Determined to Have Fun

Welcome back friends, make yourselves at home. If you are reading this now, it is very likely that you have read here before, so please, kick up your feet and stay a while. I am sure that the following adventures will surely entertain.

With the departure of Acting Secretary of Agriculture Chuck Conner last Wednesday morning, I returned back to the office for the first time since the previous Friday. As I opened my inbox, I was flooded with emails, so I spent the better half of my morning checking them. But since I could not come in following day, Thanksgiving, and I hoped to get Friday off in exchange for working on Thanksgiving, I knew that I had to clean my inbox or else next Monday would be an explosion of electronic correspondence. And nobody wants that. When my personal email inbox reaches a hundred, that tells me that it is time to get a new account and tell less people about it. For example, Alma College is really bad sending out too many emails, so they are still under the impression that I check my school email. But I am detracting, excuse me.

After deleting every other email at work on Wednesday, I went out to meet the Mr., Mrs. and eldest daughter Erika Chippi, fellow residents of Harbor Springs, Michigan. If you remember, I ran into them on a bus in the last post, but this meeting was intentional. For those of you who do not know, I know them through the middle daughter Kristy, who was not only a high-school pal of mine, but also the subject of adolescent affection for the better portion of my sophomore and junior year. Poor girl. Anyways, being the kind people that they are, they invited me to Mrs. Chippi’s birthday celebration, which just so happened to fall the day before Thanksgiving while they were vacationing in Rome. So we trekked to Erika’s favorite diner, where I enjoyed a delicious bacon and egg pasta, which Mr. Chippi graciously paid for. Afterward, we wandered around the streets, going to Rome’s favorite night spots and joking about all sorts of things. It was really quite fun, especially because I never in a million years would have thought it was possible. When I first met Mr. Chippi, the night I was taking Kristy to Homecoming, he scared me out of my skin with his I’ll-kill-you-if-you-touch-my-daughter demeanor, and now six years later he was picking up the tab for my fabulous Italian dinner. Funny how things turn out. Once I got late, I retreated back to my room for some well-earned sleep.

Thursday morning I woke up, and since I was only to work in the afternoon, I longed to sleep in. But the “Carpe Diem” in me seized me out of bed and sent me straight away from the Vatican knowing that it was the perfect opportunity. I got in after a half hour wait and tried to see as much as I could, knowing that my time restriction would not allow me to see the four-mile museum. In fact, because of the museum’s short winter hours (10am to 1:15pm), I do not know how anyone can see all of the museum. At first, I took my time, spending a few minutes gazing at the sculptures in each room. I saw the Chippis again and walked with them for a bit as well. But as my morning grew shorter, I realized that I would have to hurry to see the Sistine Chapel.

To filter to and through the Sistine Chapel is like joining a sheep herd’s fenced-in entrance to a barn. There is only one way there, and you have to squeeze through people for a good half and hour to get there. As you go, you pass through the rooms of papal apartments, magnificently frescoed by the greats, such as Raphael, but I was in such a mandatory rush to get to the barn, that I blew these by, promising that I would spend more time there when returned with my family. In the end though, it was worth it. Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel is surely a sight to behold, though I must say, he sure could not draw a woman. He surely had mastered the male figure, with every muscle, vein and wrinkle, but his women were just his men with breasts. Very intimidating, actually, like those Miss Universe women.

Cutting through a back exit to the chapel, I got to see St. Peter’s Basilica moments afterwards. Given my time limit, I was only in there for fifteen minutes, but if felt like time was suspended. That church is so big that when you look up you lose your frame of reference and almost fall over. My depth perception had not failed me so poorly since my two year “slump” in little league baseball. The picture below is looking up into St. Peter’s dome, the highest building in the city by law; it is over a football field tall. The altar itself, also shown in the picture, is seven stories tall. I wanted to explore the basilica and simply enjoy its vastness, but then I had to go. Work beckoned.

