin-American by way of New York City, the acolites are all from somewhere in West Africa, the readers are either from England or one of its former colonial possessions, the chior director is Italian, one of the basses is German, and the LEMs were Americans. Everyone was very welcoming, and keen to know what I was studing, how long I would be in Rome, and if I was planing to come back. All in all a nice morning, its nice to know that no matter where I go, I'll be able to find the Book of Common Prayer and the Hymnal 1982 waiting for me in a pew.

In Rome, the 8th sacrament includes tea and orange juice in addition to coffee, and some sort of hard sugar cookies instead of doughnuts. I said hello to people, got my coffee and went on my way. The trip back to campus was equally uneventful. Once again I was on one of the shiny new trains, although I found myself forced to retract my earlier thoughts on the lack of graffitti in the new trains. Someone had scratched the word "GROELS" on one of the windows in six inch high letters (in the metric system thats something like 2.4 kiloliters). I have no idea what it means, but it probably isn't an Italian word given that the language does not have either of those consonent pairs nor that dipthong.

I didn't get a seat initially, despite the fact that I was at the leading, and least crowded, end of the train** but a young couple trying to navigate luggage that weighed as much as they did got off at Termini, the stop after I got on and I was able to snag a seat next to a woman in a violently pink coat that no American woman over the age of 13 would have been caught dead in. I spent most of the rest of the ride pondering the meaning of groels, watching the elderly gentelman sitting across from me read his newspaper, and ignoring the gypsy playing the accordian. He murdered the song from Barber of Seville*** somewhere between when we didn't stop at Manzoni and when we did stop at San Giovanni. After that he started wandering around the train playing, and I didn't have to put up with him for the rest of the trip, or the kid with him. The kid was holding the collection cup, and holding on to the older gypsy's jacket like a champ, but his sad puppy dog look could have used work. Right now the best one I've ever scean was from my grandfather, 88 years old at the time, when he was told that he was not allowed to have any pie.

At Cinecinta the mystery of when, where, and how the train drivers switch was solved. We were stoped at the station, when a man wearing the navy blue with the silver reflecive stripes identifing him as working for the metro system got on and opened the door to the driver's little cabin. The new guy sat down and had a short conversation with the driver, out of which I recognized the words "Allora" and "Ciao", than the old guy left the train and we continued like nothing was different. The new guy's voice on the PA was indistinguishable from his predecessor's. Of course that does bring up another question: WHY CINECINTA? Anagnia, the next stop, is the end of the line. Wouldn't it make more sense to switch drivers there?

So I left the station, and low and behold, my bus was waiting for me. Not only that, I got to set down. If you're quick and ride for long enough, one can usually snag a seat on the Metro, sometimes even during rush hour, but I havn't sat on the bus back to campus since the first day when the school took us on a walking tour. The secret is evedently to ride at 1300 on a Sunday. I've also been told that there are four buses leaving the station in the 1600 hour on weekdays and that it ought to be pretty easy to get a seat on one of those, but that does not stack with my actuall experiance. I've tried the 1600 bus on Friday before, and always manage to find myself being standing passanger number 30 on a bus that allegedly carries 55 people seated, 14 people standing, and one driver for a total of 70 on board.

When the bus finally made it to Frattocchie, I pushed the stop requst button, to descover that it wasn't actually working, so I went forward and muttered something to the bus driver that included the words "Scusi" "fermata" "prossima" and "prenotazione". The grammer was horrible, but the driver, who looked like Richard Gere, seemed to understand and nodded at me. Whatever he though I said, he let me off at the right stop, and I made it back to campus in time to remember that the Mensa only serves brunch and dinner on Sundays, and that I should have grabbed a pannini at the station in Anagnia.





*It's this big white thing Moussolini built. It's a nice building I guess, but he decided to plop it down on the side of the Capitoline Hill, and it just looks out of place with it's surroundings, namely the Campidoglio, the Forum, and the Colosseum. It also looks rather like he told the archetecht 'make me a building that looks like the bastard child of a cake and a greek temple'.

**although with the new ones it doesn't matter so much, since they are open from one end to the other, and one can just walk from compartment to compartment

***you know the one, Bugs Bunney taught it to us all

My camera eats batteries...

Seriously it does. I have gone through a dozen of the things since I got here and I have them all lined up on my desk. We're supossed to be recycling here, not a problem, although sometimes I think sorting trash is more trouble then its worth. The problem is batteries can't just be thrown out with the normal trash -- or more acuratly, they arn't supposed to be. I havn't asked how one throws them away here because I never remember them when I am not in my room staring at a row of a dozen dead batteries. Anyway, Mom, forget the money and send batteries: food and clothes are cheap here, but batteries arn't.

It's been an interesting week, lets recap:

On Saturday we were all taken on a walking tour of the Via Appia Antica, which was the main Roman highway out of the city. Now the school is very close to the Via Appia Nuova, which runs parallel to the Antica, and since it is paved and provided with guardrails as high as a bus through traffic runs on that. Now it is in theory possible to get from Rome to campus by the old road, you'd spend the last two miles or so running through people's yards dodging their dogs, but you could do it, at least according to Dr. Ht.

Dr. Ht is the history professor here, and apparantly through long study of the anciant past, has learned faster then light travel. He is about my height. He does not appear to be taking abnormally long strides. He does not appear to be walking unusually quickly. Yet somehow, in a group of nearly 100 people, no more then three can ever keep up with him at one time. Angie, one of the Student Life co-ordinators says that in Greece he has been known to spread the group out over a mile. On one occasion she reports that she had the entire group together at the bottom of the Acropolis but he and Dr. F, the art history professor, would already be at the top, lecturing at the air.

We went north on the Via Appia, led by Dr. Ht, who occasionally stopped long enough to point out a few of the sights. At the end, we went to the Catacombs of St. Callisto, the largest and deepest of Rome's catacombs. Now there are 88 student in our group, plus assorted proffessors and student life staff, so we couldn't go in one big group. The English speaking guide was already taking a group through, so half of the UDers got the guide who usually lead the Italian tours, and my half got the French-speaking guide. At first, it was very difficult for me to understand him through his accent, but after a while I got used to it. Drs. M and S were in my group, so I possitioned myself in the crowd where I could hear what the guide was saying and also what the professors were pointing out to one another. It was a really interesting little tour. All the bodies that were burried in the levels open to tourists (no one goes in without a guide) have been reburied either in the lower levels of the catacombs or, in the case of a few of the Saints, in other churches in Rome.

