Abazzia di San Giovanni in Venere in Fossacesia

Today, we drove to nearby Fossacesia to visit the Abbey of St. John in Venus or Abazzia di San Giovanni in Venere.  The site is quite old, from the beginning of the first millenium, but restoration of the current architecture apparently started in the 1950s.

Abbey of San Giovanni

It’s an expansive site that overlooks Fossacesia Marina.  I can imagine a catered blacktie gala with white linen covered cocktail tables being quite charming here.

Another view of the Abbey

As an abbey, it has housed monks–however the signage does not seem to be that directive, so we didn’t see that part.  We did walk inside of the hall, however at around 19h.  The sunlight glancing off the tall stone walls and dark pews felt ethereal.

Interior of the Abbey of San Giovanni

And, of course, the drive through the countryside was also quite nice.

A common sight: fields of sunflowers

The Kindness of Strangers

Roma is New York City.  It’s crowded, it’s busy, it’s dirty, and everyone you meet has a singleminded purpose which involves neither English nor giving you the time of day–literally.

My short lived time there began with people yelling at each other at the baggage claim.  Yes, yelling.  Needless to say, I was much relieved and surprised to actually see my backpack that has been inexplicably delayed/lost more times that I can count come out of the baggage chute.

Then comes the train.  The tracks look like something out of a World War II movie, but then you realize that these probably were built by Mussolini.  After much confusion and clarification, I found the train to Roma Tiburtina.

Somehow, in my overwhelmed state, I exited the train station and looked in vain for signs to the bus station.  I thought the convenience store owner was being sassy with me when he told me to walk to the big kiosk on the other side of the intersection to find the bus station.  Yet, there it was.  A very large, obvious kiosk.

You can go to Morocco by bus?

By this point in time, it was hot, I was delirious from lack of sleep, and confused.  My useless CDMA phone could not even tell me the time, so I had no idea if I had missed the bus or not.  That is when I met Maria Luisa, or Mary Lou.  Mary Lou looked as tired as I was, but the most important thing was that she had a watch.

After having been turned down by so many Italians by my inquiries in English, attempted Italinified French and humiliating pantomime, I went straight for the pantomime this time.  Mary Lou, it turned out, was from New Jersey and going to the same town as me where her sister lives full time.  We had a lovely conversation on the bus, and she gave me a descriptive tour of our surroundings.

Driving through the Appenine's, Italy's spine

The most special part, however, was that when we arrived at 21h10 in my new little town in unfrequented Abruzzo, it was dark and my hostess was not there.  Mary Lou took me under her wing, brought me home with her and helped me call my hostess.  While I am sure that I would have figured something out through more humiliating pantomime, Mary Lou’s Jersey love was comforting and welcome in a strange, frustrating environment.  I will always, always pay it forward for this experience.

Church steeple in Fossacesia by sunset

Becoming Mary Poppins/Maria/insert Julie Andrews character here

To be honest, I’ve never really known what to do with children.

Here I present the evidence:
1) When my brother was born, according to my mother, my sister immediately fell in love and doted on him to the point of near personal harm. She was small for her age, and our nicknames for him included “sumo” and “Michelin baby,” but she still loved him enough to let him lie on top of her–I, for one, knew the value of not being crushed to death at a young age and kept my distance.

2) A month ago, after graduation, my classmate brought his infant to a BBQ. While other female classmates rushed to hold, pat and coo over the child, me (and one other female guilty party, BD) were resigned to staring blankly. When the uproar had waned, we each took a turn poking the baby’s leg and, fulfilled, returned to our olives and wine.

Suffice it to say, I will be going to Italia tomorrow to spend a month in a Mediterranean beach town where I will be in charge of a four year old (going on five) boy. The reactions of my friends have bordered on insulting, everything from: “This should be interesting…” to “You know that you are going to be in charge of two people’s most important asset, right?” to the ever useful “HAHAHAHAHAH!” (Yes, I don’t know either why I bother to keep such friends around. They do entertain me while eating, I suppose.)

