Venezia and Carnivale

Revelry is best enjoyed with wonderful friends amidst scores of strangers... from behind a mask.

Venice is a mere two hour train ride but it is another land. All the romance, the sighs, the old buildings, the gondolas, it's all there and if anything, it is underemphasized by the romantics who have tried to verbally depict it.

Arriving in the early eveining, we got to soak in but a few fleeting moments of the sun-drenched canals before the sun set and the mischief began.

The masks in the stores are amazing- everything you can imagine. For Carnival, the masks are also on everyone you pass. Some vendors have stands outside peddling their goods, others just keep their stores open late. The truly dedicated appear in full costume- resembling aristocrats, fairy tale characters, or fools. We wandered all about and all ended up finding just the right mask along the way. I certainly don't want to brag... but mine garnered more than one compliment and photograph from scores of people. The only problem was smiling as it pressed on my cheeks a bit!

For dinner, we found a chinese restaurant- one of the few places we could actually afford to sit down in- and thoroughly enjoyed hot sauce on everything we ate. I had the privledge of being with two people who have lived in Asia who had good advice on what to order. The lazy susan in the middle of the table facilitated a way to taste a bit of everything and enjoy the escape from the chilly evening! It was also the only place where one coudl see that everything from my dress, leggins, boots, earrings and mask all matched perfectly. Otherwise, it was all hidden beneath the coat.

The scores of people bring the streets to life and everyone is enjoying drinks and dancing to the techno or live bands blaring music from every piazza. Blue light ornimentation hang above pedestrian streets and one can meander to all the different locales and take in all the energy and cheer that goes with this celebration.

At almost three in the morning, about twenty SAISer's departed from Bologna train station, thoroughly exhausted but wickedly happy. As we walked home, my roommate charging ahead... (full bladders do that to a person) we reflected on a truly wonderful way to spend the Saturday evening after the start of a new semester. I am proud to say many of us were up and at 'em this morning, hitting the perpetual books... also proud to say many of us also spent the evening at Tracy and Daniel's having dinner together and remembering not to take ourselves too seriously.

B

Bear

My childhood home in the country lent itself to many miracles each spring as flowers adorned skeletal trees, birds acted as de facto roosters, and spring peepers serenaded those lucky enough to live within earshot of their collective voices. Another wonder of this season is new life- often in the form of wonderful tiny kittens. Sometimes our cats would give birth in the big barn and, at the appropriate time, bring them down to meet our family.

Our dear Cleo loved all and was beloved by both humans and her fellow felines. Her farsightedness meant that she would bound across the yard to you only to fall in the small pond as she got closer and things got blurry for her. From my big brother she was bequeathed with the motto “Heart of gold, brain of mold” because she was notorious for forgetting things... So she surprised us when she followed the normal cat routine and brought down a little black fuzzball early one memorial day weekend.

That was my first meeting with one of the greatest loves of my life. He was already crying nonstop at the edge of our long wooden porch which was in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint. My parents were amazed at how loud this one was and woke me up to try and get close enough to him to bring him inside. I cooed back to him the whole time as I inched my way ever closer, trying to speak in comforting tones. He stayed close to his mom and kept a keen eye on me. The voice and the discerning eyes were first impressions that would stay with him. Scooting on my knees, I continued my approach. My parents both peered out the window when they heard silence and saw me with this little life in my arms cuddling him and smiling ear to ear. We had no idea what we were in for… we had no clue one cat could encompass so many traits or live out so fully his nine lives all the while effortlessly enhancing ours.

Bear was always a wild spirit. All black and fiercely independent, he was content to spend his days hunting in the fields and occasionally bringing back mice. He was skittish at first about being held and preferred being pet on the ground, always on his terms. A perfect day would be complete by playing in the yard with his best friend, Rebel. A short romance with Lucky, our lady cat, was cut short (literally) by a trip to the vet, for which we are fairly certain he never forgave us.

His voice always preceded him and saved him when we moved to Jefferson. He escaped during the moving process and we would have probably never found him had he not been whining the whole time. His meow was his trademark and was a sign of his fierce intelligence as he learned to tailor them in a way that sounded like “hello” when he would enter a room. “Do you need to tend to that crying baby?” people would ask on the phone. “No, that’s just our cat.” I am fairly sure more than one telemarketer thought we were insane.

