Three Vaccinations and Malaria Pills Still Can't Prevent The Common Cold.

It's been a week since the end of spring break and I still haven't shaken this sneeze/cough/phlem thing I picked up on the last plane ride. You see, while Ethiopian Airlines, "The New Spirit of Africa," offers spacious seating, (when they don't fill the plane and I have a whole row to myself) luxurious accommodations (when your connecting flight is delayed by 15 hours) and an authentic ethnic atmosphere (a greeter dressed in a traditional Ethiopian dress/shawl thingy, second from left) they somehow haven't figured out how properly to seal an emergency exit, and so I sat for six hours in a draft, after forgetting my sweatshirt in my checked baggage. I had lots of legroom, though. And, as the flight was continuing past Rome further into Europe, no one came around to collect my blanket at the end of the ride, and Ethiopian Airlines will be keeping me warm for a long time.

I Found Real Kosher Food!

Italian food usually doesn't carry a hechsher like American food does. The few people who keep kosher here just know what products to use and what to stay away from. The situation makes kosher life seem much less strict than it would be at home, like the bakery in the ghetto that carries assorted pastries and products, but only the bread and pizza are kosher, according to the sign on the door. Needless to say, I was in shock yesterday when, in a normal grocery that I use pretty often, I found Italian jam with a Star-K hechsher! It's the first time I've found kosher jam in this country, (aside from a French product I found in the Kosher Market in Florence) and I was ecstatic. I felt as if I should buy up the entire stock just in case they run out before I make it back to the store.

After calming down, I continued to the pasta aisle and found another surprise: Italian pasta with an Italian hechsher!
If you can't see the hechser, it says siKs, which stands for "Services International Kosher Supervision" (siks.org) and seems entirely legit. Now if I can get them to stock kosher for Pesach food, that would be perfect.

Its Snowing!!!

All Roads Lead To...The Vatican?

This morning we went on another field trip/walk around parts of the city. We came to an enclosed, military protected compound, belonging to an exclusive order of Catholic monks. The main door was locked, so we peeped in the keyhole:

Its hard to see in the distance, but that's St. Peter's (I think) directly down a row of orange trees. I wasn't so interested because it was cold and rainy this morning, but it made a good photograph.

We ended up being let into the compound from a different point, and looking over the city from one of many scenic cliffs on the surrounding hills. While we were there, we met three nuns from the states spending a year abroad in Rome, as part of whatever schooling they were doing, and I realized that there are so many people in the world who would appreciate where I live-the former monastery of a Vatican-affiliated church-more than I do.

Meet Fabiana

Meet Fabiana, my new cactus (?) that I bought at the Illegal Pickpocketer's Haven (or "shouk") this past Sunday, quite possibly the only legit purchase that could be made:

Does anyone out there know if this truly is a cactus, and if so, what kind? I've been searching for it on cactophile sites, but it seems there are just too many species to go through.

[Update] So, apparently its a Jade plant. I guess I'll still have to get a real cactus from the sellers in the campus center.

The Carnival is in Town

[pronounced cahr-nee-vahl]

A week-long collection of free children's street performances began over the weekend, of course, starting yesterday MORNING, guess where?? That's right! Piazza Navona! They started off with a BAM!, jesters, a military marching band and what sounded like a full choir. By mid-day on Sunday, they were still at it. I watched jesters dancing in a circle with children dressed in animal-look-alike footie pajamas (or "costumes") and a man eating fire in a comic fashion. I never found out, though, where the kiddos get packages of confetti. Its not special to Carnival; they seem to be available at all major tourist piazze, but they're in over-abundance this week. I have yet to find myself a dealer. In a bout of frustration, I instead danced with the twirly paper ribbons that looked like super-sized versions of the kind that pop out of tiny plastic champagne bottles.

Its been raining here for the last few days, so its iffy if I'll be able to see any more of the Carnival, but it was fun while it was waking me up in the morning.

The Room

In our pre-departure information packets, we were told not to bring any decorations for our rooms here, as the Italian plaster is crap and will crack under the pressure of having something taped up. Needless to say, our room is pretty boring. Last night, we found this backed promotional poster for a comic book, and put it up above my bed.



It's already fallen down. Now its being propped up above the dressers.

We've got spirit, yes we do!

There have been various demonstrations outside my building recently. Apparently there's an important state building across the piazza, so people have been coming to protest recent teacher lay-offs, criminal executions, anything you can imagine, I hear about it. This past Sunday, I was hearing about it at 8 in the morning when some people with megaphones started yelling, marching and singing about it. Yesterday, though, they had shut down one of the smaller main streets of the city with cops redirecting traffic a mile around.

