29 April 2010

Here Come the Irish, of Notre Dame!

Being part of the Fighting Irish of Notre Dame, I couldn't possibly miss the opportunity to go to Ireland. Several other Domers had the same thought, so we all headed up to Dublin the same weekend. Even better, we were meeting many of the students from the two ND-Dublin programs, so it was an explosion of all things Notre Dame, er, Irish.

Dublin was smaller than I pictured a national capital, but it was very clean and well organized (at least, from my Italian point of view). One of the quirks of walking around Ireland is, however, getting used to cars on the wrong (left) side of the road. All the intersections have painted instructions on the street, telling you whether to look right or left. Very helpful.
It seems so cliche, but so much of Ireland looks like the postcards. At least in springtime, when the fields are that rich Emerald green and the flowers in St. Stephen's Green are in full bloom and the sun is shining on the blue-grey waters of the Atlantic.


I stayed with my friend Anna at Trinity College, which was complete with both a rugby and cricket pitch. (Pitch = field, for those of you who, like me, are not up on your northern European sports.) Trinity also houses the Book of Kells, an illuminated copy of the four gospels dating back to the early Middle Ages. I give it two thumbs up!

Chelsea, Anna, Isaac, me, and Coleen hanging out with none other than Molly Malone on Grafton Street.

With flowers like these, no wonder Irish eyes are smiling!

After a few days in the Dub, I bused over to Western Ireland, to Galway, with Julie and her friend Dani. Galway is Ireland's fourth-largest city, but I believe we saw all of it within our first hour or two in the city. That is not to demean it in any way, however, because it is an absolutely lovely seaside city. Galway is known for having lots of traditional Irish music, which we were able to hear that night.

The next day we made the excellent decision to go on a day tour of the Burren Hills and the Cliffs of Moher. Driving through the Irish countryside on a sunny Spring day is the stuff of dreams. My favorite stop on the tour was, of course, the Cliffs of Moher. There is this sign (seen two photos below) that tells you not to walk beyond this certain point, but I promise you that if you stay behind the fences, you'll miss out. That being said, be careful! because there is nothing between you and falling.


Galway is where the Claddagh tradition started, and you can see the symbol all over the city, especially in the section bearing the name of the ring.


Julie and I, at the EDGE OF THE WORLD!

Back in Dublin for a bit longer, I took a half-hour DART ride to Howth, and spent a few hours walking along the cliffs covered with flowers and fog.

Ireland was a grand success, even if I never did find that leprechaun. Or that pot of gold...

Signed,
the Sengenblogger

23 April 2010

Doing as the Italians Do

The saying stands that when you're in Rome, you act like the locals. I have come to realize that I am not the American I once was. I'll let you in on some of the ways I've been Italianated.

1. When I have to choose between rushing or being late, I choose being late.*
*Note: Fifteen minutes after scheduled meeting time is still on time.

2. When in doubt, wear black.

3. I consider rushing a meal standing up less than half an hour after we've finished eating.

4. Showering... slightly less of a priority. Especially if it means rushing.

5. I now own at least one scarf for Fall, for Winter, for Spring, and for Summer, and I have at least three different ways to wear each of them.

Ciaociao!

Signed,
the Sengenblogger

19 April 2010

Christiana + Bologna = :D

My little sister Christiana came to see me, and also to have wildly crazy European adventures, mostly in the form of eating gelato every day (and taking a picture each time). Being a most excellent big sister, and an experienced traveler of the Italian peninsula, I managed to get us to Florence, Venice, Padua, and Verona in five days. Then we stayed in Bologna and hung out, and then hung out a little longer when the poor girl was stranded by Iceland's volcano.

