CW #9: Grocery Shopping

Checking-out in a Roman grocery store was a stressful experience.

I stood in front of Despar, the neighborhood grocery store. Starring at it quizzically, surprised at how anyone could locate this place because it resembled all the other stores on its block – just another rectangular section cut out of the side of a building. No elaborate sign or marker to identify this place as a grocery store, except for its name posted above the glass doors. It’s completely different from the gigantic Safeway’s and QFC’s, where one would have to be downright oblivious to miss.

I walked into Despar, but I wasn’t greeted by a train of grocery carts. Instead, I saw a neat stack of red baskets, similar to the ones at home, except they had an incredibly long, black handle folded over to one side. Interestingly enough, I discovered it was used to tug the basket behind me as I shopped, like a child pulling his most treasured little red wagon. I chuckled; it was creative.

After filling my red basket full of goodies, I headed towards the cash registers and stood in line.

I was next –
I watched as the lady in front of me stacked her basket on top of the empty ones and placed her items on the narrow black conveyor belt. I made a mental note to follow the same procedure. The clerk rang up the lady’s items and quickly told her the price in Italian. Crap, my Italian isn’t that good yet… Next, I saw the clerk grab a single plastic bag from underneath the counter and toss it on top of the lady’s groceries. That’s strange…only one plastic bag? The lady bagged her own groceries. Hm, no baggers?

My turn –
I stacked my groceries on the conveyor belt neatly. They gradually moved closer to the clerk as the belt moved – like a boat making its way to the opening of a deep dark cave. The clerk scanned my items quickly and tossed them to the other side of her, treating them like dirty laundry. I was taken aback – couldn’t she have been more gentle? She then quickly told me the price in Italian, which I caught bits of but still starred at her blankly. She looked frustrated and annoyed as she turned the scanner with the price on it so I could read it. I took out a 50 Euro bill and handed it to her. She snatched it out of my hand hastily and insisted that I give her change. Coins, that is. So, I unzipped my wallet, and right as I emptied the coins into my hand, the clerk scooped them out of mine and into her own. Was she really in that much of a rush that she wouldn’t even allow the customer to count her own coins? What was I? Just another incompetent tourist? I brushed it off and gave her the benefit of the doubt – maybe she was having a particularly bad day… She returned the extra coins and set the rest of my change and receipt down onto the counter. I barely had enough time to stuff my money back into my wallet before she proceeded to scan the items of the next customer. I looked over at the pile of groceries that I still had to pack into one single plastic bag before they were overlapped by the next customer’s items. I felt panicked. Here I was, trying my best to fit into the Roman culture, but instead, I looked like a silly tourist who couldn’t even bag her own groceries at a quick enough pace. I clumsily shoved them into the plastic bag. How is this a convenient procedure to check out? I felt overwhelmed and pressured to get out of there as fast as I could.

My first experience at Despar was indeed traumatic, but as the weeks passed, I became more and more accustomed to the routine in a Roman grocery store. I could easily slip in and out, without receiving a nasty glare from the clerks. In fact, when I was at Despar towards the end of my stay in Rome, I remember standing in line behind a helpless tourist and his family who were getting lectured by the clerk because they didn’t know they had to print out a price sticker for their bananas. I could only stand there and smile because it was not too long ago that I was once struggling with the Roman check-out procedure.

CW #16: Two Cloisters, Two Stories

Santi Quattro Coronati

It was tucked away inside a plain church with barred windows and located on top of a hill. I’m reminded of a prison. Who would have guessed a unique, beautiful, and serene place existed inside?

To enter the cloister, I must ring the doorbell and wait for the nun to let me in.

A fountain sits comfortably in the center of the cloister, surrounded by patches of well-kept grass and a pool that catches the water gently trickling out of each of the four water spouts protruding from the fountain’s sides. It’s far from grandiose; a plain, white fountain, really; nothing compared to the detailed décor of the Trevi Fountain. However, the sound of dripping water was still what I heard first when I walked through the doors. I could also hear the gravel crunching beneath my shoes as I walked. I almost thought I would disturb the peace that enveloped us.

This cloister reminded me of the comforts of my room back in Seattle. It’s a place I could come back to over and over again because I could easily image myself sitting in between one of the many arches that outline the rectangular space for hours upon hours -- curled up like a fat cat taking a nap. Doing nothing, relaxing. I lost track of time. The stillness and tranquility of the atmosphere is calming, like a ripple-less puddle. The exact environment I thrive in when I need to think or ease my mind. I’m in another realm, unaware of the world outside. Isolated. It was refreshing being able to step out of the chaos of Rome. I look up and I see the bright blue sky painted with fluffy white clouds, and the sun casted on just half of the coral precinct walls. Color surrounds me.

