Pumpkin artwork courtesy of Roland...(I helped scoop out the guts!)
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Change: Life's Only Constant
New season, new job, new experiences. Fall is here in Rome! Gone are the days of camping out in front of the portable air conditioner, multiple daily cold showers, and (sadly) sunbathing. October has brought in some chilly weather, and I have unearthed what little warm clothing I packed when I left Chicago in July (which is not much - what was I thinking?). Though winter was a distant, far-off thought when I first arrived in Rome, it is steadily creeping towards us now. While I have have packed away the sandals and begun wearing a light jacket, the Italians are in full winter-survival mode: massive puffy coats, hats, scarves, gloves and boots are the standard already. I'd like to see an Italian survive a week in a Chicago winter...there woudn't be enough shiny puffy coats in the world to see them through!
Anyhow, for those who follow my blog, I apologize for my prolonged absence. It has been a very busy two months, but I feel like things are finally settling down a little bit, and I have many updates to come! The craziness began in the last week of August, as I had submitted applications to several teacher training programs in Rome, in hopes of gaining my certification to teach English as a Second Language. On one ridiculously hot Wednesday afternoon, as I was at the sweltering gym (again, what was I thinking?) I received a call from one of the schools, asking me to come in for an interview. They had, like everything else in Rome, shut down for the month of August. The program was to begin in less than a week, but if I could make it in for an interview that afternoon, they could squeeze me in as a last-minute addition to the course. All went well, and a few days later, I found myself sitting in a room with the small group of people who were to become, basically, the only faces I would see for the next 30 days. The Trinity CertTESOL program is designed to get you ready to be a teacher in a month, and in signing up for that, you agree to all it entails: 9 hours a day, 5 days a week, of classes and practice teaching, followed by whatever frantic dinner you can get down when you arrive home, followed by lesson planning and paper writing until about 2AM, and a few hours of sleep per night...if you're lucky! The program was run by two women, who could not have been more different. One taught teaching methodology, and the other taught grammar. Methodology was taught by an English woman named Vicky, who was an ideal teacher in almost every way. Funny, interesting, supportive, experienced and easygoing. When, as seemed to happen often in our group, one of my classmates seemed near to a nervous breakdown, she was usually the calming voice of reason to restore order/sanity where needed. Her counterpart was Ester: a half-Italian, half-New Yorker who was loud, challenging, and refused to handle anyone with kid-gloves. I actually really liked her. When she wasn't swearing like a sailor or or chain-smoking on the patio, she was an excellent teacher - I learned more grammar from her in a month than I learned in all of my school education growing up. In their own ways, both of these women were fantastic teachers, and I have to give them a lot of credit and respect for running such an intense program...I'm pretty sure they worked almost as hard as we did to make it through the month (minus the coffee-fueled, 2AM, furious typing in the dark trying to finish two papers and lesson plan for the next morning - pretty sure that was just us).
Anyhow, in the end, I made it through. I now hold a certification which will allow me to teach English pretty much anywhere in the world (except the U.S., of course!). The payoff for all my hard work is that I was able to begin working only a few days after I finished my program. I have found a job with a school which contracts out teachers to families and individuals for private or small group lessons, which are held in their homes or offices. In a nutshell, this means I travel EVERYWHERE...where I used to be wary of the bus system in Rome, and avoided it at all costs, it now feels like a comfortable old friend who I know inside and out. I'm getting to know the city and it's outlying areas pretty well, and interacting with a lot of people in my broken Italian, which I will admit is improving little by little as I am forced to speak to the parents of the children I teach in Italian. This, on day one, was incredibly terrifying to me. Italians, if you don't know them personally, can be quite scary - loud, fast-talking, gesticulating creatures, who look down their noses at you for daring to not be Italian, not to speak Italian, or be wearing something other than sequins or Louis Vuitton or shiny puffy coats (or some combination of the three). However, I scraped up all of the bravery I could muster, memorized a few key phrases (for the parents: Pardon my Italian, I'm just learning. For the kids: Look! Listen! Write!) and rang that first doorbell. And, in the end, it wasn't so bad. The families are mostly sweet, and happy I'm there. They bring trays of snacks into the lessons, flutter around making sure I'm comfortable, adjusting lights, windows, etc, until they are satisfied they have been gracious hosts. The kids, while often challenging, are loveable as well. I usually get hugs when I arrive and leave, and with the rare exception, they seem to enjoy our lessons. I'm enjoying teaching this way, and find it more rewarding than I think I would teaching in a big class where I would not get to make as much of a connection with the students or see results quite so easily. I plan on sticking with this school for a while, so hopefully things continue to go well.