I really did not have to go to work; there was nothing for me to do there. Of course, I did not know that going in, but at least I would have Friday off. There was some interesting debate going on over the budget though. The US has a policy of zero nominal growth for most UN organizations, but especially with the Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO), because of its poor management under Director-General Jacques Diouf. However, though Diouf is not a efficient and effective manager, he is a master politician, and after all our work for reform, he twisted it all against us. Suddenly, all but four countries had almost agreed on a 13.3% budget increase. Even if you ignore Diouf’s track record, this is still unheard of. The next highest budget increase for a UN organization this year was just over 6% (less than half!). Though the debate was engaging, I did not know how long it would last, so I left to go my Thursday night Bible study.

This Thursday night Bible study was already special for me because I was leading worship on a keyboard for the first time in months, but another surprise awaited me when I arrived: a Thanksgiving meal. As I set up the keyboard, people set up a turkey, rice, vegetables, cake and everything. I definitely did not expect this considering that only two Americans, one of whom is myself, ever come to these things. I did not think that Thanksgiving was practiced by anyone else, but I was wrong. Before I started worship, I told them how much it all meant to me, explaining how this was the first Thanksgiving where I did not have a feast or my family to eat it with. “But then I came here, and there is a feast, and here is my family, and it looks like Thanksgiving after all.” I was thankful that God had blessed me with that fellowship on Thanksgiving, more so even than allowing me time to visit the Vatican. We sang celebratory worship songs (one even twice, on their request, “faster, faster,” they said… if only that would happen at Alma), gave up prayers of thanks, had our meal and played a game to finish. It was great.

And now for my weekend… I actually gave up quite a bit to travel on my last lone weekend here in Italy. For one, I missed listening in on the now contentious debates at FAO, and I also past up a belated Thanksgiving dinner at the Ambassador’s residence Sunday afternoon. The train ride was also going to be a painfully long one, stretching seven hours up into the Italian Alps, and as you will read, there were many other letdowns that made this trip less than ideal. But an individual will have fun if it is determined to, whether through determination or stubbornness. I have seen this for myself lifeguarding at the Harbor Springs city beach. Summer tourists will come to the beach on miserable chilly days and swim, because they did not pay all this money to come to Harbor Springs and not enjoy the beach.

It was very similar situation for me, starting with the chilled rain and low-hanging clouds that allowed for a very small field of vision. After dropping off my backpack at the ultra-modern hostel, I bundled up and went to explore the city of Bolzano. The whole Italian Alps region of Italy, known as the Dolomites, is a very unique part of the country, because up until World War I, it was actually part of Germany. During World War II, many of the area’s locals hoped Hitler would come to liberate them, but that dream was crushed when Adolf made bosom-buddies with Mussolini. Today, the region is autonomous from the central Italian government in many ways, and the language of choice is a toss-up between German and Italian depending on the age group. What I loved about Bolzano was this culture clash, which yielded distinctive architecture, customs and cooking. I could see that the town was busy preparing for its famous Christmas Markets, but since those being this Thursday, I only saw the set-up.

Bolzano is also known for its sleek History of Humanity Museum, which features Ötzi, a 5000 year-old Iceman from the Bronze Age who was found frozen in a nearby glacier in the 1990s. Studying his body and his preserved gear allowed scientists to learn an unprecedented amount about our ancestors, both a social and biological sense. Naturally, I had to check it out. The exhibit was extremely well done, showcasing each piece of the Iceman’s gear and explaining how it determined the Iceman’s role in his society. It was also interesting to read about what scientists know about the man’s characteristics, such as height, age and physical condition before death, from studying his anatomy. Peering at his mummified carcass was quite mystifying considering the excellent condition he was in for his age. He must have had quite the cosmetic surgery.