San Carlo alle Quattro Fontane

The church is located on the corner of a busy street. It has an ornate façade -- columns and statues in niches, and steps that invite me inside. From a distance, it looks like the front of the church is wavy. I’m reminded of a banner blowing in the wind.

I invite myself into the cloister, hidden at the back of the church.

I walk inside and am unimpressed right off the bat. But maybe it’s because I’ve already been spoiled by the beautiful and tranquil cloister of Santi Quattro Coronati. No. Really, this cloister is extremely plain and cramped. I feel unwelcomed – like stepping into an empty, cold unfurnished house. I could never imagine myself spending time here because it doesn’t inspire me. The high round arches and the small details that encompass the area are pretty, but they feel like skyscrapers towering over me.

I’m not sure what is in the center of the cloister. Could it have been a well? Or is it just there for decoration? And there’s a random door in the wall. What could be behind it? Everything about this cloister feels like a mystery.

I step out, and all I’m left with is an image of white.

CW #8: A Caravaggio Experience

I was roaming around the gallery of Palazzo Barberini, admiring the amazing collection, when I came across Caravaggio’s “Judith Beheading Holofernes” unexpectedly. The painting was enormous! Even though it was sandwiched between two other Caravaggio’s, I noticed my focus was directed more towards “Judith Beheading Holofernes” because of its enormous size and explicit scene. To some degree, I felt like it overpowered the two paintings next to it, forcing the viewer to draw their attention to “Judith Beheading Holofernes” by default.

At first glance, I do not know what to think of the violence Caravaggio depicts in this particular painting. Judith is the first character that I notice because of her white blouse and the fair skin of her neck and arms, which are the two aspects most prominent against the dark background. I follow her arms next, curious to see what she is doing with them as they are extended straight out. I notice her forearm muscles are well-defined – she must be using them. As soon as my gaze reaches her hands, I see her gripping the handle of an object. What could it be? At that moment, I’m not sure what she is holding, but I know I’ve reached an important part of the scene. My eyes land on Holoferne’s face and the terrified, death-like look in his eyes and then the stream of blood gushing from his neck. All at once. Then the sword. Judith is decapitating him. It is almost too unbearable to see such a gruesome sight. I cringe. But what surprises me the most is when I look over to the right-hand side of the painting, specifically at Judith. She has a cool, collected facial expression. Perhaps she feels no remorse for her actions? However, I also sense hesitation in her eyes, and even disgust, but overall, she fails to look fierce or frightened, a reaction I think would be more appropriate considering she is the midst of murdering a man. Based on these observations, I expect Judith made it her duty to slay Holofernes. She despises him with such passion that she planned her attack and completes it with great success because she had a sense of purpose. The folds in her dress and the way her body is positioned illustrate movement, as if Caravaggio captured her right after she spun around to attack Holofernes.

I know Holofernes was caught off guard because he is in bed half-naked and his mouth hangs open. It also looks as if he is in the midst of propping himself up, based on the placement of his hand, but Judith got to him with her sword first. The position of his eyes and facial expression is also significant. I associate Holofernes’s upward stare to Heaven and God. He is a dying man, and so it makes sense that he is looking up to Heaven, searching for an answer, an explanation for his end, his final plea for help.

What’s even more interesting about this painting is the facial expression and body language of the old woman standing next to Judith. Although I associate her as a woman of low social status because of the type of clothes she is wearing and the dirt that appears to be on them, I know she is important and is connected with Judith in some aspect because she stands beside Judith, watching her as she murders a man. The woman does nothing to stop Judith. She is focused on the violence Judith is committing and holds nothing against Judith’s actions. The determination, excitement, eagerness, and attention as she watches Judith are reflected in her eyes. She clutches onto her dress or apron, like a child grabbing hold of her blanket as she’s attentively waiting to see what happens next in the movie. In a sense, the old woman’s body language and expression makes me feel like she wants Holofernes dead more than Judith does. Could she be the one who actually convinced Judith to slay Holofernes?

CW #2: Next Stop -- Roma!

I wasn’t even aware they had served breakfast during my flight – I was passed out like a rock. Exhaustion had swept over me like an unexpected rainstorm in Seattle. I slept through the majority of my flight from Paris to Rome, but it wasn’t the best sleep.

A sharp pain piercing the inside of my left ear caused me to wake up before landing. Great…My ears were severely plugged up. Never had it ever been this horrible -- I could hardly hear my own voice as I spoke. I tried to ignore the pain and fall back asleep, but I couldn’t, even though my eyelids felt as heavy as a pile of bricks. My discomfort level was incredibly high and yet I felt helpless. The only remedy I could think of was to endure the pain, massage my ear and continue to swallow and yawn, in hopes that my ear would eventually clear itself up…What a way to enter Rome.