I promise to be back soon with more updates...ciao!
Anyhow, for those who follow my blog, I apologize for my prolonged absence. It has been a very busy two months, but I feel like things are finally settling down a little bit, and I have many updates to come! The craziness began in the last week of August, as I had submitted applications to several teacher training programs in Rome, in hopes of gaining my certification to teach English as a Second Language. On one ridiculously hot Wednesday afternoon, as I was at the sweltering gym (again, what was I thinking?) I received a call from one of the schools, asking me to come in for an interview. They had, like everything else in Rome, shut down for the month of August. The program was to begin in less than a week, but if I could make it in for an interview that afternoon, they could squeeze me in as a last-minute addition to the course. All went well, and a few days later, I found myself sitting in a room with the small group of people who were to become, basically, the only faces I would see for the next 30 days. The Trinity CertTESOL program is designed to get you ready to be a teacher in a month, and in signing up for that, you agree to all it entails: 9 hours a day, 5 days a week, of classes and practice teaching, followed by whatever frantic dinner you can get down when you arrive home, followed by lesson planning and paper writing until about 2AM, and a few hours of sleep per night...if you're lucky! The program was run by two women, who could not have been more different. One taught teaching methodology, and the other taught grammar. Methodology was taught by an English woman named Vicky, who was an ideal teacher in almost every way. Funny, interesting, supportive, experienced and easygoing. When, as seemed to happen often in our group, one of my classmates seemed near to a nervous breakdown, she was usually the calming voice of reason to restore order/sanity where needed. Her counterpart was Ester: a half-Italian, half-New Yorker who was loud, challenging, and refused to handle anyone with kid-gloves. I actually really liked her. When she wasn't swearing like a sailor or or chain-smoking on the patio, she was an excellent teacher - I learned more grammar from her in a month than I learned in all of my school education growing up. In their own ways, both of these women were fantastic teachers, and I have to give them a lot of credit and respect for running such an intense program...I'm pretty sure they worked almost as hard as we did to make it through the month (minus the coffee-fueled, 2AM, furious typing in the dark trying to finish two papers and lesson plan for the next morning - pretty sure that was just us).
Anyhow, in the end, I made it through. I now hold a certification which will allow me to teach English pretty much anywhere in the world (except the U.S., of course!). The payoff for all my hard work is that I was able to begin working only a few days after I finished my program. I have found a job with a school which contracts out teachers to families and individuals for private or small group lessons, which are held in their homes or offices. In a nutshell, this means I travel EVERYWHERE...where I used to be wary of the bus system in Rome, and avoided it at all costs, it now feels like a comfortable old friend who I know inside and out. I'm getting to know the city and it's outlying areas pretty well, and interacting with a lot of people in my broken Italian, which I will admit is improving little by little as I am forced to speak to the parents of the children I teach in Italian. This, on day one, was incredibly terrifying to me. Italians, if you don't know them personally, can be quite scary - loud, fast-talking, gesticulating creatures, who look down their noses at you for daring to not be Italian, not to speak Italian, or be wearing something other than sequins or Louis Vuitton or shiny puffy coats (or some combination of the three). However, I scraped up all of the bravery I could muster, memorized a few key phrases (for the parents: Pardon my Italian, I'm just learning. For the kids: Look! Listen! Write!) and rang that first doorbell. And, in the end, it wasn't so bad. The families are mostly sweet, and happy I'm there. They bring trays of snacks into the lessons, flutter around making sure I'm comfortable, adjusting lights, windows, etc, until they are satisfied they have been gracious hosts. The kids, while often challenging, are loveable as well. I usually get hugs when I arrive and leave, and with the rare exception, they seem to enjoy our lessons. I'm enjoying teaching this way, and find it more rewarding than I think I would teaching in a big class where I would not get to make as much of a connection with the students or see results quite so easily. I plan on sticking with this school for a while, so hopefully things continue to go well.
I promise to be back soon with more updates...ciao!
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
On Cuisine and Cravings
It happens inevitably. I arrive in Italy, to the land of gorgeous cuisine...to the freshest, most delicious food I've ever eaten. I spend a month indulging in the homemade pastas, rich tomato sauces, brick oven pizza, fresh mozzerella, creamy risotto, and salads sprinkled with olive oil and the most amazing balsamic vinegar in the world...and then I hear it. The neglected American side of my appetite, pushed away into some dark corner of my subconscious, not daring to show itself in such a place as Italy, can be silent no more. Our inner dialouge goes something like this:
American Appetite: Knock knock! Remember me? How about a cheeseburger and fries?