The Catacombs are/were (select appropriate) home to a number of early popes, most of whom were also martyrs. The catacombs were also home to St. Cecilia, the patron of musicians. She was a martyrd by beheading, and according to the story, her dying action was to hold up three fingers with one hand and one finger with the other, showing her belefe in the three pesons of the Trinity who are still one God. Like all good Roman saints, her relics have been moved to the church in the city that bears her name. Also according to the story, years after her death, a statue of her was commissioned, to mark the place of her grave in the catacombs so it would be easier for pilgrims to find. The tomb was opened for the sculptor, and her body was found to be uncorrupted, so the statue on her sarcophagous is supossidly exactly how the artist saw her. The original statue was moved when her body was, like all good Roman art, but a copy is now in its place, which is what I saw.

Speaking of things that have been copied...
After our tours ended, the two groups rejoined each other and there was to be as mass said in one of the churches on the grounds of the catacombs. While that was going on Dr. Ht lead a death march... er... walk through the area for those two dozen or so of us who either wern't Catholic or didn't want to go to mass (even though it was a vigil mass, and therefore would take care of the Sunday obligation). The first stop was a small, architecturally unisteresting church name Quo Vadis. Now, according to the apocriphal story, the last time Peter was in Rome, he had escaped the city and was fleeing, when he saw a vision of the resurected Jesus. Peter asked Jesus "Domine, quo vadis?" which means, "Lord, where are you going?" Jesus told him that 'I am going into Rome, to be crucified'. Peter then got the message and returned to the city, where he was subsequently caught by the authorites and crucified in the Circus of Nero. Now, Jesus's footprints are supposed to have been left on this spot, and the church built around it. Like all the good relics, these prints have been moved to a different church in the city, and a reproduction left in its place. Anyway, I have in the photo bucket a picture of the copy.

We also saw the Nimphao, which was the spring where the Vestial Virgins came to get holy water once a year when it was time for them to clean the temple, the rest of the year it was just sort of a party place.

Then, Dr. Ht started on a path going up a hill, so we followed. He stoped at the top, and there was a building there, so I figured he was going to say something about it. Wrong, he took one deep breath and started back down the other side, which was much steeper, and had more in common with a cliff than with a hill. So we sort of inch our way down after him, even though we were all out of breath, and he was already out of sight. Apperantly Dr. Ht is also part mountain goat. Thankfully, he decided to wait for us to catch up, and we were told that going over the hill was meant to be a short cut because the mass should have been just about done. We had saved maybe 200 yards by going over this hill instead of around it, but no time because we couldn't keep up with him.

After we rejoined the rest of the group, we returned to campus for the wine and cheese dinner, which is a Rome Campus tradition. We were treated to good food, wine that cost more than 10 EUR (a rarity from UD), and some instruction about how to choose a good wine. Also included was the surreal experiance of hearing a Scottish priest translate for an Italian wine seller to a group of Americans.

On Sunday, the Doppleganger and I dragged the boys to the Flea Market at Porta Portesse. We found some pretty good deals on scarfs, considering that one only needs to know numbers in order to haggle.

Tuesday was the 21st birthday of L, my third roomate. The Doppleganger, Nick, the Trec and I took her out to eat in Albano: to a chinese resturaunt. :P It was really good -- the owners were actually Chinese -- and had two advanages which really endeared it to us: 1.) it was cheap and 2.) the menu was printed in Chinese, Italian, and English. They were really nice and put up with us doing silly things, such as using our cameras to record samples of the chinese rap (I kid you not) that was piped in or practicing everything we said five or six times before we actually asked. [Including all five of us saying "il conto" -- 'the check' -- repetidly for five minutes.]

On Wednesday we went to the Capitoline Museums for Art and Arch. We were all given the instruction to get a sack lunch from the Mensa before grabbing the bus into Rome, so we could be there between 1:30 and 2. That would be 88 students. Attempting to ride Roman public transportation. At the same time. Naturally, a few people (no more than a dozen, probably less), who ran from the end of the last class at 11:20 managed to catch the 11:30 bus. Naturally, the 11:45 bus did not come, nor did the 12:00, or the 12:15. We crammed another two dozen people on the 12:30 bus, all of whom were forced to stand, some on the stairs. The 12:40 bus did not come. Then, someone spoted a bus coming from Marino. It wasn't our normal route, but it was going to Rome, and there was plenty of room, so we piled on. This was about 12:45, 12:50-ish. We made it in just in time for the begining of our self guided tour.

This is a huge museum, with all sorts of nifty things included in it, such as the foundations of the temple of Jupiter, Optimus Maximus, the statue called the Capitoline Venus (Mark Twain wrote a short story, by that name, about her that Dr. F included in our packets, I highly recomend it), and also the Dying Gaul. One of the wonderful things about this museum is that you are allowed to photograph all of it, just as long as you turn the flash off for the painted things, of which there are five.

If you look in my photobucket (link to the side) there is a sub-album named Capitoline for these pictures, as well as another for a pictures of the Via Appia. Give it a look-see, the easist way to look at the pictures is to go to the album, and then hit the slide show button.

The other excitment that occured on Wednesday was a creepy Italian man hitting on AT on the A Line as we were heading towards the museum, and then the Trec getting his wallet stolen on the B line when we changed trains at Termini. Thankfully, he wasn't carrying any of his important documents of credit cards in it at the time, and he only had five Euro in it at the time. The creepy guy left as soon as AT turned to look at him, she didn't have to say a word.

Yesturday, Friday, the Doppleganger, the Trec, Nick, and I went into the city. We hit the post office in the Vatican City and the bookstore. We found a Bible in the bookstore writen in either Aramaic or Arabic, we're not sure which, but they have all sorts of multi-lingual religious things there. When I was in the post office, helping the Doppleganger put stamps on things, I heard at least five languages being spoken around me. We ate our sack lunches in St. Peter's square, and fed a few bread crumbs and chips to the pidgeons and sea gulls, which swarm like they're part of Hitchcock movie at the sight of anything that might possibly be food. Then we went to the Circus Maximus and read the Libation Bearers, the play we are currently reading in Lit Trad, out loud. It was a very successful trip. I didn't take any pictures, I didn't even take my camera since it was cloudy and we wern't going anyplace we hadn't been before, but the Trec and Anna got a few good shots of the pidgeons of which I'm going to get copies.