Once I was done enjoying Ötzi, I walked up and down the town’s main shopping street, which was already decorating masterfully for Christmas. Normally, shopping has no effect on me, but the window layouts were so darn alluring that one store even got me to try on a sweater. I did not buy it, but the fact that I put it on shows that they were doing something right. All of the shopping made me hungry though, so I went out for some authentic Tyrolean cuisine. I found this lovely restaurant, decorated with engraved wood, which served a wonderful dumpling, sauerkraut and thick and juicy ham. At first I was surprised that they only gave me a butter knife, but it turned out to be all I needed. It was a very hearty meal to warm me up after my cold and tiring day.

I was bummed on Saturday morning to see that the weather was just as miserable, if not worse, than the day before. Since I have no winter coat with me, I layered up a woolen long-sleeve shirt with a hoodie and two fall jackets before I ventured out. I also carried with me my umbrella that I had broke down and bought the day before. Once fully equipped, I set out to hop on a bus that would take me closer to the Alpe de Suisi, a high and beautiful Alpine plain, my target destination. I knew that the weather was not the greatest, but it was after reading about the beauty of this place that I decided to travel to Bolzano in the first place, so I determined to see it and do some hiking. I had been told that the hiking had been closed because there was snow on the plain, but I did not care; I was from Michigan and welcomed the thought of making snowangels.

Well, I never got my chance to make a snowangel, and not by my own choice. Because November is in between hiking season and skiing season, no one could figure out why a tourist would come now to travel to Alpe de Suisi. From the towns down below the plain, there are two ways up, by bus and by chairlift, and both of them were closed for the month. Of course, it took me all morning to figure this out as I deciphered signs in both Italian and German. In addition to the freezing weather, the thick fog that covered the mountains and my now squishy socks, I was truly disappointed. Even a town shop dedicated to local yodeling sensations Kastelruther-Spatzen-Laden was closed until December, so what was I to do?

Determined to have fun, I decided to go on some hiking trails anyways. Though the best ones were supposed to be on the plain, my map had marked a few off down below. Despite my squishy socks (a personal pep peeve of mine), I completed two hikes, one through a foggy pine forest and the other up to a high ridge to an empty hiking lodge. To those who saw me, I must have been quite the sight, trekking in my three jackets, blue jeans, soaked hiking boots while delicately holding a black umbrella over my head. If they would have learned that I was doing it for pleasure and not out of necessity, I know they would have thought me crazy. Can’t saw I would have blamed them.

However, I will admit that the fact my vision was obstructed for most of the day gave each a hike a unique and almost disquieting aura. I would be standing on a ridge, peering off into the infinite gray, knowing that just beyond the fog, at horizontal and vertical distances I could only guess at, were the Alps of Northern Italy. As I walked through the dim and smoky pine forest, I could not help but place myself in a Grimm Brothers fairytale. And in the few moments that the mountains did brake free from the clouds, it was an incredible sight to behold. It happened only four times during the entire day, and since I was in a new location each time, it always surprised me with its volume and power. After merely guessing and anticipating to what heights the mountains reached, to see one peep out and exceed my prediction filled me with such spirit. Though St. Peter's is grand, it has nothing on the Italian Alps.

I returned from the empty hiking lodge just before it grew dark and took the bus back to Bolzano, were I snuggled into a restaurant to eat soup and dumplings. I had finished Dante’s Inferno during the train ride, and so kept company with Dostoyevsky instead.

When I boarded the train the next morning, I thought that my weekend was over. I planned to take the train to Bologna, where I would change trains to get to Rome by mid-afternoon. Though I would miss the Ambassador’s Thanksgiving meal, I still would be back in time for an intern’s birthday party at a pizzeria, but I never quite might it. While I was in Verona (half-way between Bolzano and Bologna), I was double-checking my schedule as I do every five minutes, when I noticed that something was wrong. The train I was supposed to change to in Bologna was a Eurostar train (it was labeled differently, hence my mistake to begin with), which I can not ride with my Eurail pass. I checked for other trains heading from Bologna to Rome, but all of them were Eurostar! Frantically, I looked under Verona, and one non-Eurostar train was set to go from Verona to Rome about three hours later. Without delay, I swooped my backpack and jumped off the train about thirty-seconds before it zipped away.

