Great Expectations

It’s only been ten days, but I already have serious feelings about my program at Florence University of the Arts. It might be that I am still in the honeymoon phase of this relationship, but it feels like we should have dinner with the parents already. So far the faculty and staff have been incredible, and my classes are small enough to have quality time and attention from each teacher. I might become one of “those people” when I get home – purchase a Vespa, wear a scarf everyday with skinny denim, reminisce about the amazing espresso in Italy every time I drink coffee, and annoyingly relate every topic of conversation to the fall that I spent in Florence (whether it actually applies or not). “Oh you’re going to Portland for the weekend? I remember when I studied for sixteen weekends in Firenze…”

Here's a snapshot of my first week here.

Monday:

Introduction to Web Design – Profesora Silvia Mancini began this class by asking if we had a driving passion as a foundation for the reason we were in her class, “Eef the-ah ansoora eez-ah ‘no’ then pleaz leaf.” I can’t say that I am passionate about HTML or web development (quite the opposite), however, I’m desperate to overcome my fear of software and technical information. My head almost imploded with the overload of encoded rules and vocabulary, but by the end I had created a simple website from scratch. True story.

 Communicating in Italian – This class will focus as much on getting to know the city and culture as the vocabulary and grammar. Catia Ballerini took us on a field trip for our first day, and she emphasized the importance of getting outside the American Tourist box by exploring the outer perimeter of Florence. I don’t know if it’s true, but I heard someone say that about ten million people pass through Florence each year – sometimes it’s hard to move on the sidewalks. I’ve taken to running early in the morning or evening when it isn’t crowded, and I’m going to try to switch up my route to a new neighborhood each week. I also signed up for a “Chat Pal” to work on conversational skills (which are non-existent at this point…I smile and nod a lot).

Tuesday:

Introduction to Classic Photography – I’m already inspired by the instructor of this course, Neri Fadigati. The first thing that he gave us was the etymology for ‘photography’ – it’s from the Greek phos (light) and graphein (to write). Writing with light, the camera is your pen and content comes from within you. For the first part of class we’ll be working with technique on SLR film cameras, and then for the second half we will be learning our way around the dark room and development.

Introduction to Photoshop – Self-explanatory…our final project is to create the graphics for a board game that we each design. I feel like Alice in Wonderland as I try to navigate my way around this crazy, confusing software.

Wednesday:

Visual Communication Design Fundamentals – I predict this will be the most challenging course. It’s an overview of the major components of Graphic Design. One professor, twelve Graphic Design majors and a yoga teacher…it sounds like a joke. But it’s an opportunity to remember that learning is an inquiry, and that each person’s search and journey is a unique expression of who they are. Myself included.

Thursday:

Introduction to Digital Photography – I think this might be my favorite, because we get to cultivate the art of story through our work. Professor Jacopo Santini specializes in black and white, and he made himself available to anyone wanting to work on a special project in that area. Done and done. Similar to Classic Photography, half of the class is lecture on camera technique and composition, and the other half is a lab for editing and printing projects for our portfolios.

I love being in school. My secret plan is to win the lottery and study everywhere all the time.

“To take photographs means to recognize – simultaneously and within a fraction of a second – both the fact itself and the rigorous organization of visually perceived forms that give it meaning. It is putting one’s head, one’s eye, and one’s heart on the same axis.” 

- The Mind’s Eye by Henri Cartier Bresson

A Room with a View

la vista dalla mia camera

In hindsight, I think I was a little overconfident about finding an apartment right away in Florence...I didn't realize it was a lot like New York City - everything is tiny and expensive. It shouldn't have still been available (two people had already booked a viewing), but I found a perfect one bedroom a block away from my school. The first person was delayed because of her flight, and I ran over to meet the landlords, Carlo and his sister Clara, before the second person had confirmed their appointment. It's a little more expensive than I was planning on, but it is cozy and perfect. I even have an intercom! This makes me feel a little bit like Carrie Bradshaw as I pile my hair on top of my head and immerse myself in books, and writing, and fashion.

I also feel safe in my neighborhood, Santa Croce, and my building is in between two churches. There's a big square with a daily market surrounded by cute shops and cafes about a block away. On my move-in day, I'm pretty sure I looked like a six year old on their way to their first sleepover as I walked over the Ponte Vecchio with my pink suitcase and matching pillow tucked under my arm...so much for blending in with the locals. My place is on the third floor, without a lift (it took me about thirty minutes and two water breaks to lug my suitcases up). Ninety-two steps, and each one tells me not to go to the gym.

questa è la tua stanza se mi visitate

la mia cucina

mia camera da letto

il mio armadio

e il mio bagno

All of the TV channels are in Italian, but I'm hoping this will advance my communication skills. And tonight I have an informational meeting about how to get adopted by an Italian family who will help me temporarily put aside my American ways as I fall in love with this beautiful culture.

La Vita Nuova: Firenze

Disclaimer: I didn't take this photo. One day I will...

“We do not accept FedEx envelopes for the application, only USPS. Leave!” And with that, the middle aged Italian woman turned on her black high heels and shut the door to the Italian Consulate, leaving me on the doorstep with no time to explain that I only had one day in San Francisco to apply for my student visa. I was fresh off the plane from Costa Rica with two large suitcases, a de-activated cellphone, and no car. The consulate is only open for two hours once a week, and the long line of people outside leaned away from me as I took the walk of shame towards the end of the block.