We all had to go to the police station in Marino (the next suburb to the east) in order to fill out our permisso di siggorno papers. Now, we filled all the forms out a the school, so when I arrived at the station all I had to do was sign three pieces of paper which I could not have read, even if I had been given the time, because they were written in Italian, take my passport back (the school had them all week to make sure that nothing happened to them between the campus and the station, apperantly they have learned this leason the hard way), and fingerprint me.

Now the only other time I have had my prints taken was at the DPS when I got my driver's licence. There all I had to do was stick my right thumb on this little computer scanner deally-bob and it was done. Here they did not just take one thumb print, and they did not use a computer. I guy in a lab coat covered my hands with increasingly large amounts of ink, as he took prints of first my finger tips alone, then all of my fingers from where they meet the palm to the tip, and then both hands. I looked like I had taken up juggling coal.

I was then shuffled into the next room, a bathroom, to wash my hands. The ink was sticky, the water was bitterly cold, and the soap wasn't much to look at. I must have stood there and scrubbed my hands for ten minutes, and even now, four days latter, the color of my finger tips is a little darker than it was at the start of this trip.

While I'm on the subject of the police station...

There was no smoking allowed in the lobby, just like you can't smoke in any public building in the States, but it was permitted in the office, a fact someone had taken advantage of more then once. There was a paper shredder next to the chair I was sitting in (it was a teeny tiny little office) with an ashtray sitting on top of it. Wierd.

Run to the falling elevator!

That's how I interprited these signs the first time I saw them. I talked to my roomates, and my suitmates, and a few of the guys, and everyone has admited to making the same mistake. Green is just not a color that gets used on indoor signage in the US. The runinng man I can understand as meaning that one needs to travel, and the arrows clearly mean this/that way, but the white boxes confused me. This campus is alone is covered in random staircases and changes of ground level, and it is relativly new and modern but there is only one elevator and it doesn't make much sense to have signs in the Mensa when the machine in question is in the dorm.

It wasn't until I saw a sign in a Metro station that had the word Uscita written on it next to the falling elevator sign that I realized that these were exit signs.

In Amercia, we freeze all manner of food in ways God never intended them to be frozen. We also package things so that one buys more plastic and styrofoam than food. Not so in Italy, here frozen food is sold in bulk. It sits in little tubs in the freezer and waits for you to come buy and scoop it up. They do not just have the things one finds in the states, such as french fries or per-breaded chicken patties (or at least I hope that's chicken) they have all manner of mostly fresh seafood, such as these baby octopi.

Now I can understand the two liter bottle, after all, that has been the standard unit of American soda for years, but here in Italy (soon I will travel to other countries and see if this phenomenom extends past the Alps) the most common size bottle for anything is the 1.5 liter bottle. I've located Coke sold in 2 liter bottles (which are a different shape than the ones we have back home), but nothing asside from Milk (not useful since I don't have access to a fridge) and gasoline (non-potable in any form) have I found sold by the liter. Even water comes like this, six 1.5 liter bottles are sold for .79 EUR at the supermarket. If you can carry it back to school it's a deal.

I mentioned this fence once before in a previous post, and here's a picture to illustrate my point. It was cloudy and kind of rainy on the day I took this, and the sky in the photo is just the right shade of grey to make it seem like it was taken inside, but I promise you, dear reader, that this was taken on a sidewalk along the Via Appia Nuova, if you look at the background closely you can see buildings. The globe behind Nick's head is a streetlight, the large green and white fence next to him is a law-suit waiting to happen.

Photos of Real Italian Culture

There are a lot of pictures in this series, so bear with me.


The thing that has affected me the most has of course been my bathrobe. You see, I left mine in Texas. Now I had gotten used to the way things are back in Catherine Hall, were all the showers have a small changing area, and at home, where I can have the entire bathroom to myself. Not so here, where there are not only no changing areas but six people sharing a bathroom. Rapidly I realized the necessity of having a robe to get myself to and from the shower and for warmth in my pajamas.

A consultation with a well-intentioned guidebook revealed the name of a store that ought to have sold such things. For all I no it did, as I never managed to find the place. When we went looking, Treco, Anna, and I instead managed to locate Chinatown. I did not even know Rome had a Chinatown, but in a few weeks when I finally break under the strain of eating pasta two meals a day every day, I will know where to find alternate food.

The next day, chastised by our inability to opperate a guidebook properly, we went to the supermarket down the street, where we found amongst a truly random assortment of goods -- many of which were not legal for sale in the US -- bathrobes. Now I had three color choices: white, which I rejected on the grounds of being hard to keep clean; pink, which I rejected on princepal; and the third, which by lack of other choices I was forced to accept, which is a color that I describe as "prison jump-suit orange". Asside from one little eye-scorching detail, it's a pretty nice robe.

Details, details

I signed up for a 1 credit, pass fail course here in Rome where we go teach English in one of the local schools. I figured that my Italian isn't very good, and their English isn't very good, so working together one of us has to learn something. The thing is, I was ready to sware, until about five hours ago, that we were going to an elementary school.

Now either the Italian devision of schools is vastly different from the one we use in Texas (not unlikly) or I was just mistaken (also not unlikly). The point is, that the kids, who I will be tutoring, are not what we would call elementary school age in the states. There are mostly in the 13-14 year old range. That would be 7th or 8th grade back home. That would be middle school.

This could get interesting.

Today we just introduced ourselves (14-5 odd of UD students, I didn't count) and played a short game. This ran overtime because there were 13 year olds who had to stop and discuss everything. For the next month or so we're going to write letters back and forth (i.e. the students will write us letters, we'll correct their grammer and write back, and then they will write again) before we go back to the school. At the end of the class in April they are going to come to a luncheon on our campus.

This could get interesting.

Baby steps

Baby steps are important when doing new things.

Baby step 1:

The Doppleganger, the Trec, Nick, and I wanted food. It was two in the afternoon and it was Sunday. We had two options, since the Capp Bar and the Mensa were both closed: we could either 1.) go into Rome and wander around until we found something or 2.)stay in Due Santi and wander around until we found something. We chose option two, and started walking. Now the pizzaria just outside the gate is closed for remodeling, so we started for the grocery store. 15 minutes later, we arrived only to be forcably reminded that the natives are not heathens like us Americans, and that the store was closed on Sunday. We walked back to the intersection (of 3 roads in one spot, it boggles the mind) near the school all the way debating on whether it would be better to a.)walk to Albano, b.)go into Rome, or c.)wait another three hours for dinner in the Mensa. We were on the verge of making a decision when three other UDers came out of the bar accross the street, and after crossing, tell us that it is not only open, but there is food and the lady working there is nice. So, we had lunch there. Baby Step 1: operation cross the street is complete.

