Una Domenica a Firenze

Yesterday we went to lovely Florence, and it was hot.

I know this makes me sound like a hopeless snob, but I much prefer going to places with something to do (an educational program, a gig, etc), rather than as a tourist. I felt a little at loose ends yesterday. We waited forever at the Accademia, and I had my breath taken away by the David for the third time. I had never noticed the look on his face before; he looks frightened.

We found a good place for lunch that wasn't too expensive, and sat on the sidewalk of a smaller street while we ate bruschetta and pasta. We tried to go to the Museo del Duomo, but it was closed so we wandered the market and a bought a few gifts (nobody get too excited - they're not that great). Then we cruised the Duomo, wandered the piazza a bit, and sat at a cafe until it was time to board the bus.

I went straight to bed so I wasn't exhausted today. I had a short rehearsal for Così, the scenes from the first act in which I sing about 5 lines of recit and just emote the rest of the time. Not terribly exciting, but I suppose that learning any Fiordiligi will serve me well (raise your hand if you have no clue what that means).

Some kids in the cafe were just listening to Route 66 on someone's laptop. What do you think of that?

Not much to report from Novafeltria today. It has been sweltering hot for days, and no amount of gelato has cooled me down!

We ran Bohème three times today, and tomorrow it's off to Florence.

Today there was thunder and fog in the mountains that were really striking. I finally started taking some pictures of the views around here, but probably won't be able to post them until I get home.

Buon weekend!

pizza, interest rates, and dying sopranos

We just staged the last act of Bohème, and I was sobbing even as he was blocking it. I dare you to get through the end of that opera without crying.

This morning I tried to explain the sub-prime mortgage crisis on an Italian test. Naturally, when asked to explain the economic situation, I couldn't content myself with "gas costs a lot", I had to explain and make moral judgments on predatory lending practicies. Una vergogna!

Yesterday at the market in the frozen pizza section I saw "Big Americans American Style Pizza." As if it's not bad enough that they think we are all pigs, apparently they also think that we eat pizza with sausage, pepperoni, and corn. I had to look twice to be sure, but it really does come with mais on the top.

Days in Italy: 13...Times I've thought about quitting: 4

Now, by the formula presented a few posts ago (that singers think about quitting at least five times a day), the correct answer to the equation would be x>65. I mentioned this hypothesis during a 'singing is hard' conversation and one soprano insisted she never thought about quitting, which is clearly a lie. I've had friends tell me that they so dread the process of warming up that they wonder if they'll ever sing again. Some friends have tried other jobs, other artistic outlets, and just keep coming back. A dear one tells me singing is for masochists, and I think she might be on to something.

I approached meltdown yesterday after a coaching. I had had a similarly dolorous moment the previous day at the same time, which leads me to believe that the angst may have more to do with the hour than with my vocal folds. My coaching was actually quite wonderful, with a coach who knows the repertoire and the voice inside and out. He was relentless for a half an hour about my keeping vertical space and not spreading. He told me "Quando tu canti verticalmente, è bellissima. Quando canti orizzontalmente...è una vergogna" (When you sing vertically, it's very beautiful. When you sing horizontally...it's a shame).

As anyone who has tried to change anything knows, CHANGE IS HARD. What can become overwhelming is the amount of habitual action that needs to be overcome in order to get out of the way of the sound. I hold my head slightly tipped, spread the tone, sing indistinct vowels, manufacture vibrato, ecc. Next time you see a singer, pat them on the back for all of their hard work.

The habit that I think will be most difficult to break is holding my jaw. I know you're having visions of me on stage with my jaw in my hand, but that's not quite it. During Alexander classes in grad school I was always the one who couldn't release tension in order to allow other people to move my body. If told to let someone else wave my arm, or allow someone to lift my head form the ground, I wasnàt able to relax enough to do so (me, unable to relax? unbelievable!) I hold tension in my shoulders, as if my arms would fall off without that effort. So when Ubbaldo was trying to yank my jaw around yesterday I felt like he'd discovered my secret shame.

Take your jaw in your thumb and forefinger. Try to move your jaw only with your hand and not with your mandibular muscles. It's difficult, ESPECIALLY IF YOUR LAST NAME IS FELICE. I am lucky there was the language barrier yesterday, because had I more facility in Italian I probably would have confessed the fact that I am a chronic stresscase, that I sprang from the womb leading with my jaw, that I'm from New England, that I haven't been wearing my bite guard...any number of excuses that probably would have left me in tears. Instead I passed a maudlin hour and then went back to the practice room.

Who's got two thumbs, speaks limited French, and hasn't cried once today? This moi.

Pronomi today!

Just when I feel confident in my Italian, we have a lesson that I completely bomb. Today we discussed indefinite pronouns and adjectives, and I was once again reminded that despite my practicing it has been a long time since I sat in an Italian class. Apparently limitless rambling on the topic of the Crusades does not require a thorough understanding of pronouns.

