THE ARCHIVE

Italy may be known primarily for pizza and pasta, but its culinary expertise extends far beyond fine-grain foods.  Two summers ago, my friend Annie set out on a two-month mission to collect regional recipes with the flavors of Italy, but without the gluten.  The best of these have recently been published in her cookbook “Olio, Aglio.”

Here’s an explanation from Annie:

“Olio Aglio, translated means literally “oil, garlic”. It is an Italian cookbook created specifically for Celiacs and those following a gluten free diet. … The recipes are split into four categories based on the four regions: Trentino-Alto Adige is full of hearty meals, Tuscany has many fresh oil and wine based recipes, Puglia has the seafood, and Sicily wraps it together with delicious desserts.”

Copies of Olio Aglio are available online from AuthorHouse books. Click here to order yourself a copy directly from the publisher. Also, check out Annie’s blog “Silly What?” for more information and sample recipes.

Rome is famous for her monuments, but unlike Florence and Venice which surrender to hordes of tourists each year, the eternal city marches forward under a double banner as both tourist capital and national capital. These designations leave Rome in a difficult, albeit an interesting, situation. The city exists in a paradoxical state, divided between an undeniable present condition and an unforgettable past.

Living with a family in San Giovanni this summer, I finally had the opportunity to experience Rome as a living city — not merely as a curated one. My perspective changed from tour bus to local bus (number 673 to be precise) and I started to gain a new familiarity with the city’s wonderfully unique and disfunctional characteristics. Using public transit each day on my way to work was not always a comfortable endeavor. On one occasion, I stepped onto a bus with so many occupants that the doors jammed shut behind us and failed to re-open after repeated (and frantic) attempts to make them budge. You can imagine the dilemma.

Anecdotal evidence suggests that the Coliseum looks much less impressive when viewed through the sweaty glass of an overcrowded bus. The same could be said for other important monuments throughout Rome, which in many cases have become nodes of transportion.  Porta Portese, Largo Argentina, the Coliseum, and Piramide (pictured below) are just a few examples of ancient ruins lodged awkwardly into a modern, fuel-injected context.

Cornell introduced me to Rome last Fall and allowed me to make the connections and friends needed to return this summer on my own. I worked each day at an Italian design firm called Labics with two architects who I studied under during their tenure as visiting professors at the “Cornell in Rome” program. At their studio, I met a number of young professionals who had arrived in Rome from every corner of the Italian peninsula between Veneto and Puglia.

In the end it was the people, not necessarily the place, that made the summer so enjoyable. My host family and friends were incredibly welcoming and engaged me on topics as wildly diverse as health care, Mormonism, and Deconstructivism. Getting to know these people while performing the linguistic gymnastics of speaking Italian kept life in Rome interesting.  And if there were ever a moment to spare, a five minute walk would undoubtedly lead to another monument or museum to explore.

You either love it or hate it. Garbage pizza — so packed with flavor that it demands the most vague and threatening term in culinary vocabulary. Garbage — an amorphous field of calories, loosely identifiable as meats, cheeses, and veggies. It makes life worth living, even while threatening to cut it short.

Similar words might be used to describe the city of Naples, where the ingredients for civilization (the good, bad, beautiful, and smelly) have been heaped together in what can only be described as a charming mess.

Some visitors find the grunge and disorder of Naples repulsive. Italians from other regions mock it as a lawless state where most rules are considered mere “suggestions”. It is a peculiar place and an intimidating one, but I’d like to think it’s taste can be acquired.  The people of Naples are a proud and spirited bunch.  They might grumble about the mafia-imposed trash strikes or the struggling economy but they genuinely want you to enjoy their city as much as they do.

There are many cool things about Naples that I cannot necessarily name or place;  the constant barrage of fireworks, late night pizzetta, and grass-sprouting facades are a few things that come to mind.  There are others that no visitor can afford to miss; the San Severo chapel and the archaeological museum are my top recommendations. Personally, I am still in awe of the little “porcellino” pig that has survived more than two millennia of ware. One has got to marvel at a society that can posess such treasures while still struggling to take out the trash.