Baby Step 2:

We got cocky. Spured on by our success in crossing the street, we went into Rome on Monday evening. The purpose of our visit was to buy a bathrobe for me. [I left mine in Texas, and was starting to slowly go mad, as there is no changing area for the showers in my suit, or any of the others for that matter.] I had consulted the guidebook, found the address of a store that ought to have had such a thing, located the store on the map, and written directions from the metro station to the store. Thus armed, the Doppleganger and the Trec joined me for an adventure.

We cought the bus into the city without problems. We got on the correct train without a hitch. We got off at the correct station with no problems. We steped off of the metro and into the Twilight Zone. We followed the signs to la uscita, the exit*, which led us up an out of service elscalator. Out of service things are not unusual over here, so we climbed up and got our exercise for the month. We reached the summit to descover tha it had been blocked off at the top and that we had apparantly gone up the extra down escalator. Trying to appear as nonchalant and non-tourist-like as possible, we left the station.

We emerged on the serface to descover three things: 1.) the sun had set while we were underground; 2.) most of the buildings in the area had some sort of scafalding on them; 3.) we were in Chinatown. I did not even know that there was such a place, but there we were, surrounded by Chinese resturaunts and stores for blocks around. The next time I get really sick of the food in the Mensa I'm going back there. I consulted the directions, and we proceded down the street and around the piazza, and failed completly to find the place.

Just after we had thrown in the towel and started back towards the metro station, we were approached by a group of half a dozen Chinese tourists who were even more lost than we were. We were between Manzoni and San Giovanni, and they were looking for Termini, which is the main train station two stops further down the line. We tried to give them subway directions, and when that failed, we told them to follow us, because we were going that way anyway. We were most of the way back to the station when they finally decided that we didn't know any more than they did, and stopped to ask directions from some of the locals. They did not come running to catch up with us, so I can only hope that they eventually got wherever they were going.

The three of us got back to the station with no further event. The train back to Anagnia was packed, because it was Monday and rush hour, so we spent the twenty minute ride standing. We got to our bus, and found that it was also packed, and had to stand for the ride back to Due Santi. Said ride lasted about 45 minutes because it was the evening rush hour as I said, and traffic was bad, and we made more stops than we had coming in. It was cold outside, and there were a lot of people onboard, so the upperwindows, the ones that we could see out of while standing, fogged up. Luckly the Doppleganger was able to snag a seat after another guy got off. She took a short nap, and woke up while were stopped at a light, then turned to me, nodded to the window and said "Isn't that our bar?"

I bent down to look and sure enough it was the bar at which we had eaten the day before, looking ahead through the front window I saw the car dealership. I alerted the Trec, who reported that someone else had already pushed the button to request a stop. So the light changed, the bus went through the intersection and pulled up to the stop, which is about a 100 yards down on the other side of the light. We squized our way out the door and made it back to campus just in time for dinner.

Results:
1.)get to Rome: sucess;
2.)find something in Rome: failure;
3.)direct Chinese tourists all the way back to their hotel: failure;
4.)eat food somewhere other than the Mensa: failure;
5.)buy a bathrobe: failure;
6.)get back to campus: failure

Over all: Operation buy a bathrobe in Rome was a failure. Nothing bad happened to us exactly, no one was assulted, or had their pockets picked, or was kidnapped by gypsies, but we didn't do any of the things we tried to do either. We decided to go back to taking baby steps.

Baby Step 3:

Tuesday, in order to not allow our momentum to be slowed by the previous day's failure set off for the Leon Supermarket. This was the same market which had been closed on Sunday, but we were willing to give it a second chance because breakfast is served in the Mensa at the ungodly hour of 7 a.m., in preperation for 8 a.m. classes**, and we were all pretty sure that we will sleep through breakfast more than once this semester. It's about a 15 minute walk from campus, and uneventful except for the dangers presented by Italian traffic.

Texans and Italians share a disregard for the speed limit. For instance, on the road right in front of the campus -- which is wide enough for two vehicals to pass each other if they are both Vespas -- the speed limit is 50 km/h. I'm not sure what that translates to in miles, other then know that the allowable speed would be a smaller number if expressed in the Imperial system. What it means is that as one walks along the edge of the street (because there is no sidewalk until one gets out to the main road and even then everyone has let their hedge overgrow and it is only possible to walk one abrest) there are cars whipping by at speeds closer to 90 km/h. The other big hazard to pedestrians on this walk is the nursery just next door to the supermarket. It has a six foot high fence*** with some very serious looking spikes on top of it. So far we've made two trips to Leon and back, and none of us have been impaled upon this thing yet. Stay tuned for future developments on that front.

At the supermarket we find food. Cheap food. Good food. Sodas in 1.5 liter bottles, for less than 2 euros. Kindereggs for 75 cents. They also had a random assortment of other things which amazed us uncultured American barbarians, such as frozen baby octopi, sold in bulk. The Trec and I were sucked into the display of books**** which is why the Doppleganger was the first one to spot that the grocery store also sold bathrobes.

Results:
1.) get to grocery store: sucess;
2.)procure Nutella and crackers for breakfast: sucess;
3.)find a bathrobe: sucess;
4.)return to campus with spoils: sucess.

Baby step 3: operation walk down the street is a sucess.

Our next step will either be to go to Albano, the next town down the bus line, and explore. Or follow Dr. F's directions and go into Rome and find the Temple of Hercules an the Temple of Saturn. Whatever we decide, I'll have the story here, along with pictures of more Italian cultural oddities.*****

-Yami




*The Italian exit signs are green, with a white rectangle on them that is evidently supposed to represent a door. These rectangles are accompanied by white arrows to indicate which direction one must go in order to reach an exit. The viginette is completed by a little stick-figure man, of the type that addorn restroom signs the world over, bent into an attitude which is either a sorry attempt at the Thinker or running. As an American, I interprate these signs to mean that one should run to the falling white rectangle. It took me a few days to realize what they really meant, used as I am to glowing signs that say EXIT in six inch high red letters.

**A practice which would be illigal in any civilized country.

***six foot = head height for the Trec and Nick and too close for comfort for me.

****I am taking insturuction from Mark Twain's essay "Italian without a Master" and grabbed the first Harry Potter book in an effort to improve my Italian by reading it.