Today is a busy day and I am pleased with that. Lucky for me I packed a sack lunch, pasta con zucchini e pesto that I made yesterday evening. My roommate fell ill last night so I will have to make the hike up the hill to check up on her at some point as well.

Off to coach some Puccini...

Witchfest, and a new discipline

Ever the workhorse, I have decided that improvised blog posts fail to satisfy my literary ambitions, so you are reading the first post for which I have written a first draft. Hopefully now, with time to reflect on both content and style, I will truly impress you all with my clear renderings and brilliant writing.

Last night was a street festival, to celebrate the solstice as far as I could tell. When I arrived there were actors on stilts doing some sort of interpretive dance. There was a moon and sun, stars, and two folks in black who were clearly the bad guys. They were accompanied by a smattering of pseudo-Early Music. To be honest, I didnàt have much of a clue of what was going on. I'd like to blame the language barrier, but there was no speaking. I'll have to use the excuse of not being fluent in Ren Faire.

The Medieval Times vibe subsided a bit for the 'fountain show'. I don't even know what to call it - they shot water up in the air, lit it up all different colors and played music along with it. Proving that some things are universal, oneo f the recorded pieces was the second movement of Carmina Burana. I felt like I was at a Patriots' game.

After the fountain experience, they played whatever American music they had until late into the night, and all the Italians stood in a circle to watch the Americans have a dance party in the piazza. I pretty well destroyed my gold shoes on the cobblestone, and shared my dancing skills with another continent. Think Elaine Benes meets 'Janet Reno's Dance Party'.

Prior to 'Witchfest', as some of the girls call it (my attendance at which will likely condemn me to eternal hellfire) I had an uneventful day. I coached a few arias with one of the Italian coaches, and she said something that really stuck with me. While encouraging me to sing more legato, she kept saying I needed 'più colla'. She realized I didn't know that word, so I kept guessing what it might mean. Finally she looked it up: it means glue. It seems that's a word that they use to describe a quality of legato singing, and it makes me look at legato a whole new way.

Come si dice 'my friends told me to come home with an Italian guy and I pick you'?

Yesterday we went to Venice. It was my second time visiting, and I don't think I would go out of my way to go again. We saw St. Mark's, the Rialto, and wandered the shops in the blazing heat for a while. When we became quite hot we went into a bar to get out of the sun, and had a young cameriere who giggled every time he came over. He tried about 5 times to teach me the word for 'straw', and finally wrote it down for me on an order ticket which I will surely keep forever. If I had to pick on uomo to take home with me, it would have to be that little gigglepuss.

The heat is starting to pick up, after a week or so of milder weather. So far it has continued to get cooler in the evenings, so the apartment is cooler by morning...just in time to warm up again. I don't know if it was the heat or yesterday's trip, but I was tired today and feel like I didn't apply any of the diction pieces I learned last week. Hopefully by the end of the five weeks some of it will have stuck.

Today in Italian class we talked about taxes and schools...two of my favorite things!

The Neapolitan Dialect has five words for fart

There are some things that truly can only be learned when you are in another country.

Today was a fairly uneventful Saturday. I was able to spend a lot of time in the practice room, practicing a bunch of arias while holding my jaw, in order to keep it from taking on a life of it's own. Tomorrow we go to Venice.

Thanks to all who have been reading and commenting. I am heartbroken that I missed the Celtics' championship.

A domani!

Days in Italy: 6 ... Instances of Falling: 2

You would think that the falls were coming once every three days, but prepare to be amazed: I fell twice this morning. On the large hill leaving my neighborhood, just before the center of town, I went off into Meg's World, twisted my foot a bit in my shoe, and fell. Since I was going down hill it was impressive; I skinned my right knee and marked up my right hand, and my wallet and my pen went flying. A few minutes later I slipped up the stairs at school, but I stayed on my feet.

Yesterday morning I went into Meg's World (I sometimes call this simply 'going away') on the walk to school. I think I do this so often in the mornings because I am dreaming of being able to call Mom like I usually do on my walk into work (I MISS MY MOM!!). Yesterday I didn't fall, but when I 'came to' I was on the corner by the school, and for a split second I didn't know where I was or what I was doing there.

This morning in Italian we talked about American politics for almost an hour and half. It was the usual pessimistic business about our culture, our politics, our religion. I wanted to bring up Ted Kennedy, but the opportunity did not present itself.

The concert last night went quite well. I wore what I am now calling my 'fruit roll-up' dress, because it looks like a tube and is watermelon colored. Just think, the last time I sang Mi Tradi I was in pleated pants. The stage in the theater is raked, and it took me about half the aria to get used to standing on an incline. I was happy with how it went, and it was really nice to sing in a space that didn't have bathtub acoustics like all the practice rooms.