Me: Shhhhhhhhhhh. Quiet now.
AA: If I see another tomato, I'll lose it. Remember buffalo chicken? You used to feed me Subway tukey sandwiches three times a week. What gives?
Me: Sliced deli meat costs a fortune in Italy. Bowl of spaghetti?
AA: Hmm...Kraft Macaroni & Cheese?
Me: I offer you the best pasta in the world...and you want processed noodles and powdered orange cheese from a cardboard box.
AA: Correct.
Me: Ugh...You win.
And so it ends that I scour the supermarkets for some semblance of my old American favorites. Because, even though it is silly, eating food that tastes like home every now and then brings a little comfort. Even if the food is crap and I feel slightly guilty afterwards. Nothing you can buy here is actually remotely similar, but I've taken to doing my best to recreate some favorites from scratch. A longing for barbecue sauce had me simmering a mixture of tomato sauce, sugar and balsamic vinegar with some spices...It was the right color, smelled similar, and if I closed my eyes and pretended really hard, I almost fooled myself into thinking I had it right. But it did the trick. I had more luck, however, after a craving for bread and butter pickles hit me. For those of you reading who are not American, pickles = gherkins. Bread and butter pickles are a mixture of sweet and salty, and I eat tons of them at home in the States. I found a recipe for them and managed to hunt down most of the ingredients, which is never simple here as many staples such as spices and types of sugar, etc, are different in Italy. (An example of such: In a deli, I was on the hunt for cheddar cheese, which I have yet to be able to find here. We asked the man behind the counter for cheddar, describing it when he looked uncertain as an "English cheese," and he looked at us with total disgust, giving us the Italian hand gesture equivalent to saying "You idiots!" and exclaimed loudly in Italian for all to hear "You are in Italy! We have Italian cheese!") Right...lesson learned.
American Appetite: Knock knock! Remember me? How about a cheeseburger and fries?
Me: Shhhhhhhhhhh. Quiet now.
AA: If I see another tomato, I'll lose it. Remember buffalo chicken? You used to feed me Subway tukey sandwiches three times a week. What gives?
Me: Sliced deli meat costs a fortune in Italy. Bowl of spaghetti?
AA: Hmm...Kraft Macaroni & Cheese?
Me: I offer you the best pasta in the world...and you want processed noodles and powdered orange cheese from a cardboard box.
AA: Correct.
Me: Ugh...You win.
And so it ends that I scour the supermarkets for some semblance of my old American favorites. Because, even though it is silly, eating food that tastes like home every now and then brings a little comfort. Even if the food is crap and I feel slightly guilty afterwards. Nothing you can buy here is actually remotely similar, but I've taken to doing my best to recreate some favorites from scratch. A longing for barbecue sauce had me simmering a mixture of tomato sauce, sugar and balsamic vinegar with some spices...It was the right color, smelled similar, and if I closed my eyes and pretended really hard, I almost fooled myself into thinking I had it right. But it did the trick. I had more luck, however, after a craving for bread and butter pickles hit me. For those of you reading who are not American, pickles = gherkins. Bread and butter pickles are a mixture of sweet and salty, and I eat tons of them at home in the States. I found a recipe for them and managed to hunt down most of the ingredients, which is never simple here as many staples such as spices and types of sugar, etc, are different in Italy. (An example of such: In a deli, I was on the hunt for cheddar cheese, which I have yet to be able to find here. We asked the man behind the counter for cheddar, describing it when he looked uncertain as an "English cheese," and he looked at us with total disgust, giving us the Italian hand gesture equivalent to saying "You idiots!" and exclaimed loudly in Italian for all to hear "You are in Italy! We have Italian cheese!") Right...lesson learned.
Proudly displaying my first jar of homemade pickles...which turned out great!
Another comfort food that I find myself missing often is macaroni and cheese. It is a childhood favorite, which I allow myself to indulge in now and then in the States. There is no such thing here in Italy, but I came up with a doppelganger that did the trick. It wasn't yellow, but as I mentioned, yellow cheese does not exist here.
Close enough!
I have a few other favorites on my radar to try and create...baked beans is one, and buffalo sauce is another. I might even get crazy and have a go at ranch salad dressing. After all, the more I can pacify that pesky American appetite, the better. Wish me luck!