*****If I can find an Office Supply store, I am going to get myself one of those falling-rectangle exit signs.

This is the first post in a series...

...a series on the theame of "I'm in ______ and you're not!" But I'll get to that in a moment.

So between the last post and now Christmas happened. It was nice, the family did family things, the Church did Churchy things, and a good time was had by all.

Before Christmas, the semester ended and I ended up with a B average, which is not bad for UD. Now comes the fun part. This semester, I'm in Rome, as in the capital of Italy, not the town in Texas. More accuratly I'm in a suburb that is about 45 minutes out of the city by bus, but it's still cool.

Last Saturday morning, I attended mass at the Vatican, in St. Peter's Basilica. The alter at which we were was in one of the basement catacome-y things, so on the other side of the alter was a hallway, with a window in the wall opposite us, through which could be seen the tomb of St. Peter. On our left was the tomb of Pius XI and on our right was the tomb of JPII.

From the Vatican we went on a walking tour, and saw the Spanish Steps and Trevi fountain before meeting with the rest our groups on the Campdolio(sp?). That is one of the most popular places in the city for weddings, and we are in some couples photos, cheering maddly because they were nice, and put up with their photographer's shenanagans. From their, we walked down the back of Capitoline Hill into the Forum. When they say "all roads lead to Rome" this is where the proverbial roads are leading. That's what the picture above is -- my feet on the road leading down into the forum.

The lady running the bar accross the street* was really nice to us, and the closest thing within walking distance that is open on Sunday. So, many fun things going on. Stay tuned as the Doppelganger, the Trec, Nick, and I go looking for a comic shop (we have a map and directions to the place, if we don't get at least one funny story out of this than something is wrong) and we attempt to get tickets to the Olympics.

There is a new link in the side bar to my new photo bucket where I will be posting the best of my pictures this semester.

*the Italian 'bar' is more like what Americans call a 'cafe', it serves cappucino, pasteries, and the like.

Victory is mine! Again!

As the new icon will show you, I won this years NaNoWriMo! The final count was 50,987 words, which translates to 77 pages of single spaced Monotype Corsiva. Now, granted, the last 11 pages of that are complete gibberish, and they were the first thing to go the other day when I busted out the marron pen and started revising my rough draft. Still, I won NaNo!

What other fun stuff has happened since my last post... well, Thanksgiving, but there was lots of fun with that, so it will have to go to its own post. Let me just say this: there were 17 of us, and we had 11 pies. ^_^V

Winter Cottillion was tonight. I'll have pictures up if I ever get them from Princess. I still need to get my Halloween pictures too, now that I think about it. Anyway, Cottillion, lots of fun pretty, pretty, I love my dress. My brain is fried, I think it is time to go to bed. I had 8 dances this year, which is more then last year, but still less then have the card. I didn't get a tango, which makes me sad because I love that dance, but I did get all the waltzes. True, the last one was with Princess because we looked around, noticed that there were no guys not dancing, looked at each other, and decided that we were not going to sit the last dance out, gosh darn it. The ratio here being what it is, we were not he only girls dancing together. Anyway, I'm tired. I'll probably ramble more later.

-Yami

P.S. Pyro and I managed to waltz without causing any casualties this time. ^_^V It's only taken us a year to get our act together.

NaNoWriMo and AM Radio

Actually, those two topics have nothing to do with each other, but I aim to discuss them both anyway.

I ended yesterday with 11,951 words, which beats Monday's goal by aproximatly 300 words. That would be great, except yesterday was Thursday. I am not done writing yet for today, so I'll come up with that number sometime tomorow. I'm getting this thing done, slowly but surely, not dropping out at Week Two for me this year, not me no sir. To that end, Katie80 and I (and anyone else I can rustle up for the occasion) will be meeting tomorrow for a write-in.

Now to spread the gospel of AM talk radio. My roommtes and I discovered this wonderful thing quite by accedent. I had gone home for the weekend, and in the ensuing hurry to get out the door, had forgoten to turn off my alarm clock, as my roommates found out at eight o'clock on Saturday morning. Not knowing which button to push to shut the thing up, my roomates solved the problem by unplugging it. I can't say that I blame them, really. So, Sunday night, I notice that the alarm clock was unplugged and replugg it. I then reset the clock and the alarm, and went to bed without resetting the radio station. It turns out that the defalt station is one of our many AM talk stations.

I have tried every form of music as my wake up station, I have even tried NPR, and I have slept through every one of them, but the nutty guys in the 5-9 block on AM 570 wake me up. As a bonus, they are really, really funny.

I found the accelerator...

That's right, I am no longer stuck in nutral, I got into gear and the story is moving, darn it. I called it quits today with 10,039 words, which is just a bit over last Sunday's goal. I'm starting to make up for lost time, now if I could just ignore the fact that my goal for today was 15,000.

I also had time to get a suprising amount of my homework done (always a good thing to do, since NaNo is for fun and homework is for a grade). Now here's praying that my sore throat, itchy eyes, runny nose, and slight head ache are all do to allergies and I'm not actually sick. Allergies I can tough out, sick is hard to do.

The week two gauntlet

Going in to week two with a deifcet is not a good thing. It only makes a bad week worse.

I stopped writing last Thursday about 500 words short of that day's goal. Then I went home for the weekend, and nothing ever gets done when I'm at home, including NaNoWriMo. So my collective word count for Friday and Saturday is 0. On Sunday I started trying to play catch up, and managed to get to 5633 words, but to be on track I needed 10,000 or so. Right now I have 6,757 out of 13,333. Ah well, what kind of college student would I be if I didn't procrastinate?

As for the plot, as the writing has gone on it has morphed a bit, as was to be expected. Now, I am writing any bits of the legendarium and/or culture and/or history that surrounds the Celestial Sphere, usuing Harmonia as my narrator, because she has an (almost) unique experence from which to explain everything. Also this gets me to clear my brain of all those little cultural bits which have been floating around in my brain for a year but which have yet to find an actual home anywhere yet. Like explaining how the radios works, yea, that is going to happen.

As a totally random aside: I played Doom 3 today when I went home to vote. It r0x0rz, I must say, but ^%$ the lighting is hard to deal with. I only had like an hour with it so I didn't get very far, but I keep getting killed by those two zombies that attack you right after you leave the airshaft in the return to HQ mission. Why can't you have a gun and the flashlight? That ought to work for the pistol if nothing else.