For those of you literature-savvy minds, the fair town of Verona may ring a few bells. It is the setting for one of history’s most famous plays, Romeo & Juliet by Mr. Bill Shakespeare. Though the story is more of a legend, Juliet’s family, the Capulets, were in fact a powerful family in the history of Verona. So in an effort to reconnect with my 9^th grade self, I visited the Capulet house and proceeded to tour the finely decorated residence where the Capulet’s would have hosted their guests or mourned the death of their beloved cousin Tybalt. I also made sure to serenade the ghost of sweet Juliet as she waited for me on her balcony. I swore my love to her by the moon, but the moon is inconsistent, so I got over her pretty quick.

Also in Verona, I ascended the town’s belfry, which dominates the city. Because of my limited time, I gave myself a fairly decent tour from up there, looking at things across town from an aerial view instead of bothering to walk all the way over there. Though the city was very nice, I would not make it a planned stop of any Italian vacation. But if you have to a few hours to kill there because you had to leap off your train in a moment of panic, be rest assured that there is enough to do to pass the time.

Speaking of passing the time, I have passed quite a bit of time writing this blog, which, also speaking of passing the time, is one of the last ones I plan to write. Indeed, this is my last week of work, and so far most of what I have done is, you guessed it, passed the time. But more on the highlights of this last week in the next blog post.

So, to finish, let me confirm that I made it back to Rome, even though I missed the birthday party. The train actually did stop in Bologna, but it would not have mattered, since I had to wait somewhere anyways. Though this side trip was entirely unexpected, as I said before, if one is determined, then they can make fun of any situation. And when you are on an adventure, that concept is more relevant than ever.

Thank you for reading. God bless!

Thankful

Dear readers,

Happy on or around Thanksgiving! Though my exceedingly busy work week will not allow me to celebrate Thanksgiving formally, I sure do have much to be thankful for. The past week, my second to last, has been nothing like any previous weeks, granting me new experiences in every hour. For those of you concerned about my inability to celebrate this beloved holiday, do not be concerned; I am not a football fan anyways.

The last few days of last week consisted of frantic preparation for the biennial Conference of the Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) of the United Nations. As I may have mentioned before, these meetings are particularly important because they determine the budget of the organization, among other things, for the next two years. And this year, more than any other, countries are pushing for reform, though they are debating over how. For the US Mission, another critical factor to be calculated into the meetings is the visit of Acting Secretary Chuck Conner of the US Department of Agriculture (just like Condi Rice is Secretary of the Department of State). His presence demands attention and careful logistical planning. So much, in fact, that some employees from the Department of Agriculture arrived early to assist us with last minute planning. All of our busy work in constructing binder, matrices, copies and invitations was to fulfill all of the requirements for a successful FAO Conference. This is the huge bureaucratic monster called the FAO, by the way...
The conference started on a Saturday, of all days, and I went to drop off copies and make sure that everything was in order. It was, and I soon ducked out before I got assigned an additional task. Still before eleven, I rushed back to my room, changed into more casual clothes, and headed over to the Vatican, a site that I still had yet to visit. I thought I would have been there early enough, but I was sadly mistaken. The Vatican Museum closes at 1:15pm, will not let people in past 12:30pm, and had a line that wrapped around almost to St. Peter’s Square: an hour and a half wait. I thought I could at least see the basilica, but the line was over an hour long for that too, so I skipped on both.