After finally landing and getting off the plane, the pain in my left ear subsided, but it was still plugged. Terrific, I was half deaf.

Mark and I arrived in Rome together, along with two other friends. We took a charter bus from the airport to Termini -- my first ride in Rome. It didn’t feel like I was in a foreign country yet because the interior of the bus looked familiar and I was riding with three of my friends. It was all too reminiscent of home.

It wasn’t until I had to part with our two friends at Termini that the huge comfortable bubble I found myself residing in during the past week in Paris popped – the last bit of home just left. However, I had only a second to worry myself with such thoughts because Mark and I had to make sure we arrived at the Rome Center before check-in closed.

Marching through Termini while I was delirious from sleep deprivation and intense hunger made the experience and Termini even more intimidating. Half the time I was practically running just to keep up with Mark and nervous about not being able to check into our apartments and consequently, didn’t pay any attention to directions or take the time to soak in my first glimpse of Roman life. Termini and its chaos were a blur of colors. Meanwhile, the other half of me tried to make myself invisible from the potential pickpockets, clutching onto my belongings as tightly as I could, walking briskly and keeping my eyes peeled for anything suspicious-looking. I tried not to stick out like a sore thumb – like the bulls eye in target practice.

When Mark and I finally made our way out of Termini and towards the taxi waiting area, the only things running through my head were Lisa’s words of caution about “fake” taxi drivers trying to lure gullible tourists by asking them if they wanted a taxi ride. Coincidentally, I saw a man who fell under that exact description right as I walked out, and it made me nervous because I wasn’t sure if he was going to be aggressive about offering us a ride or not. At first, it looked as if that was the case because he followed us, but Mark and I avoided eye contact with the stranger and ignored him. Eventually a trustworthy-looking taxi approached us and we got in. We told him we wanted to go to the Campo de’ Fiori Hotel. He started driving, and I began to feel a little more relaxed.

Seeing Rome for the first time from the backseat of a taxi wasn’t the most glamorous introduction, but it provided me with a quick glimpse of where I would be living the next five weeks. One of the very first things I noticed was how aggressive and fearless the drivers were, especially when the streets were incredibly narrow and crowded. Cars weaved in and out agilely and quickly, like my grandma moving her knitting needles as she knits a sweater. And even though my left ear was still plugged, I could distinctly hear the loud rattling of the entire car as it raced along the cobblestone road. Then, without warning, I remember shooting out from one of the alleyways and onto the main street. And that’s when I saw it – my first Roman monument. It was huge! Like a perfect castle in a fairytale. The front was lined with a row of columns, and large statues of men on horses stood proudly throughout the monument. I barely had enough time to process what I had just seen as we zoomed past it. I turned my head towards the back window of the taxi and let my eyes trace the outline of the monument before it was out of my view. Afterwards, I felt excited because if the rest of Rome was going to be full of such grand unexpected sights, I knew I was in for a treat.

CW# 7: Trevi, Trevi, Trevi

My Roman Holiday

Everyday Gelato
The scorching sun parades against my back. Beads of sweat roll down the side of my face, my nose. The straps of my bag leave a trail of crisscrosses imprinted across my skin. A refreshing, cool treat sounds appropriate right now. I can taste the flavors already, dancing on my tongue. Yum! The doorway into the gelateria is narrow, only one or two people can squeeze through at a time. I tactfully slip past the crowd of tourists with red straps around their neck and black earphones framing their head. Inside, the gelateria is brightly lit. I’ve stepped into Heaven. All the flavors lined up in pairs, sitting in shiny silver containers. Glistening. But standing in front of so many different delicious flavors is stressful. Do I want fruity or creamy? What two flavors make the best combination? Customer after customer flood the small space, crying out their flavors of choice. The men behind the counter, dressed like gourmet chefs, run back and forth. Back and forth. Quickly filling each cup with a specific order.

Oh my, what to choose
I want the flavor riso
white and sweet like home

Grocery Store Woes
I’m standing happily in line with a red basket in hand. It’s full of treasures. I’m anxiously waiting, anticipating the Italian way of “checking-out” in a grocery store. Behind, is a woman with bright yellow heels that are thin as pencils. She wears sunglasses the shape of a fly’s eyes. I guess that’s the normal attire for grocery shopping. I gradually stack my groceries on the short, narrow black conveyor belt, treating them like a fragile pyramid of cards. The clerk scans my items, tossing them to the other side like a rag doll. I frown. She hands over a single plastic bag to put all my groceries in. I’m bewildered -- Has she not seen the amount I’m buying? If I were back home, I would have a truckload of plastic bags at my disposal. She shows me the price for my groceries instead of telling me the price, convinced that I’m just another Japanese tourist with no Italian background. I set out a 50 Euro bill. She takes it and demands for change while I’m digging through my wallet for coins. Excuse me. As soon as I have the coins in my hand, she dives in and snatches what she wants. A hunter pouncing on its prey.