Today in my Italian coaching my coach taught me how to make the Italian 'L', which is completely different from the American one. Having this conversation in Italian was hard enough, but the real challenge was trying to form the darn consonant. I really need to practice, and I had one of those moments when I thought 'singing is so hard. I don't really feel like changing how I form my Ls...maybe I'll quit singing'. The singer's little secret is that we all think about quitting at least 5 times a day.

But for now, I'm going to keep working.

One other note - I think tomorrow is the big family party. Missing this party is the only thing that made me sad about going to Italy. I'll be thinking of everybody!!!

I am under strict orders to share my cheese experiences since I have been abroad (no, I am not referring to my brother's high school nickname). I have to admit I have not been terribly adventurous yet in that regard. I have a soft spreadable cheese in the fridge that has gone on toast and in my eggs, and have gone through more than my share of fresh buffalo mozzeralla. Today I bought a nice gorgonzola as well. Since I'm trying to live within my means this summer I haven't spent too much on artisan food. Hopefully soon I will summon the nerve to indulge in some good cheese (and wine! - why not?) sometime soon. Fancy formaggio is clearly the reason God created credit cards.

Bohéme rehearsals are taking up quite a lot of my time. Yesterday the conductor announced that he was educated by Jesuits for 8 years. Upon further inquiry I discovered that he attended the same school that my brother now attends! I have cried in rehearsal approximately 8 times, because he keeps stopping to tell poignant stories.

Today in class we heard a long discourse on the Papal States, and my guess is that I was the only person in the room who had a clue what she was saying - and not because of the language barrier. But now I know how to say it: Stati Pontificiali - and I know that Novafeltria was part of them.

I sing in a concert tonight that begins at 9:30. I tried to explain to them that I don't begin things after 9 pm - I don't mind going past 9, but I don't like to begin any new activity after that time. They weren't terribly impressed.

I love acqua frizzante

My two big expenses on this trip will most likely be bubbly water and internet access. Both of them are necessary for my continued well being, so I am willing to spare the few Euros a day.

I have had a number of notable showers in my life. The mod at BC had what many of us referred to as the "midget shower" or "midge" for short. The shower in my current Boston apartment has been the strongest evidence as to my apartment actually being a dollhouse. It is a stand-up shower that I think they put a bathfitters over, making it difficult for me to move while showering.

My Italian shower takes the cake. It is a detachable showerhead hanging over a drain in the bathroom. The window, directly next to it, is covered by a lace curtain which I am not convinced prevents the neighbors from seeing us. Attached to the wall, next to the showerhead and above the toilet, is a foldable rod which I can pull out about 4 feet, and from which hangs a shower curtain that reaches to my knees. There is no curtain that hangs directly opposite the showerhead, although when turned with my back to the showerhead I have a nice view of the bidet.

I can just hear my mother having raptures at the sight of the word bidet, gushing over my "authentic Italian experience". Although I am sure I will find a way to survive, my guess is that when I get back to the States I will be eager for an authentic American bathtub shower.

I jogged this morning, braving the hills and the drivers to get a little workout in. I found a few nice paths that aren't too steep that will be great for a 30 minute run or so in the morning. Also this morning we started Italian class.

One of the sentences on the prepositions section of the placement test translated to "For me, there is no such thing as a just war". Then today, I opened the text book and there was a big picture of John XXIII, accompanying a sentence about how great a Pope he was. If I came here hoping to get away from my church history curriculum, I am out of luck.

Days in Italy: 3 ...Streetsweeper sightings: 1

As I was dozing this morning, waiting for the shower to free up and enjoying a few more minutes of bed, I dreamed of the weather in Boston. I heard the rain splatting outside my window, and saw in my mind's eye that gray sky that always makes a person want to sleep in.

In truth, the great tragedy was not this moment of dreamy nostalgia, but rather that I was not dreaming at all, and it was raining and overcast in Novafeltria. I left Boston for this? I must have been quite a sight, sticking my head out of the window, looking over the orange tiled roof with a mixture of confusion and annoyance.

But speaking of Boston, when I finally found out the result of the game last night (more difficult than you might think in a group of opera singers), I was not pleased.

This morning I went to market and stocked our fridge. I also bought a corkscrew, which is becoming a travel ritual (this time I thought to bring one, and then forgot it anyway). Someday I will have a beautiful collection of wine keys, charming and functional mementos of my adventures.

I haven't seen our landlady since our first night here. She and her husband drove us up the hill to their house with all of our bags. Neither of them speak any English, and I really don't know what they would have done if I didn't know some Italian. I believe, if I understood correctly, that they have two sons. One of their blond boys was out mowing the lawn today, which of course reminded me of home.