Instead, I visited some other spots around Rome that I had been wanting to see, including a wealthy villa, a national museum and a castle. Villa Farnesina, located along the Tiber River, was owned by Agostino Chigi, the richest individual in Europe when he lived. The banker was good friends with many painters, including Raphael, and the walls of his mansion are beautifully decorated as a result. The museum was Palazzo Altemps, a branch of the national museum, and while it had nothing spectacular (comparatively), it offered a cheaper price for a ticket to the four national museums, so I decided to go. Lastly was the Castel Sant’ Angelo, the five-pointed castle featured in Dan Brown’s Angels & Demons as the Illuminati hideout. Though I am not sure about the conspiracy, the castle’s history as a mausoleum for Emperor Hadrian, a fortress and a hideaway for Popes made it interesting enough. Not to mention that it had spectacular views from its terrace.
Another exciting event on Sunday was that I got on a bus that happened to be transporting Erica and Mr. and Mrs. Chippi, sibling and parents to my good high school pal Kristy. I knew they were in town, and we were planning to meet for dinner, but to run into them unexpectedly was quite the pleasant surprise. It was great to talk to someone that I recognized, who already knew where I was from. We walked around for a bit together, until I broke off to check out one more church before going back to my room. That was probably the highlight of my day.

Since I plan to travel again this weekend, I knew that Sunday was my last Sunday on my own in Rome, so I wanted to see quite a bit. I started early, and by sunset I had seen almost all that Ancient Rome has to offer: the Coliseum, the Palatine Hill, the Roman Forum, the Capitoline Museums and the most popular of the Roman National Museums. While each were stunning and beautiful, without an understanding of the historical significance, most simply appeared to be a pile of rocks, albeit well-placed ones. I think I was most impressed with the Roman Forum, not only because it was free, but because its monuments came from the one thousand year history of ancient Rome, rising when it was a republic and falling when it was an empire. There is the senate house, where the great ancestor of American democracy was sustained for hundreds of years, the burial place of Julius Caesar, and basilicas, temples and arches, given to the people by larger-than-life emperors of the past. While this feeling can be felt anywhere in Rome, I felt it most here.
The museums were both splendid as well, though I have concluded that too many museums can cause an overload. Regrettably, famous original marble sculptures just start to look the same after a while. On the bright side, though, I think I can now identify at least six or seven emperors by observing their busts alone. But certainly, particular exhibits stood out, including the pieces from a gigantic statue of Constantine, the original Capitoline Wolf and a well-preserved original bronze statue of Emperor Marcus Aurelius on a horse. After my last museum, I went home, warmed the last of some delicious leftover pasta, and went to sleep.
It was difficult to get up yesterday, Monday, after such an exhausting day, but I managed. In fact, one I arrived at the FAO headquarters, I was full of energy. There was so much going on at once, with Acting Secretary Conner preparing a speech and others scrambling to set up meetings and strategies for the budgetary items. Without being asked, I dove into the role of “gopher,” recognizing that I would probably end up doing that anyways. I made sure our delegation room was organized and delivered messages to countries. I made sure the Secretary’s party was well-informed and fully equipped while recording the Secretary’s speech for the records. I even had to take the Metro across town to our Mission’s office and back to pick up twenty two-pocketed folders. This was after I looked for them in an office supply story, with no luck. No peanut butter, no canned soup, and no Friday Folders… what is with these Europeans anyways?

Speaking of no canned soup or peanut butter in Europe, last night I went grocery shopping, because I was out of food. I have learned that grocery shopping in Rome is very different than what I am used to. First, it is a smaller store with a limited selection (being in a big city), and second, people do not buy much at a time since they always cook with the freshest ingredients (being in Italy). Most customers buy only a bag worth of groceries at a time, and therefore, there are no bag boys and very few carts. However, for an American student who holds off going grocery shopping until he is eating the sawdust off the shelves, this combination results in a painfully heavy shopping basket and a hold-up at the cashier. This week was worse than ever. In the process of unloading my basket, paying and bagging up the purchased edibles, I dropped the pasta sauce, the only thing of mine that was made of glass. While the perturbed cashier cleaned the mess, I had to run to the opposite end of the store to get another one. Smooth move.