Moving during the summer makes for a lonely time as you have no school chums to spend the hot afternoons with. Bear was also adjusting to life as an indoor cat and the two of us could waste away the afternoon in the yard or inside watching The Price is Right. A few attempts to get him to go on a leash were about as successful as the Weimar Republic…

Over the years, he became less aloof and began sitting on laps and enjoying hugs. Dad and Bear had a special bond. Dad doesn’t like cats… he likes Bear. Bear isn’t a cat. That is what he always said when he “cat-tured” him after their game where Dad would chase him until it ended with Bear accepting the hugs, whining all the while.

Mom and Bear had a special arrangement whereby she would put a blanket down near herself and he would cuddle next to her or between her legs as they relaxed in the evening. Never on the couch would he sit, always on a blanket. Nor would he eat from your hands until very late in his life. He was a sneaky eater but had a profound weakness for KFC (who doesn’t?).
When he got bored, he would watch the birds outside and get excited or terrorize the frog. He always managed to escape outside and go on adventures for a day or so at a time. Once he got out for too long and got hurt. His leg needed stitches and we always wondered what he encountered on that outing. He overused the other leg, which in response became arthritic and as he aged, his leg became fixed in one position. He never let it stop him, and it provided much comic relief for us as he would stubbornly jump

As I came home from college, he would always be angry at me for a bit for having left but end up on my bed at night, purring nonstop and making me happy. He could almost never spend the night in one place though, he always had to patrol the house and make sure everything was in order. Little escaped his observation.

With age came a calmer disposition, as demonstrated on holidays he was tolerant of curious grabby children, dogs, and crowds. He was always a great comfort when things went wrong and even welcomed my Vinnie (also all black!) to live with him in the big house when I absconded to Italy. Letting Vinnie out of his cat carrier during my weekend visits home, the two would sniff at each other (you know where) and form a circle which I named the chocolate donut.

Bear lived a full and rich life which ended abruptly this week. If ever I were grateful for something, its for the peace he brought to us, for the laughter he elicited as he ran so fast on the hardwood that he slid into the couch, and for the joy that began that spring morning many years ago and never stopped. Bear rests now… perhaps for the first time in his many lives. Peace be with all of you.

My new vice: London

London. Oh London… you haunt my thoughts. I thought I’d be able to see you in a few days… to get a good feel for all you have to offer, and leave you behind for a few years while I discover new destinations. Turns out my sampling just thrust itself into my blood like that first hit of heroin. I need more.

I played tourist for two straight days, sometimes accompanied by my friend, Ashlee, when she wasn’t finishing the final essay for Science, Technology, and International Affairs (I felt her pain as I was also in the class). I ran amok in the city, despite a dead camera battery that limited my ability to take photographs. Palaces spread out before me and big clocks chimed away the hours as I made my way along the Thames, taking in all the sights that heretofore existed for me only in National Lampoon’s European Vacation and all the books on British Royalty that have filled my head with fantasies of another era.

I experienced Westminster Abbey through its Sunday worship service and have now stood on the grave of Darwin and Isaac Newton after my first communion using wafers and sipping from a communal chalice. Other highlights included a trip up into tower bridge to take in the view(this is when the snow actually began, we felt like we were in a snow globe!), hobnobbing at Harrod’s, pretending I can interpret art in the National Gallery, not even trying to look smart as I took in modern art at the Tate Modern, and lots and lots of real cups of coffee.

The real reason I booked the trip was to visit various sites on Monday and Tuesday with 24 fellow SAIS’ers to learn about different organizations; all the appointments were arranged by the career services center. The most grand snow storm London had seen in twenty years tried to hamper those plans but we trudged through the snow, spent hours en route on the tube lines that actually were functioning, and made our way to each appointment. Only one cancellation greeted us. We visited Human Rights Watch, an NGO founded 30 years ago by a group of NY lawyers. A laid back former journalist runs their London office and he’s more than happy to be very honest about the economy and how it’s affecting his ability to work effectively. International Institute for Strategic Studies (think-tank focusing on international security) and European Bank for Reconstruction and Development are both impressive institutions that have a lot of SAIS’ers who were more than generous with their time and knowledge.