"Join the Dark Side. We have candy."

Kelly, who is probably the nicest person I know, was the RA on duty last night, Halloween. So naturally, she dressed as Darth Vader as she made her rounds. She did this with a bowl of candy, knocking on doors and greeting people with the above line. She was also accompanied by an entourage, which amongst other things, included Megan, in her Ren dress, carrying Genesis's CD player, which we were using to play the Imperial March as Kelly walked. It was hilarious.

I lived through midterms, and got away with a light mauling. I only had to take two, thank God, which means that I avoided a lot of the stress that my pre-med roommates are burdened with. The good news is that I got a 97 on my economics mid term. The bad news is that I did so poorly on my Italian mid-term that I don't even want to think about it. I have until the fourth of this month, that would be Friday I guess, to decide whether or not I will stay in the class.

On a more positive note, NaNoWriMo began today. I am ahead of my word count right now. My goal for today was 1,666 words, and I got 2,220. Let's hope I can keep my momentum up all month, I'll need it especially next week (the dreaded week two) and over Thanksgiving Break (when my entire family will conspire to disrupt my noveling attempts).

This year's project is called A Time for Peace. It is the history of the rebellion which takes place roughly 150 years before the start of Die Complex, which is my novel from last year. The problem with writing in an alternate, high-magic, world is there is so much that needs to be defined. As I've been working on DC, I've found that I have trouble explaining things. If I take the time to explain all the odd things that are particular to the Celestial Sphere, then the thing ends up like something by Victor Hugo -- with huge blocks of text that do nothing but establish a setting so that one line which actually progresses the plot can make some sort of sense. It was really giving me trouble until I finally decided that this history and setting would get their own explanation, and I gave my self permission not to explain things in DC. A Time for Peace is a little about the setting, but mostly about the historical events that overshadow everything that happens in the Sphere afterwards. After this, I hope to be able to go back to things like Die Complex: stories about live for mostly unimportant people who just happen to live in the Sphere. Or put another way, like the cozies my mom likes to read, only not on Earth, and with more explosions. ATFP is being told from the first person prospective, a first for me, by Hinoska Harmonia, one of the eight Salcenian lujan. Someday I might explain here just what that means, or I could finish this, get it published, and you all could just buy a copy.

Here's the first paragraph:

Lorimawtre and Shamroukh were the first gods, do not ask me who came before them. It would be like me asking you to describe events which took place before your parents were born, and expecting you to speak from experience. What matters is that they were the first.

I would also like to announce that earlier last month I passed two major writing milestones. The first is that I filled my first steno pad for Die Complex and that I have finally moved on to the second one. The second is that I received my first rejection letter for a novel I submitted to an open call. Since it was the first version of DC, it is probably just as well that it was rejected. In about a year or so I hope to make it presentable enough to send out. For right now, it is on the back burner (or more accurately in the hanging file under my desk) and is going to stay there until at least the end of November.

something Nano-y this way comes...

So Friday was the first of October, and consequently the first day of NaNoWriMo sign-ups. I signed up, and helped the hoards of Nanites crash the site for the first time this year! I can't wait to start this year's story. I think it will make Die Complex easier to write if nothing else. Speaking of DC, it's coming along, it really is. Genesis says that I am not to share any part of it with the Creative Writing Club. I think I disturbed her a bit last year when I let her read the first chapter. ^_^;

Speaking of the Creative Writing Club (the name has to be capitalized when typed, its in Article I of out consitution) I'm going to try to organize a write-in or two during NaNoWriMo with the group. Katie80 and I were bouncing some ideas off of each other last weekend, it should be fun.

And on the subject of last weekend, as the post below says, I saw Serenity this weekend. It is an outstanding movie, and I'll leave it at that since the fangirl squeal defies transliteration, and anything else I could say involves spoilers.

Serenity.

Go see Serenity. Go see it now, 'tis rocking awsome.

Victory is mine!

AJ is a god among mortals. He not only has my computer online without wires, and furthermore, he has all three laptops networked to one printer (mine). He then proceded to go next door and repair the damage done to the sound on Katie's laptop last year when she dropped it that one time she tripped on the stairs (although to be fair, she took more damage then the computer did). In exchange, I'm creating a couple of NPCs for his campaign. The poor guy's already created over 40 of them and he's not done yet. He has to have an underground revolutionary front for the PCs to join when they arrive in the city ruled by the theocracy that has outlawed arcane magic.

In other news, I am declaring victory in the War on Grey Walls. Lin and I have posterafyed (not a real word, but it should be: it's a verb meaning to hang posters on everything) all the walls, and hung lights from the cealing. Every available horizontal surface has at least one knick-knack on it. The room officially feels like home.

Classes have started, it's going to be an interesting year. On Monday, Wednesday, and Friday I have no classes whoes focus is English, instead I have Elementary Italian I, Wiemar Germany, and Biblical Hebrew. Dr. Z is very sweet, even though she talks at us very quickly, its better to just play along then to try to take notes in her class. We have a quiz tomorow in her class. It's the fourth time the class has met. It's the second week of school, and we're still studing the winter on 1918/9 in Wiemar. In Hebrew I thought I was doing well, I memorized the alphabet over the weekend like I was supposed to, then on Monday we learned vowels and all bets are off.

On Tuesday and Thursday, I have Fundamentals of Economics and Tolkien. Dr. W, the Econ professor, has a group on facebook devoted to him called "W-- Says Some Funny F***ing Shit!" On the first day of class he had "Scientific Method" written on the board with all sorts of stars and lines highlighting it. He explained that it really didn't have anything to do with the class (but if anyone wanted to talk about how the scientific method applied to economics, he was willing to entertain debate), but he thought that was a cool looking thing to have writen on the board the first day. It's going to be a fun class. Tolkien is taught by the same professor I had for King Arthur last year. Another class with Dr. M (he's normally a French professor, I'm not likely to have him again) and an excusse to read Tolkien, how can this not be good? Now I have seven more weeks to figure out what I am going to write my paper on...

Speaking of writing, I still can not believe that I am done with Out of Exile. I've gone back to work on Die Complex. I really do like the characters, which is, good someone has to: Aihan and Sashinka are not easy to get along with, much less like or love. It's about time to get a new steno for that one, the one I started last November is almost full. (Has it really not even been a year? It feels like I have known these two a lot longer then that.)

