THE ARCHIVE

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.

Life can be a bit stressful here on the hill but sometimes the cause isn’t clear. According to the PULSE survey conducted on campus this year, a significant percentage of Cornell students feel stress as a result of family or relationship problems, challenging academics, or tight finances.

Concern for future plans, however, ranked first among all potential sources of stress. A startling 34% of the survey pool marked this as “very stressful” and another 33% responded that they considered it “moderately stressful.”

Whether thinking about summer internships or professional careers, the over-achieving student body at Cornell seems to brood anxiety about the future. And this can hardly be attributed entirely to the current recession. It’s just that planning to do things beyond Ithaca while taking classes and exams requires an incredible capacity for multitasking. Thoughts of resumes, cover letters, portfolios, and phone interviews loom quietly overhead and disrupt one’s normal routine.

This semester, I am taking fewer credits than ever before and my classes could hardly be described as overwhelming. And yet, I am completely dysfunctional. I’ve spent the majority of the spring dreaming up activities for this summer and drafting various mental versions of my life plan. I’ve also been touching up my portfolio, editing my resume and emailing potential employers.

Finally my schemes have come to fruition. And yes, they involve Italy.

I accepted a job working for three weeks on an archaeological site near Pompeii. The small team of professors and graduate students (mostly from Texas) will be researching Villa Oplontis and trying to make sense of its many phases of construction. Working alongside an architect, I will be documenting wall types and settlement patterns while trying to determine the original configuration and use of the Roman complex.

Afterward, I have arranged to work for an architecture firm in Rome called Labics. The two principle architects worked as my professors last Fall and have invited me on board to help with their firm’s current projects and (possibly) a bilingual publication.

Now that these plans are set and housing is nearly arranged, I’m about ready to relax a bit and enjoy the good weather. What? What’s that you say? Final exams?

This year, I spent spring break in Miami with two college friends and fraternity brothers. My intention had been to relax for a few days and visit family, but our location along Ocean Drive in South Beach kept us busy around the clock. The standard routine down there involves swimming, beach football, dinner, and clubs. With so many distractions, I wonder how anyone in such a climate can get much done. 

It is fair to describe South Beach as a complete anomaly of human civilization. Groomed beaches host crowds of sun-tanned locals, scantily clad Europeans, and pale college kids. Prop-planes fly overhead every few minutes advertising parties with special celebrity guests and themes. Walking along the street, it is not uncommon to see a Ferrari, Lamborghini, Rolls Royce, and Bentley within a single block.

The spectacle can be entertaining during a brief visit, but I think it runs the risk of making people completely delusional. In a place like South Beach, self worth is a matter of appearances; cars and breasts are the preferred means of expression.

I was shocked by the mannequins that populate the stores of South Beach. Are they serious? The volume of these plastic breasts is greater than that of the entire torso! I suspect that a woman with these dimensions would topple forward or break in half.

Here in Ithaca, women have resumed their proper dimensions and a used car that can drive in snow is enough to impress them. It’s good to be back.

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.

“No, there is not more beauty in Rome than elsewhere, and all these objects which have been continuously admired for generations, which workmen’s hands have mended and restored, signify nothing, are nothing and have no heart and no worth; –but there is much beauty here, because there is much beauty everywhere.”

Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters To A Young Poet

Our bus parked in Caserta and we stood at the foot of an 18^th century baroque monstrosity. A grand stair carried us into the belly of the beast–a world of gilded bronze, carved wood, rare stone and lush fabrics. Chandeliers glistened overhead and paintings played upon various themes. Indeed, the kings of Naples built this sanctuary of opulence to impress.

The only thing that the Palace of Caserta impressed upon me was a sense of boredom. Glancing from one embellishment to another, I reflected on the uselessness of the place. Even the most exquisite flourishes at the “Reggia” appear empty and expected, like a stage set without a plot to bring it to life. The handsomely dressed spaces lack their own story–they recall worn out mythology and misplaced wealth. Their state of preservation conveys more about the modern culture of tourism than it does about the royal family’s brief reign.

Similar monuments populate the city of Rome where they continually attract and astonish visitors. Unfortunately, these works of art and architecture wear the weight of their own fame. Reproductions systematically reduce each masterpiece to an icon and diminish our capacity of perception. Filled with expectations, we look at great works for the first time without a sense of discovery.

The Palace of Caserta and the attractions of Rome are beautiful, but they are missing something. It exists in the spaces between these sites. They are small and unimposing things–traces, coincidences, and peculiarities that lurk in every city, revealing more about the human condition than the weary monuments that we to shower with attention.