Our snowy Monday as young professionals concluded in a pub where we shared good beer (Guinness for this lady, of course) and anticipation of another day to be running amok, learning about the places we’ve only read about (and for whom we’ve spent hours crafting the perfect cover letter). We visited a risk analysis firm in the morning for their monthly conference and were briefed by some staffers afterwards. We found ourselves unfortunately blown off by Economist Intelligence Unit, despite having reserved a room for our lunch appointment (the weather excuse only holds so much water when almost all the lines are running and there is free food in it for them!). We did lunch anyway on the top floor of an old Victorian style house- turned- pub that had great wood ornamentation and chandeliers in its narrow, creaky stairwells. A dumbwaiter, concealed by two doors that were serving as shelves for bottles of scotch, brought up our meals. The cancellation allowed us time to check out the British Museum just down the street and take in an Easter Island statue as well as the Rosetta Stone (turns out it’s NOT a CD rom… interesting!)

After one more appointment with a startup that provides information and consultation for businesses looking to invest in renewable energy technology, we had some more free time. Luckily, we just happened to be on Piccadilly Circus, a street with millions of great shops. I have now been to a London Eurotrash institution- Top Shop (Think H&M, but this one stays in Britain instead of spreading the cheapy fashion love all over the world). The evening concluded with a happy hour thrown by the London Alumni chapter of SAIS and we got to mingle for a few hours with those who have passed before us and get to live in this fantastic city.

On to the food. England is supposed to have notoriously bad food… we couldn’t find it. My plane meal provided by British Airways was a bit questionable and remained uneaten (grey bacon on bread w’ tomato chutney… hmmm…) but after this, it was such a treat to have choices of food besides Italian.

We made out way into a pub that had an amazing selection of BURGERS (oh, burgers!) for very cheapy prices and included a pint of whatever you fancy. Twenty minutes later, I was happily sipping a Strongbow and chowing on a lamb and mint burger- my first venture into ground lamb, but probably not my last.

That night, instead of dinner, we went straight for dessert. Another quaint pub had a cozy basement, and despite the kitchen being closed, the chef agreed to whip up two sticky toffee puddings for a couple of hopeful girls who ordered good scotches. A bowl of salty nuts (giggle) completed the flavors and we cherished the moment as we blended the french vanilla ice cream with the deluge of warm caramel that covered the soft steamed sponge cake.

The next morning, after finding the hotel breakfast rather disappointing, we ventured out in search of “English Breakfast” that is advertised everywhere. We found a place to give it to us for 3 pounds. Perfect. It usually consists of some combination of eggs, cooked mushrooms, tomatoes, baked beans, black pudding, sausage, bacon, toast, potatoes. Ours was ok, but I am sure there is better out there!

Sunday Roasts and Guinness were our dinner that night. I didn’t realize the "Sunday roast" was a British tradition, but it was nice to have stuffing and potatoes and vegetables with your meat without having to order it all separately :)

After our site visits on Monday, and after the pub, a friend led a group of us to Brick Lane- a place known to have some of the best inexpensive Indian food. The blizzard had all the owners desperate for business and we ate at a wonderful place for 30% off the bill and a free round of drinks, promises shouted at us by the owner as we passed by. A long relaxing dinner wrapped up the evening as we all had to get home before the tube closed early.

Ashlee and I were exhausted by the end of Tuesday, all the schmoozing takes a toll. We stayed in after picking up pasties, shortbreads, and caramel topped cookies on our way back to the hotel and enjoyed more typical English grub, washed down with Australian wine. It’s almost sad to report that living in London can be accomplished much more inexpensively than in Bologna, even eating out is incredibly reasonable with the weak pound. At its normal exchange rate, it would have been similar to my fair city of porticos.

I must admit, I found one of my favorite activities and almost squealed as I got change to play

I won enough tickets to get myself some lovely London confectionaries.

London is truly an international city with its own wonderful, unmistakable identity. There is still so much left to do… another trip that includes the theater and a high tea is the new goal…