I’ve never seen an episode of ‘Survivor’, but I’m pretty sure that the way I avoided panic and pared down to life essentials in the middle of this unforeseen crisis would totally qualify me for the next season – I packed my camera and my laptop into my shoulder bag, and parked my two suitcases by the building (mentally saying goodbye in case they weren’t there when I came back). Sprinting up the almost vertical streets of San Francisco made me realize I should have done more cardio in Nosara, and I only paused to ask random people if I was going the right way towards a post office, any post office. I found one about fifteen minutes away, purchased the required envelope for my visa application and sprinted back. After standing in line again, I presented my paperwork at the door for the second time. The inspector said, “You only have the original acceptance letter from your university. You need the original AND a photocopy. Leave!”  Sweat trickled down my spine to the waistband of my skirt as adrenaline carried me back to the post office. When I returned in a pool of sweat with the necessary copy, the office was only open for fifteen more minutes. The girl at the front of the line must have been an angel holding my place and watching my luggage because she motioned me to step in front of her and go inside.  My nemesis at the desk raised an eyebrow as I approached (maybe because my hair still thought we were running), and she begrudgingly stamped and filed my papers for processing.

This was the beginning of my Italian adventure. When my visa came back only a week before I was supposed to leave, I began to feel a little nervous and anxious about how the rest of the story would go – my dreams had Italian women in black high heels at customs saying, “Leave!” Close calls, and unforeseen events make for great stories, but they seemed a little stressful without a traveling companion to help carry them. But everyone that I have encountered here in Florence since my arrival on Tuesday has only been welcoming, and it’s made me realize how passive it is to sit with stress and fear. I want to stay in love with where I am in this moment, and cultivate trust for the rest. Anne Voskamp says that trust is work – intentional and focused. Anxiety and fear keep our lives small, and the combination of trust and love is the remedy. “Trust is everything.”

I feel overwhelmed by how happy and grateful and alive I feel here…and I’m secretly relieved that “Survivor: Florence” never made it off the ground. 

Carmen Sandiego

I don't know where it came from, but when I was taking photos for this post the theme song from the old game show "Where In the World Is Carmen Sandiego?" began running through my head. I loved this game. It took me all over the world and to Mt. Kilimanjaro several times in hot pursuit of V.I.L.E. henchmen...and yes, I am a slightly nerdy child of the eighties. Anyways, for those of you wondering where in the world I am, here are some photos of my surroundings in Nosara, Costa Rica:

My studio apartment: Color Champagne

My "driveway" for Reggie, mi bicicleta

Mi casita bonita

Poufs are my new favorite - they are furniture, yoga props, pillows, and comfort all rolled into one place

La cocina

El comedor

And mi cuarto

Ending early morning practice with fresh coconut water

Staff meeting huddle :) Mi familia de Nosara Yoga Institute

Staff lunches make my day. I don't even mind that I have a food baby.

My days lately consist of editing and organizing photos that I took during the trainings (more to be posted here soon!), teaching yoga classes, offering pranassage, beach walks, studying with some of my teachers here, and reading (right now a couple of books on Laughter Yoga and Restorative Yoga). Nutshell life update. And I'm coming home to the state of Washington in two weeks! Unless Carmen steals the Cape of Good Hope, then I'll be in South Africa...

Present Tense

“Some people have a hard time being happy because they see the past as better than it was, and they see the present as worse than it is.”

My stomach flipped when my whirling torso came to a stop, and the room continued to spin in my head. “Again! Again, Aunty Rachael!” two voices chanted in unison. A camouflage-slippered cowboy rode my back while a hot pink tutu clung to my front. I receive gold stars of achievement for a being a human tilt-a-whirl when I am with my niece and nephew. They never tire (unlike their aged aunt), but I rallied more oxygen for a final round. “Ok!” I warned, “Last time, guys!” We gathered speed and harnessed momentum. As the living room furniture and lights around us blurred together, giggles erupted from both sides. When we began to slow for a smooth landing, my two-year-old niece tilted her blond fountain top back and yelled, “I am happy!”

New Year’s Resolution #1: revive a childlike enjoyment for the simple wonders surrounding my present tense. 

Monday, October 24th - Stretch For Freedom!

True-faced

I have a restaurant serving voice. It’s higher in pitch, a little more breathy (comparable to Enya), and very accommodating. It doesn’t miss a beat to sweetly say, ‘Thank you” when a large party leaves a fake thousand dollar bill imprinted with a verse about riches in heaven in place of a tip. And it always sings, “No problem” when all twelve people at one table need last minute separate checks. A week ago when one of the bussers overheard me direct a customer to the bathroom, he laughed and said, “What was that? That’s not your voice.” His comment made me think about whether my Italian restaurant persona was a part of my personality or a cover. Sometimes after spending generous amounts of social energy on a table, the tip on the check seems like a report card – if the customers like me and think that I’m funny then they leave twenty percent, and if they don’t “click” with me then they leave less (or occasionally nothing). When the latter is the case, it’s comforting to think that they weren’t rejecting the real me, just the server wrapping.

A few weeks ago when I was working a chaotic Saturday night, a gentleman at one of my tables snapped his fingers in my direction and then lifted his eyebrows as well as his empty beer glass. I dropped the five things I needed to be doing, walked over to him, and I calmly asked him in a lower tone, “Did you just snap your fingers at me?” He shifted in his plastic deck chair. I gave him a half smile and continued, “Maybe your mom didn’t tell you, but it’s rude to snap at people as if they are animals. Would you like another drink?” I felt liberated as I walked away – using my voice in that moment cleared away any concern for whether or not I had failed in his estimation. When I went to reset their table later I found a generous tip, perhaps an unspoken affirmation for speaking from a place of authenticity (even as a waitress).

Different people and places bring out the diverse aspects of a person, but multi-faceted in this respect should be like the many shapes and colors in a stain glass window – all illuminated by the same light within.