Promptly after exams ended at Cornell last Spring, I set out on a 24 hour journey by tram, train, and plane from my home in Pennsylvania to the ancient ruins of Pompeii. With two backpacks balanced across my shoulders in front and back, I schlepped through stations on both sides of the Atlantic looking like an over-loaded, under-experienced backpacker on an urban expedition. As I neared my destination along the Circumvesuviana train line, I glanced cautiously at several potential pick-pockets and prayed that they wouldn’t take advantage of my vulnerable state. They deemed me a less lucrative target than the handbag wielding tourists nearby and I emerged unscathed.

For three weeks I lived at Pompeii’s “Motel of the Mysteries” with a small and talented research team from the University of Texas.  Although hardly the set of an Agatha Christie novel, our accommodations were sufficiently mysterious to fuel daily postulation about illicit mafiosa activity and clandestine afternoon encounters.  We would often sit around our poolside table in contemplation of a few recurring questions: Why is the swimming pool shaped like a Roman Amphora? Do businessmen often bring young women to World Heritage sites? Are rooms here offered at an hourly rate?

Each morning, our team travelled by car from the safety of Pompeii into the modern squalor of Torre Annunziata, where crime and poverty continue to draw attention and tourism away from the town’s archaeological gem. There – in the midst of social and economic wreckage left in the wake of crummy politicians and crime lords – sits a 2,000 year old country residence called the “Villa Oplontis.”

Although less extensive than either Herculaneum or Pompeii, the archaeological site in Torre Annunziata boasts brightly colored wall paintings and cleverly sequenced spaces that invite visitors into the minds and lives of the Roman elite and the people who served them. Construction and renovation transformed the Villa repeatedly in the decades leading up to explosion of 79AD.  Now it is possible to track this architectural evolution through three distinct styles of Roman wall painting and a number of clearly identifiable masonry techniques.

As an architecture student among trained archaeologists and art historians, I tackled two projects that utilized some of the drawing and software skills I learned back in Ithaca, NY.  My first task focused on the Villa’s masonry and resulted in a series of digital elevation drawings cataloguing construction type and materials throughout the complex.  My second task focused on the Villa’s frescoes– many of which remain fragmented and disorganized in a storage room.  Using scaled photos of each fragment as a starting point, I created an interactive digital “puzzle” in Adobe Illustrator to identify matches or alignments between parts. After some work, I came up with the following reconstruction which appears to align vertically with an existing scene:

I must say that my experience working among researchers at the Villa Oplontis impressed upon me a deep respect for and interest in the ancient world.  It is not too difficult to imagine dropping architecture to pursue an Indiana Jones inspired career in archaeology.  I could spend the next fifty years of my life travelling around the world in search of mankind’s greatest achievements. But, then again, it would be pretty cool to build a few buildings myself and leave them for someone else to discover.

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time

Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, I recalled a passage by T.S. Eliot that someone read during a graduation ceremony at St. Paul’s School. “To make an end is to make a beginning” he wrote. Set aside the religious overtones and the message seems well suited to my situation. The end of the Italian experience will usher in a new year with adventure and opportunities of its own.

After a period of exploration abroad, I have returned to the states with a changed perspective. I never lost the capacity to speak English but my inclination to speak Italian to store clerks and strangers has caused more than a few awkward encounters. How strange it is that so many people on a continent can communicate effortlessly to one another! Small revelations like this suddenly became possible through the normal haze of familiarity. The enormous cars, 24/7 shops, and country radio stations initially caught me by surprise. Using Italy as a benchmark, I have gained a better understanding of some of the problems, conveniences and peculiarities of American life.

I expect the next few months to be an interesting time as I settle into an apartment in Collegetown, enrol in new classes, participate with the Solar Decathlon team, and return to my old jobs as tour guide and teaching assistant. I’ll keep you posted along the way.

It has all come to an end. I spent my last remaining days saying goodbye to friends as they head home for winter break. Many will be in Ithaca this spring, but some will be studying off-campus in New York, London, or elsewhere. At this point in our college career, many people are realizing that they might not be together in classes ever again.