As We Ride Together
Bodies are pressed up against one another. We all fit in a box. I’m overwhelmed by abrupt stops and jerky accelerations. The loud rattling of nuts and bolts and the windows as we roll across the cobblestones. Will this crumble on top of us? People are losing balance, flying into a stranger’s arms. An elbow is digging into my side. Only a miniscule place to call your own. The windows are covered with a thick sheet of fog. It reminds me of fresh winter frost. I inhale the smoke infused in the man’s shirt. I cough. The lavender perfume of the petite woman standing next to me is dizzying. I’m clutching onto my purse, aware of my surroundings, keeping my eyes moving. I’m on the lookout, like an owl turning its head 360 degrees. We’re in a maze of green bars, smothered with dirty fingerprints and sweat. The doors open and I can breathe once more. My lungs expand. Cool, fresh air! But it only lasts for a second. There’s another wave of shoving and tugging. A newborn child is crying to be nursed, and the sharp pain of a pointy heel digging in my toe. How I love Roman transportation.

Campo de’ Fiori Nightlife

As night falls, the atmosphere transforms. The air is lighter, cooler, and breezy, and inaudible conversations last for hours. Trains of restaurants overflow with people sitting under giant canopy umbrellas. I hear the loud echo of silverware knocking against plates. The Campo is a place for people to gather and enjoy each other’s company. They sit on the steps of the statue. Sitting, waiting, wishing. The sound of giggling from a child drinking from the fountain as water erupts from the spout. I see fake designer purse and sunglasses vendors lay their goods on the uneven cobblestones, and flying helicopter-like toys light up the sky. Glowing neon colors. I dare not forget the sounds of the megaphone – every single night there is someone shouting messages I can never understand. And oh the entertainment. The same performers travel to the Campo de’ Fiori. I hear music from a gentle, soothing saxophone player. And a man singing Italian while playing the violin. And sometimes even the uniqueness of the accordion. It’s so different from Seattle.

CW #1: The Journal

While traveling and exploring Italy, I pictured myself keeping mental notes, capturing moments through photography, and reminding myself of details and observations through written entries. I did not have specific requirements for my journal before buying it – all I wanted was something “pretty” and something that would remind me of Rome. However, the one thing that it could not be was expensive.

I had a mission.

Searching for the perfect journal was more difficult than I expected, mainly because I was not familiar with the city just yet. My initial attempt to find one was unsuccessful but noteworthy. That day, my roommates sent me off with general directions to the bookstore near the Campo de’ Fiori and told me that the store had a red sign. Aside from that, I really wasn’t sure what I was looking for or where I was going. Nevertheless, I thought searching for the bookstore on my own would be a clever way to familiarize myself with the streets around the Campo.

I wandered.

As I walked up and down Vittorio Emanuele alone, passing by shops with foreign names, I felt as though I was being watched and out of place, like the lone bright yellow dandelion in a big green field. It seemed like everyone I passed somehow knew I didn’t fit in with the Italians and was already judging me because I was Asian, wasn’t dressed the way they were, and perhaps didn’t even carry myself the way they do. This was my first time traveling in a foreign country on my own, so these feelings could have arisen due to first-time jitters, but either way, it made me uncomfortable to be out alone. To reduce my uneasiness, I pulled my sunglasses over my eyes and kept walking, keeping my eyes peeled to what was ahead and acting like I knew where I was going and had a sense of purpose.

I was the foreigner.

Although I had my sunglasses on, I continued to feel like an outsider. However, I felt more in control because I could see my strangers’ thoughts through their eyes but they couldn’t see mine.

I was invincible.

I never did find the bookstore I was looking for that afternoon, so I ended up purchasing a journal from the Cartoleria Pantheon on my way to the Spanish Steps. It wasn’t the ideal journal, but I was at a point when the need for a journal was more important than finding one that satisfied all my requirements.

I was practical.

The combination of colors, design, and detail may appear to overwhelm the limited surface area of my journal, but I disagree. The size may not appeal to all as it is not particularly big, but it fits in my purse just right. Some may also describe it as “light as a feather”. The pages are lined so my stories will not appear as if they followed a crooked path, and thick enough to absorb the ink from my pen so my memories won’t seep through to the adjacent page. Records of observations during my travels and adventures will find themselves gradually tamed.