I never thought I'd be this happy to go back to school

Well, I'm free of the evil summer job, there may be a rant coming soon about stupid customers, I havn't been able to vent it all in one place yet, so look for it here.

I'm in the quad, my classes have stated, and everything is just gravy. Except for the fact that I have the wrong eddition of the Hebrew book, so I need to buy a new one, and sell the old one. Ebay, oh how I love thee. Add that to the cost of the one Tolkien book that I have yet to buy, and the seven dollars I owe the modern language department for my German Course Pack, and the $212 dollars I spent on three texts the other day at the book store, and the $120 in texts that I spent on all my other books togther (including the wron edition of the Hebrew book), and I have been majorly screwed by my textbook bill this semester. So much for the money that I was trying to save over the summer. With my luck there will be a Course Pack for Economics as well. Once I finally get a total for all of this nonsense, I'll complaine about it here, I'm sure.

To top it all off, my roomates and I went in together and bought a wireless router. Lin is stuck with a cord, because she has a desktop, which is fine, between the four of us we have enough ethernet cords to run it behind and under the furnature so it's out of sight. The problem is that Princess and my laptops are acknowledging that the wireless network exists, but they can't actually find the Internet (I'm not kidding, she actually got an error message that said that). AJ is a computer fixing god, and he spent a couple hours in here attempting to fix the problem. He got Princess up and running, Bridge never had any problems, Lin we knew was going to have a cord, which is why the router is connected to her computer, but I am still not working right. Open house hours ended, so he left his notes where they could be found again, and agreed to come back tomorow and see just what the heck is wrong with my devil-machine. For the time being, I'm still connected to the wall via a 15 foot long cord connected to a plug that is about eight feet away, with most of the excess coiled under my feet. In addition, the cord running to Lin's desk also goes under my chair because we don't want to hide it away so everything looks nice until we're sure it all works. I want my wireless high-speed internet, damn it!

So, not being on my computer all afternood caused my latest round of free lance writing to be late, again. Grr...

Speaking of writting. I'm done with OoE. Genesis has the disk in her hand. I need to go over there and type one more thing in the proper spot (she's holding the hard copy of the thing as collateral). I also want to finish going through the hard copy I printed out a few weeks ago, then write up a copy with my coments and rantings all over it so I can pass that along to the others. But really, it's done.

It feels weird, after all this time, to be able to look at Milcha, Mishe, and the rest and tell them "I'm done with you, your story is over, please leave me be." We're still a long way from being published, but I'm going to miss constantly having something to write about this group. Genesis has ruled out the possibility of a sequal with the whole gang - I don't think any of us want to collaberate again - but Milcha and Mishe have enough going on in their pasts that they might have a sequal, then I could also do more with Vadamel and Evi, both of whom I love dearly, but there isn't much room for this in Out of Exile. On the other hand, OoE isn't their story. I also have an idea for a short story, one with just Milcha, who has always been the star of my part of the story.

The realization hasn't quite sunk in yet that now I can just sit down and finish Die Complex. No more sneaking a new version of the outline, or some long hand work in on the side when I'm supposed to be doing something else, I can actually lug my Steno pad around and not have to hide the cover from Genesis. I now have an excuse to leave Genesis's (un-named) world and go play in the Celestial Sphere. Why is this hard to do?

One day more...

In less then two weeks (I week from next Thursday to be exact) I will be done working at Penney's. I've been reading Les Mis during my breaks at work (I stashed an unabridged copy in my locker), which has the affect [or is it effect?] that when I clock in I have to resist the urge to sing "One Day More" and when I clock out I have to bit my lip otherwise I start humming "At the End of the Day." I have also learned everything I never wanted to know about a very strict convent and the Battle of Waterloo. Thank you, Victor Hugo. I'm looking forward to the tour of the Paris sewer system which I've been told is upcoming.

Classes start on the 31st, and I can't wait. I never thought I'd say that.
I ordered my textbooks already, and every time one of them arrives I feel like Christmas has come early.

I am in the home streach on OoE. There are two things holding me back right now. The first thing is that I printed out a hard copy of the whole thing (and killed my dad's color ink cartrage in the process, the blue is totally gone) and am reading though it, leaving comments as I go. I'm in the infamous Chapter Five right now.

The second thing is that I have to somehow define what a Seaman is. They are a big part of Amathountin culture and Vadamel is one, so this has to be said somewhere for the benefit of all the Tessarean characters and the reader. The problem is, the definition I use in my head is, "Just like the Ranger from D&D, only with water, not the wilderness." This is not going to work in the narrative. To complicate matters still further, Evi is the one who will be doing this explaining, and she is the least developed character. I know in my head what would sound right for her to say, but the other three people I'm writing this with don't. Help me out here, anyone.

-Until later,
Yami no Hon

An update and the Half-Blood Prince

Spoiler alert for anyone who hasn't read the latest Harry Potter book.

I liked Snape! For five books I have been defending him to my family and friends, saying that 'if Dumbledore trusts him then he's all right, even if he is mean to Harry'. What can I say, I watch German movies; I like the dark anti-hero type characters. I figured that he would do something cool and redeem himself by saving Harry (or something like that), and this happens instead! I feel kind of betrayed, but it's not like Rowling hadn't been giving us plenty of hints about this happening. But wow... I did not see this coming. /rant

Colorado was fun, even though that was over a month ago. I have my copies of Genesis's pictures, and I've stuck them in an album. I've written on the backs of them, but I need to do some scribbling on the album itself. Fun, fun.

I have a job now. I'm a cashier at the Penney's outlet, and I hate it. I can't wait for school to start again so I can quit. I sware, if I didn't need the money for Rome I would not have even applied.

On the other hand, I'm doing a bit of free lance writing for an ENworld contact. That makes me happy, even though I won't be able to go to GenCon this year. This isn't the the thing I was working on in Colorado. I did get that written and submited ontime, but I wasn't accepted. Oh well.

I'm still waiting on my rejection letter from WotC for my response to their open call last March. That can't be too much longer and it looks like they'll have another one this fall (an open call, I'm not hopping for a rejection leter) so if I can get something together I may give it another try.

OoE is coming along nicely. I'm still hanging around the battle scene, a further review of the manuscript reveled that we had missed a day somewhere in there. Fortunatly for me, that's Genesis's problem to sort out, I'm just working on what I've already got.

DC is on the back burner for now, and it's staying there until I finish OoE. Hopefully I'll be able to return to it soon, because I have some ideas about how I can rescue that sagging middle section.