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Lost in Translation
I found this gem of a translation on a menu in a Garbatella pizzeria recently:
Tempting, but I think I'll have the spaghetti...
The Old Railway Station
Recently, Roland and I headed back to the UK for the wedding of two friends. Besides an incredible travel-related debacle that I shall discuss in a later blog, we had a wonderful time. The wedding was beautiful, and the weekend full of good friends and good times. The Bed & Breakfast we stayed in was called The Old Railway Station, located in Petworth. The B&B itself is formerly the Petworth Railway Station. The station was originally opened in 1859 as a single-platform station, and was open to customers until 1955. The closed station was later transformed into a Bed & Breakfast. The station's old waiting room is now the reception area, and guests stay inside Pullman cars which have been renovated into charming guest rooms. The cars are entered off of the platform, with the rear half of the car transformed into a bedroom and the front half a small entryway and bath. The original woodwork and detail of the inside of the cars remains original and the whole place is full of character. We absolutely loved it, and only wish we could have spent more time there! Here are a few photos...
Inside of our car, in the bedroom.
The name of our car, painted on woodwork above the bed.
Me standing in front of our car.
Inside the entryway of our room.
A Place to Rest Your Head?
Spotted in a supermercato in Rome: Quite possibly the least comfortable looking pillow I've ever seen. Fair enough, I know it is vacuum-packed to save space...but how much filling could possibly be in this pillow?? How do they sell any of these little wonders? I was so amazed that I had to document it to share...
"Super Soft" pillow...looks alright from this angle...
What?!?
Monday, August 2, 2010
My Bookshelf - Inaugural Posting
My love for books began when I was a little girl, so long ago I can't remember a time when I went anywhere without a paperback tucked away here or there. There is always a stack of books at my bedside, and if you were to venture into my mother's basement - within the maze of boxes of storage, you'd find box after box of all of the books I've accumulated in my lifetime. One day, in some future home, I'll have a room full of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and I will dig them all out, dust them off, and give them a proper home. I consider it a life gift to have such a love of reading...No matter what is happening in my own life, there will always be another world I can disappear into...and no matter where I am, I'll never be bored.
One of my favorite pasttimes at home in Chicago, I have with a group of my girlfriends and cousins. We scour bookshops, choosing new authors and new titles, and finding new favorites. These books get discussed and passed around from person to person, until the pages are bent and covers faded, and no one can remember the original owner. Being here in Italy, it is not as easy for me to take part in this tradition - so I am continuing it, in my own way, here on my blog. If I read something great, I'll post it here. I can't actually hand over the book, but at least I can hand over my thoughts.
Without further ado, here is my latest literary find: The Passage by Justin Cronin
One of my favorite pasttimes at home in Chicago, I have with a group of my girlfriends and cousins. We scour bookshops, choosing new authors and new titles, and finding new favorites. These books get discussed and passed around from person to person, until the pages are bent and covers faded, and no one can remember the original owner. Being here in Italy, it is not as easy for me to take part in this tradition - so I am continuing it, in my own way, here on my blog. If I read something great, I'll post it here. I can't actually hand over the book, but at least I can hand over my thoughts.
Without further ado, here is my latest literary find: The Passage by Justin Cronin
The Passage is a post-apocalyptic tale of an American government human experiment gone terribly wrong. A man-made virus creates a new breed of "human" (I use that term loosely) which quickly destroys life as we know it, and wipes out almost all of the population of the world. Very few survivors remain. The novel follows them through their struggle for survival in a new era, in particular a young girl who may hold the key to saving the world. The story is a thriller - part sci-fi, part mystery - with a whole lot of heart. It's not an easy book...at close to 800 pages, it's not a quick read. But Cronin's writing is beautifully done. He is a master storyteller, and despite the size of the book, the quick pace of the story never lets up. I had a hard time putting it down - Roland joked about me carrying around my "encyclopedia" everywhere we went. One of the marks of a great book is, for me, the feeling you have when it's over - when you are standing in the bookstore, looking for the next story, thinking "How am I going to top that?" This book had that for me...and I look forward to the next installments, as this is the first in a trilogy. I've also read that the movie rights to the novel have already been purchased, and Ridley Scott is signed on to direct. Not surprising to me, as I figured all along that this was a story destined for Hollywood.
That wraps up my first installment...I am looking for my next great read, so please suggest away!
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