My life has been tightly compressed into a few bags as I attempt to relocate from Italy to Pennsylvania. I fly from Rome to London to New York with British Air (who I must commend on allowing me to carry a free “sporting good”). Extremely heavy luggage and the horrible weather forecast for NY have generated some travel anxiety, but I’m hoping for the best.

I look forward to seeing some of you over winter break or in Ithaca very soon. Ciao a tutti.

One of my roommates in Rome has been counting the “Mondays” before we return to the states. There were nineteen Mondays when we arrived in Rome and I have reluctantly watched as the number dropped to just a few. While some students couldn’t wait to return to the conveniences of America, I mourned the quick passage of time. Early in the semester, I asked our history professor how long it might take to see all of Rome. With the romanticism of a renaissance enthusiast, he answered “a lifetime.”

Unable to commit an entire lifetime to Rome, I have attempted to make the most of just a few months. I have spent my time working, travelling, partying and studying in regions of Italy spanning from Sicily to Tuscany and from Rome to Aosta. I have had an incredible experience here, which I have tried–at least in part–to share with all of you.

It goes without saying that I am indebted to the programs and institutions with which I have participated: WWOOF Italia, the Poggio Colla Field School, and the Cornell in Rome program. At each of these organizations, I have found incredible hosts and mentors who share and inspire my interest in Italy. I have met scores of locals and foreigners who have made the abroad experience so much more enjoyable.

Today is Tuesday and there are no more Mondays left in the Rome adventure. I finished the last of my exams this morning and have three days to quickly pack up, see a few remaining sites, say goodbye to friends, and eat my last Gelato before scouring the freezer section in Wegmans trying to find a decent alternative. At this point I am looking forward to going home to Lancaster and eventually to Ithaca where I will see family and friends. It has been a long time.

But I refuse to believe that my time in Italy has completely come to an end because too many things here remain to be done. I suppose I will have to find time in this lifetime to come back and do them.

The Cornell web cam shows that Ithaca has already received its fair share of snow this winter. Four thousand miles away in Rome we are experiencing a bit of precipitation ourselves. The past three days have been particularly wet, causing the Tiber to swell over its banks. The homeless living along the river have moved to higher land near our apartment and police are currently guarding some of the less stable bridges.

Images online show the high water engulfing Tiberina Island, house boats, and trees.  We can see these things directly from our apartment which overlooks the Lungotevere.  The rain can be a nuisance but we try to make the most of it; spontaneous singing has happened on occasion.

This semester at Cornell was not the first that required weeks of non-stop work. I have grown accustomed to the post-thanksgiving burden of papers, projects, and reviews, but I never expected the heavy workload of Ithaca to follow me here to Rome.

What happened to the study abroad experience that people talk about? Friends from Cornell have laughed about their “drinking-exchanges” around the world that amount to paid vacations. Even in Rome, American students from John Cabot, RISD, and U Chicago have admitted to the ease of their programs and their familiarity with the bars in Campo dei Fiori supports that claim.

Cornell in Rome did things differently this semester. The architecture studio required the devotion given to a newborn child–and caused many more sleepless nights. When the class fell behind in studio because of a major history assignment, our professor griped about our negligence. The bags under our eyes should have indicated that we were doing our best.

I hesitate to complain at great length because–for the most part–the Cornell program has been a great experience. I have enjoyed my classes and am proud to be part of an institution that values academics over alcohol. But I do wish that there had been more time over the past few months to discover Rome on my own. There is something to be gained by talking to Italians over a few drinks, and having the time to do so.

Thanksgiving brings to mind food, family, and freedom (from school or otherwise). Being in Rome, I worried that I would miss out on this alliterative triumvirate of holiday joy. My family is far away in Pennsylvania and turkey isn’t exactly Italy’s national dish. Fortunately, Cornell took on a surrogate role for the night and Palazzo Lazzaroni became a bustling foreign outpost for the American tradition.

The university provided turkey (tacchino in italiano) and everyone brought a dish of their own to add to the pot-luck. I noticed that many students borrowed family recipes in an attempt to emulate parents and grandparents. This resulted in a broad array of food reflecting the diversity of our class; chicken mole and empanadas were among the best dishes of the night. I contributed my own ethnic dish (pictured below) and it received good reviews despite being served in a frying pan.