I sum Verona up in one word: lovely. Beyond being Shakespeare's inspiration for Romeo and Juliet, the charming city has the most intact Roman arena in the world (think the Colosseum, but shorter and complete). We made our way to that arena and were lucky enough to find an open-air market, complete with medieval crafts, local food, and plenty of Austrians. Christiana and I found the most joy in walking around the city itself, as it has several perfectly delightful piazzas and a fantastic assortment of interesting buildings. Sadly, Juliet's house was a bit of a letdown. Maybe if there had been a few people in costumes or a less tourist shops or if everyone taking a picture with Juliet's statue didn't grab her bronze breast... something in the atmosphere was missing. However, I really appreciated the beauty of Verona, from the Ponte Pietra stretching across the River Adige, to the green parks, from the classical Roman architecture to the masterful way in which the guy at Cremeria di Valentina sculpted our gelati.


"But soft, what light from yonder window breaks?
It is the East, and Juliet is the sun!"
-Romeo

Even Venetian gondoliers get lunch breaks.

Locks = Love on Florence's Ponte Vecchio.

That's all for now, folks!

Signed,
the Sengenblogger

14 April 2010

The Truth about Tortellini


The other day I picked up a newspaper (strange, I know) and I found an article about the origin of the tortellino.

The story goes that one day in Castelfranco dell'Emilia, a famous cook had the opportunity to make dinner for the Countess Lucia. The cook, while observing the lady undressing through the keyhole of the door to her chambers, was captivated by the beauty of her belly button. He decided to make a pasta worth of that striking anatomical feature. He took his famous sfoglia of pasta, filled it, and twisted it around in homage of his lady's navel.

I guess she had an outie...

Signed,
the Sengenblogger

07 April 2010

Pasqua con il papa

Being in Italy and it being Easter time, I naturally headed to Rome, where 184 of my fellow Notre Dame Domers waited for me. Or rather, waited for the pope. I believe I have made up for every time I was ever late to a liturgical celebration or ever will be late for one, as I spent at least two hours every day waiting for them in Rome. But it was worth it!

On Thursday we headed to the papal cathedral of Saint John Lateran, where Pope Benedict XVI was celebrating the Mass of the Last Supper. While we weren’t able to snag seats and thus had to sit in the side section of the church where you couldn’t hear anything and could see even less, it was a wonderful place to be. I realized how lucky I am to be able to understand the pope when he preaches and decided that maybe my Italian language skills will have some practical use, after all. Communion was mayhem, however. The Eucharistic ministers were mobbed in the aisles and they had to turn in circles to distribute the hosts to the eager hands pushing and pulling their way through the crowd to grab one.

On Good Friday we went to the church Santa Croce in Gerusalemme, which was built on dirt brought back from the Holy Land. It houses many relics of the Passion, including Jesus' cross, the nails that held him to it, and the thorns that pierced his head. Then, at around three o'clock, we stood in line at the Scala Santa, the steps of Pilate's house that Jesus walked up on his way to the trial. There is a plenary indulgence if you ascend this staircase on a Friday in Lent, but you must go on your knees. (Note: Both of these places are very close to Saint John Lateran, for those of you who want to put them on your future Roma itinerary.) That evening we headed to the Colosseum, where the pope presided over the Stations of the Cross for the massive throngs of people, spread out over the surrounding hills.

Holy Saturday, as Pope Benedict put it, is a day of silence. The highlight was going to the Easter Vigil in the Vatican that evening. The line outside stretched all the way around the square, and when they finally began letting people into Saint Peter's, they were sprinting to the doors. The Mass was beautiful. They did the lighting and the music just as it should be done, although I was surprised that they only read five of the readings. I took notes during the homily so I could fill in my friends on what il papa said. Fast forward to the end, when we ran to get giant amounts of early Easter morning gelatooooooooo!

Easter morning found me at the Vatican again, because you can't get too much Mass! This time, however, I was with my Aunt Theresa, Uncle Mark, and my cousin Laura. That was awesome, as was the Mass and the marching band that came by. What wasn't so awesome was the freezing cold rain that only let up (miraculously) during the consecration and distribution of Communion. My umbrella was crushed in the Eucharist stampede, but I believe it perished for a worthy cause. Another disturbing thing was that there weren't enough hosts for the congregation. There was probably enough for only about thirty percent of the people present. After the Mass the pope wished us a happy Easter in about thirty different languages.

Buona Pasqua!

Signed,

the Sengenblogger