In Rome, bottles churn endlessly at a dam in the Tiber; aggregations of metal locks stand testament to a series of romantic vows; strands of steel from the street cleaning brushes litter the roads; cell phones distract gladiators when business is slow; pasta occupies an entire row at the supermarket; and re-used cobble stones wear the decontextualized paint of pedestrian crosswalks.

Such things are mere traces of a city, but they offer the freshness and excitement of discovery to anyone who cares to notice. They are what I love about this place. The baroque palace at Caserta, I could do without.

After a night in Naples, Irina and I took a 40 minute tram ride to the “scavi di pompei” at the base of Mount Vesuvius. The Roman city of Pompeii, fixed in time by volcanic eruptions in the 1^st century AD, exists in stark contrast to Naples. It is small, quiet, safe, and organized–cleanly swept and void of life.

The desolate feeling of Pompeii is appropriate (considering its fate) but I kept trying to imagine the city as if it were inhabited by the people of Naples. The streets would be strewn with trash, people and carts would clamour through the intersections, and pick-pockets would lurk in the alleys. With this mindset, the architectural remnants of Pompeii began to come to life. The streets, theater, market stalls and grain mills quickly became animated with faces and figures from the night before.

The most interesting remains at Pompeii reveal the lifestyle, activities and humor of ancient Roman citizens. Someone sketched the figure above onto a painted wall nearly 2000 years ago! Our society may have changed, but I suspect we are very similar to the people who came before.

Florence is a city of simple pleasures; she beckons to travellers and takes their money; she can be easily bought and easily consumed; her job is to satisfy. She is like a hooker, dressed with gaudy stones and lit by street lamps.

Naples is a city that requires time to understand; she seduces travellers but remains elusive; she is spirited and threatening; she is either loved or hated. She is like a mistress, who hides behind closed doors.

This weekend I travelled south and caught a glimpse of something entirely new. Naples is a city stripped of the pomp that pervades most Italian tourist destinations. It is unkempt and uninviting. It repels visitors with grime, trash, traffic and thieves. But in the midst of anarchy, there exists a city more passionate and genuine than I have ever seen.

We arrived to Naples on Saturday afternoon and walked along small alleyways with clothing stretched on lines overhead. We passed churches lodged into city blocks, denoted by little more than a wide door and a stone entablature. In one of these, we found a remarkable sculpture of Christ’s body covered by a thin layer of cloth (an effect that modern sculptors are unable to produce).

The remainder of the night was spent eating pizza at the famous Pizzeria da Michele, partying at a discoteca, eating freshly baked Pizzetta, and riding back to our hotel. The pizza was extraordinary, the music was loud, and the driving was life-threatening. An exciting night by all accounts.

Florence attracts Americans like a light attracts moths. Something about the intact miniature roads, marble-clad basilicas and brimming museums appeals to our western mentality. The glowing alleyways and hillside villas have the idealized aura of a Thomas Kinkade painting–almost too perfect to be true.

I returned to Florence with my family and noted the refinement of the place in contrast to the more tumultuous city of Rome. I will admit that the place has charm and the collections of Renaissance work are unsurpassed. The monuments that remain attest to the ambition, craftsmanship and wealth of a people inspired by the past and anxious to leave a mark on the future. (pictured: Brunelleschi’s famous dome and sculpture in the Boboli gardens)

At night, I explored the bar scene and watched a modern Florentine ritual: American girls getting drunk and Italian guys trying their best to get lucky. I ended up talking to a couple Italians, Leonardo and Claudio, and joked with them about the absurdity of their late-night activity. I listened as girls spoke to them in broken Italian–not realizing that they both spoke perfect English (and could understand everything the girls said to one other). At some point, the girls mistook me for an Italian, so I jokingly entered the conversation with simple Italian phrases and exaggerated hand gestures to compensate.

Against all odds, I convinced them that I was Italian and they divulged to us their belief that Italian guys are better looking than Americans, etc. etc. We spoke for awhile and as we said goodbye Claudio managed to snatch a kiss on the lips. The American girl turned toward her friends and giggled at the thought of kissing an Italian.

Prompted by Claudio, I turned back around and said to her in perfect English, “wow, you just kissed that guy on the lips!” At that moment, something registered in her slightly intoxicated mind and she blurted out, “You guys are all Americans! OMG” and literally chased us down the road.

I don’t necessarily condone the sleaziness of Leonardo or Claudio but I couldn’t help but laugh with them at the situation. Girls can be pushovers when it comes to cute accents and misplaced romanticism — they are generally not very happy when they are called out on it.