At any rate, I take immense pride in my desire to execute on all challenges to the best of my abilities. As BA put it, “Kristi–of all the things you have undertaken in your life, this is going to be the most challenging for you,” thus I dare to do my best.

To prepare, today I spent enough time agonizing in the children’s book section to come across as creepy. I came away with five books. In my head, I insisted upon a dinosaur and space book (because what child does not like these things?), an English workbook (because I am supposed to be encouraging the kiddie to practice English) and two story/picture books (Maurice Sendak, what what!). I guess we’ll see how this goes!

Buffet of Books

Getting ready for Italia!

Excited to meet my Italian family!

Reigniting the Wanderlust

May 20, 2011 -- Graduation

Newly armed with two more useless sheets of paper with illegible Latin ruminations (ie: graduate degrees), I am enjoying a summer of carefree wanderings. Yet of course, in an eternal snit of conceit, I am perpetually convinced that I am at the pinnacle of my learning–while simultaneously in a constant state of evolution.

However, change cannot occur within a vacuum. That is to say that in my unending quest for growth, I find that I must seek discomfort to expand the bounds of my potential. Already, in reviewing this record alone, I can detect the changes a mere few years made in terms of my outlook and thought processes. I do not believe in censorship, so I am leaving those old posts untouched.

Thusly, I shall progress through this summer’s travel with family (NYC and Honolulu), friends (NYC), and finally an entirely virgin experience for my self (Italia). I also hope to complete some of this blog with backdated entries for my spring 2011 trip to South East Asia that truly inspired the title of this post. I will also do a better job of adhering to my previously unfulfilled promise of more photos and less verbiage with the powers of my new Kristi-proof camera.

Favorite Thing: Naturalists

Today, I decided on a whim to do a “long” run for me, which means run until curiousity crumbles and I realize that I’m almost too tired to make it all the way back.

I haven’t run outside in a while, and the weather wasn’t particularly favorable for it.  The constant threat of rain appeared not only in the sky above but as a film on my skin.  It was too windy in some parts for me to not end up numb by the end.  But, it was a lovely run, nonetheless.  About 6.5 miles, which for having not run longer than 4 miles in a while, was pretty good in my mind.

I started out going downhill (I hate going downhill) towards the Potomac, and ran along in a southerly direction until the Memorial Bridge.  I was tempted to run around the Lincoln Memorial, but decided to save it for a warmer, earlier run so that I wouldn’t get ogled by the gathering tourbuses in the process.

I crossed the Memorial Bridge, darted across two major highway ramps and was promptly reintroduced to the glories of Canada Goose splat (ah, how I missed you).  Heading towards Rosslyn along the river, it never occurred to me that the island in the middle of the Potomac would have a purpose.  Indeed, Theodore Roosevelt Island is a memorial to old TR because aside from liking sticks, he liked the nature that created them.  This jaunt around the island was a lovely respite from the DC I’ve grown accustomed to.

My favorite part was on the east side of the park where the trail turns into walk-bridges over a swamp.  Granted, if it were warmer, I would probably be cursing TR and the mosquitoes.  In this way, I guess I lucked out on the weather.  What I really lucked out on though was that as I was being generally noisy, I startled one of the many species of bird swamp-inhabitants so that I got to watch two crimson-crested woodpeckers (or their cousins) play amongst the naked flora.

from stephenburch.com

I know, I know, wiki claims they only live in Panama, but this is the closest I could find to what I saw.

The run back home was sort of anti-climactic (and painfully uphill), but I noticed a trail along the VA side of the Potomac that goes in the northerly direction to the Chain Bridge (not quite in Maryland, but nearly there!) that I would like to try.  The sign said that Chain Bridge was 4 miles from that point, so that would be another, longer run.  If the weather continues to improve, then there’s no stopping the exploration though!