This morning was our Italian placement test. I took the most difficult test and it was, in fact, difficult. In my dorkish way I was eager to take it, because as you all know I love taking tests! I took it with a PTG pen, which always brings me luck. It has been a long time since I dealt with much written Italian, and I think my test will reflect that!

I worked on one of my Mozart scenes this afternoon, and will go to Boheme rehearsal tonight. It'll be a busy day, which is just how I like them!

Siamo arrivati!

After 8 hours in the air, 8 at the airport, and 6 on a bus I have finally arrived in Novafeltria! The town is charming, no one speaks English, and it is far away from just about everything. A few travel notes:

File this one under "this only happens to me". A woman with whom I was travelling had to deliver a computer to someone in Rome for a friend of her family. This "someone" happened to be a priest, so I told her not to worry about finding him at the airport, because I am a priest-magnet. We found Fr. Oscar straightaway, and he had brought a friend with him to translate. I asked Padre a few questions about his ministry (in Italian, of course), and told him a little about mine. A few moments later, over espresso, he told the translator about my job, and all three of us went on to talk about the Crusades. My first conversation in Rome is about the Crusades! It seems there are some things I can't escape. (Full disclosure: When Oscar revealed he was from Peru we got talking about Gustavo Guttierez, so that one was my fault).

Our apartment is nice, but a little farther from the center of town than I would have hoped. And by farther I mean "up a very steep hill". At least I will still be in shape when I get back to the US. It also has a gabled ceiling which results in my hunching over all the time. I also slammed my head on the ceiling when I got up in the middle of the night. My poor roommate, a kind young undergraduate from Indiana, is almost 6 feet tall and she is really struggling with the height issue.

Fear not, Mother, I made it to Mass. The Chiesa San Pietro is quite similar to your average parish in the US. On the outside it is clear that it is quite ancient, but the mass was hardly archaic. There was slightly hokey music, everything was overamplified, kids were screaming in the back. It was just like home!

After meetings and practicing, our Sunday is beginning to wind down. I look forward to cooking some pasta tonight (and, judging by the state of my bank account, for many nights to come), and enjoying an evening promenade with my newfound friends.

Go Celtics!

On the road again...

After much soul searching I decided to keep a record of my upcoming trip. I leave shortly for a summer program in Italy. I have been trying to think in Italian more the last few days, in hopes that when I arrive I won't be totally dumbstruck.

This language nervousness is universal among travellers, but I might be more susceptible than others, due to an experience on my first trip to Italy. My luggage was lost on my way to Parma, and I found myself without my clothes for a few days before the suitcase was retreived. I needed to buy clothes for the interim, and discovered that I had not learned the Italian for "underwear" in my university Italian classes. After having to act out underwear in a small town clothing shop, I vowed to be better prepared next time (and to always pack clothes in my carry-on).

So in addition to regular conversational Italian, I made sure to learn how to say "I'm a vegetarian", "What time is Mass?", "Where is the bathroom?" and a few other indispensibles. I realized last night that I haven't learned to say "Doctor, I got a lot of bugbites on the Cape this fever might be Eastern Equine Encephalitis", but I may be worrying a bit too much.

When deciding to start a blog for this trip I made a list of pros and cons. Here's what I came up with.

PROS:

1. Nick and Katie did it and it seemed cool.

When two friends spent some time in Africa they kept on online record of their adventures. Sure, I won't be doing malaria research or working in a Malawian orphanage, but they gave me hope that someone, somewhere, might find this interesting.

2. Continued motivation to "Go for the funny".

My life, like the lives of many of my friends, is a cycle of seeking out funny moments and then sharing them with anyone who will listen. Even though I won't have a phone while I am abroad, I will still be able to share the funny.

3. My mom will still be able to know every last detail of my life

Again, the lack of phone comes into play here. Since I can't spent hours a day talking to the mommers, I'll keep her up to date here. Hi Mom!

CONS:

1. The Pressure!!!!

What if I don't have time to post? What if I'm not interesting? What if people don't think my title is astonishingly clever (it's a Boheme reference, friends)? What if my posts are too long? What if they're too short???? I have clearly channeled general travel anxiety into this decision.

2. My father will be mad.

And not because he will feel like his has to read it (he won't feel that way). But because when you let people know you are travelling you set yourself up to have your house/car/identity stolen. Dear Dad: This is the biggest risk I've taken in about 2 years, so bear with me. Dear Thieves: My car is under a security camera and needs new brakes. My landlady is vigilant and my neighbors are crazy and they are always home. I have the number to cancel my credit cards with me, and my identity might not be worth having.

As you can see, the Pros outweigh the Cons. Stay tuned for further adventures. I have a stick of deodorant, my passport, and some rosary beads, and I think I am ready to go. I didn't have "start a blog" on my to do list for today, but I might go write it down just so I can cross it off.