Personal Space

Before coming here, those more experienced had warned us of pickpocketing and even suggested wearing backpacks on the front. I thought this was a little extravagant at the time, but to my surprise, I've now seen many a Roman, not only good little tourists like me, wearing their bags pregnant-style. After almost a month of trying, I've finally photographed the elusive silly Roman:



As if this weren't enough proof that pickpocketing is, in reality, a widespread phenomenon, I recently went to an enormous outdoor market. Amongst the under-priced costco-sized boxes of watchbands, t-shirts, anything you could ever need, there were shoes, electronics and jewelry that were clearly well used, loved, and now missed. It makes you want to keep your hands in your pockets at all times.

Lack of personal space extends past belongings, though, to unwanted touch from people you don’t know. Nearly every time I see the housing director downstairs, he pats me on the shoulder and asks how I’m doing. I’ve gotten the same shoulder pats from professors, men and women, one of them the nut I photographed a few days ago. I’ve hit my head on a fence-pat on the head! Once, we were on a tour led by a priest, who wanted to play a practical joke on us. After telling a story, he asked a girl to tap him on the shoulder, barked, and scared us all. But it was a priest! A religious man! And that’s from people who grew up in the states!

The most invasive situation I’ve been in, though, was care of an Italian man working at a coffee bar. While unsuspectingly waiting for my espresso, the man offered us sample spoons of chocolate gelato. I refused. This, apparently, is not allowed in this country. First, he tried withholding my coffee, then saying something that was most likely condescending in Italian. Then, while unsuspectingly sipping my coffee, he comes out of nowhere to my side of the counter, puts one arm around me and tries feeding me the gelato.

This isn't a display of laid-back attitude. It's a show of power, self-righteousness, and being super-creepy. And it must be stopped. The next person who touches me will feel the result of that one krav maga lesson I had freshman year.

Nothing Like the Roman Imagination

Parking here is scary. Cars pile on top of each other, scooters are stuck into any tiny little crevice that will fit it. I heard an Italian say yesterday that "there's nothing like the Italian imagination, and the place where it is most expressed is in parking." Then we watched a car hit a parked scooter while driving in reverse.



These are the scooters parked outside my building. I thought the last one was pretty.

Apparently Tova Was Right

Not that I doubted her mad Italian skillz or anything.

This is from yesterday's Italian class:


Salvaggio [pl. Selvaggi] means wild. Though no one else knew my name, I felt the love.

In an effort to post more often, I'm starting a photo diary.

I'm going to try to post a picture every day, from the day before. This one is from yesterday's field trip to two small towns, called Ariccia and Albano on the edge of a lake in a volcanic crater, an hour to the south of Rome. This is my professor. He's a bit of a nut.

So, the pope walks into the synagogue...

...and I arrived there too late to see it.

The current pope, Benedict XVI, made a scheduled appearance at Rome's great synagogue this morning, described here:
http://saltandlighttv.org/blog/?p=9512
I only found out about it Saturday night, but apparently the Jewish community here has been arguing over the proposed event for quite some time. Leaders protested, but the rabbi of the great synagogue was still there to great him and participate in the show. Yesterday was chosen because it is both Jewish-Christian relations day and the Hebrew anniversary of the day the Italian government allowed Hilter into the Ghetto. Jewish and Christian sources reported mixed reviews. Here are some links:
Haaretz: http://www.haaretz.com/hasen/spages/1143155.html
Christian perspective: http://saltandlighttv.org/blog/?p=9588

The event was called for 10:30, and I managed to wake up early (for a Sunday) and arrive at 10:27, security had already closed the doors at 10. Instead, I walked around the ghetto. Unfortunately I had left my camera at home, as the synagogue and Hebrew Museum don't allow cameras. As I entered the area, the first thing that struck me was an alley leading through the ghetto in which three windows had Israeli flags hanging from them. They were crinkled, as if they had been just pulled out especially for the purpose of showing solidarity on the meaningful day. The flags hadn't been there on the last time I was in the ghetto, on Thursday, but the Vatican's television trucks had already set up shop.

While church bells began to chime promptly at 10:30, the rest of the area seemed not to care about their very important visitor. Shops began opening, tourists and residents walked through the area, and people stood around to argue something about Me'ah She'arim, another Jewish ghetto.

I live in a monastery, and the Vatican owns the library downstairs.

I'm here, I'm alive (thanks to the universal kosher-ness of Kellogs and milk) and I live in a building attached to a church. Each floor has a statue or image of Mary and child. The dorm level upstairs belongs to the Catholic University, and the library on the first floor belongs to the Vatican. As I wandered in yesterday looking for a potential school book, I noticed that amongst what looked like a Beit Midrash in Italian, in the first bookshelf facing the door, about knee-level, they have an encyclopedia of Judaism.