As for my other literary goal this summer, Anne Frank has been returned to my bookshelf. I only got about half way through it, but I've read it several times before in English, and am familiar with the play, so it's not like I don't know how it ends. In exchange, I found a copy of Hundejahre by Gunter Grass at Half-Price books, and I'm going to read that instead. He writes interesting things, it should be thought-provoking if nothing else.

In another Half-Price Books purches, I found the first two seasons of Xena on DVD. Battle on!

And, to end this note on a downer, my Grandmother C-- died at the end of May. I flew back from Colorado for the funneral, which was nice. I got to meet a lot of relatives whome I had either never met, or else had last seen when I was a baby. Mom and the twins made ribbon birds like she used to, and we gave them out at the funeral as buttonairs. Her grave is in a real nice area of the cemetary: it's on a hill underneath some old oak trees that give good shade. My Great Uncle J--, her brother, brought some dirt from South Carolina where she grew up and we sprinkled that on her grave. All in all, we're doing OK, although Grandpa C-- is awfully lonely. Any prayers you can give him are appreciated.

Counting the days until school starts again,
Yami

A waltz down memory lane...

I spent the night going through a stack of about thirty of my old floppy disks. It's been a while since I'd even thought about them beyond a "What are these doing on my desk?" and they brought back a few memories.

Group Fics from two messageboards I used to hang out at were on there. I found a copy of _Friends without Faces_, a poem that one of the people over at the Breeding Ground wrote a few years ago. I still like it, look for it in a future entry. I found a copy of _Out of Exile_ from right before we started the latest round of revisions. [I also found and old copy of Milcha's character description, it may be one of the oldest. It was last modified in Febuary of 2002, which was about the time that I started writing in it. She started life as a manuscript illustrator. Although I notice that, if this document is really as old as I think it is, M&M's father had always been K.I.A.]

I found a Ronin Warriors fanfic that I wrote sometime in middle school. It's incompleate, and well on its way to Mary-Sue-dom, but there are elements of the character and the transition I was using to go from scene to scene was kind of cool. Wayani may be making an appearance in my original work soon. Maybe I can put her somewhere on Nariell.

There was a smatering of old school projects, including my summer reading project from my sophmore year of high school. I guess I'm saving it in case it might be useful someday. I also have at least two copies of the Evil Overlord List. You know, just in case something horrible happens and everyone else on the Internet looses their copy. Or something.

The real gem however was on a disk with a yellowing label. "[MY REAL NAME]'s Disk" is written on it in my Dad's handwriting. Underneath it, in my best 5th grade handwriting is the word "script". I remember thinking at the time that it was so cool that I had *my own 3.5 inch floppy disk* because it was a *computer thing* and Dad was letting me *use the computer*. This document was written in an old version of Word Perfect, which means that to open it I have to use notepad, and at the begining there is a good chunck of what appears to be wingdings before my writing occurs. More gobbeldy gook and random spacing follow (or I may have discovered the TAB key, who knows) throughout. But if you bear with it, this file, over a decade old now, is the oldest attempt at writing a story that I still have. I remember at least one older one (from fourth grade possibly?) but if any copies still exist, my Mom's the only person who would have them. It's certinaly not in any sort of digital format.

As I said above, I wrote it in 5th grade. I got the ideas from my friends -- we'd sit at lunch and talk about it -- but I was the one who did the actual writing. The plot was something like this: aliens bent on world domination (and aren't they all) land at our school and start with the making of the chaos. The heros, who were thinly disguissed versions of ourselfs, when on to defeat them. I can't remember how exactly they were going to do this; like so many of my writings, it is incomplete. It was going to be a movie script, and I was going to be the next George Lucas. Here's an excerept:

Alien Teachers From Outer Space
Prologue: Exterior school: a giant spaceship wrapped in "Kevlar'lands on the roof of the school. The words "Alien Teachers FromOuter Space" appear on the screen.

Opening Scene:
Interior front office: Lester and Stephen are inthe office on the way to detention, when Mrs. Reval walksin,:"I'm here to cheek out."
She chechs out, and leaves the school.
When she walks out the front door she sees a shadow andlooks up. An alien spaceship wrapped in "Kevlar" hovers overhead. A light shines on her and she turns into an alien.
Einstein(from the side):"I always knew she was an alien."
Inside the space ship:
Alien 1:"Take a look at the gasmeter, and tell me what you see."
Alien 2 looks at the gas meter which reads empty.
Alien 2(screaming): AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!WE'RE GOING DOWN! WE'RE GOING DOWN! ABANDON SHIP! ABANDONSHIP! BAIL OUT! BAIL OUT!"

The only thing I've changed to this was rentroducing line breaks that were lost when I changed formats. Everything else, painful typos and all, is the original document. If I ever get around to relaunching my website, look for this thing in its entirty. Wow, "Alien Teachers from Outer Space" what a name.

Till later,
Yami

The end is near...

My last final is tomorrow. Less then 24 hours from now I will be at home, and in all likely hood, I will be asleep. I've heard sleep is nice.

So because I'm leaving school tomorrow afternoon, the process of packing my stuff is well underway. I was sitting at my desk a few minutes ago, and I got an idea for a story that I wanted to write down, so I yanked open the desk drawer where I keep all my notebooks... and it was empty. I packed my writing stuff earlier today, so I had to get up and go through the back of binders on the other side of my room before I was able to write my idea down. *pouts*

My goal is to spend the rest of this week typing Out of Exile, with an eye towards finishing my bits and getting it back to Genesis before I leave for Colorado in a week. We'll see how it goes. If I finish OoE before I leave, then I'm taking Die Complex with me, otherwise just OcE stuff gets to make the trip. In either case, I'm leaving my dictionary behind and taking my copy of Das Tagebuch der Anne Frank with me. I want to spend the summer working on my German reading comprehenson. I don't feel that I'm quite at the level I should be and I want to fix that before I start advanced classes next semester.

Gah. This semester is barely over, I can't start worrying about next fall yet.

There will probably be nothing from me until school starts again in September. The 56K at home is to slow for updating this thing to be at all worth the time. As a checklist for me once I come back, I present the following goals.
By the time I leave for Colorado, I will have finished typing my changes to OoE.
By the time I come back Colorado, I will have at least one location thought up for Blue Devil's open call.
By the time school starts again, I will have finished at least one German book, not written for small children.
By the time school starts again, I will have finished v.2.0 of DC.

Wish me luck, and see you in three months.