God must have taken pity on me for my food troubles yesterday though, because today both my breakfast and lunch were free. Well, I did not pay for them with Euros, but I sure put in my time to make sure both events were a success. As a part of his trip, Secretary Conner and the Department of Agriculture hosted two meals for two different regional groups as grounds for an engaging meeting with the United States. The breakfast was for a group of Latin American countries known as GRULAC, and the luncheon for African countries in NEPAD. Essentially, our message was that despite our desire for budget reform, we did not wish to cut programming to these countries. Both went well, which made me happy that my invitation work was not in vain. Additionally, in approaching these country’s ministers at the FAO Conference, I got to know the Minister of Agriculture for Rwanda. On our way over to the restaurant and throughout the painful process of getting him a taxi out, I managed to have some discussions with him about terracing and farming practices in Rwanda. After my prompting, we also talked about Food for the Hungry, country director Dwight Jackson, and the great work they are doing there. Once I left, I found that I really missed that hilly African country.

But there was not time to dwell on such nostalgic thoughts, since I had an important meeting to attend… well sort of. It was important, and cool, because I represented the United States at this high-level special event along with one other colleague. It was unimportant, and not cool, because it was about Forests and Energy, and the only reason we were there is because no one else wanted to attended. Having sat through the two hour presentation and following speeches, I wish I could say that it was valuable, but it was not. It was dreadfully boring, especially compared to the vital discussion taking place one room away concerning the budget reform. I hold no grudge or regret though, and again, it was neat just to be representing the United States. Besides, if I was not there, then the well-informed staff members who were attending the critical reform discussion would not have been able to do their job as effectively. Heck, is that not what interns are for? : )

I know that I have certainly have a lot to be thankful for. It is easy to look at this whole experience as one great blessing, but doing so glazes over the smaller blessings that make up each and everyday. There are the rare and exceptional biggies, like learning that Acting Secretary Conner’s wife spent her summers in Bay View (near my hometown) or walking in footsteps of powerful emperors, jealous politicians and nervous gladiators. But there are the small things as well, like the new logistical nightmare that challenges the way I think, or the clumsy public accident that humbles my zealous ego. Unexpected rendezvous, small-world conversations and enjoying my leftover pasta more than a free meal at an authentic Italian restaurant; I am thankful for all of these smaller things as well. It’s a pity that it takes a day like Thanksgiving for me to recognize this.

Yesterday I was asked by one of Conner’s staff if I would like a thank-you letter from him for my work at the Conference, and whether or not I wanted it to be personal. Surprised, I kindly requested a personal one, imagining how good that would like on future applications. She then asked for me to have a copy of it to her by tomorrow morning. I had to do a double-take before I realized that she expected me to write me my own thank-you letter. I expressed discomfort, but she informed me that it was very common in government because it cut work for upper management and forced one to evaluate himself. Still, it felt funny. If anyone but me was writing it, then I could appreciate and value its content, but if no one else would, then I would accept the generic one. For me, the lowly inexperienced intern, I am grateful for an expression of general thanks. However, I think of Thanksgiving being like this generic thank-you letter. It is better than nothing, but it is really just a formality. For all that God has given us, he certainly deserves more than some words printed below letterhead. Even though every sunny day can blend together, just like the marble statue that look the same over time, each day was masterfully crafted with skill far beyond my own, and therefore is worthy of my fullest appreciation. If only I could remember that…

And yet another thing to be thankful for, your kind attention. Thank you and God bless!

The Onslaught of Oppertunity

Well, it has been a over a week since I caught you up last, and so I believe it is time to do so again. I would have done so earlier, but as my internship reaches its final weeks, I find myself busier than ever, both in the office and out of it.

In the office, the upcoming biennial Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) conference next week is keeping everyone busy, especially with the visit of Acting Secretary of Agriculture for the US Charles Conner. Making sure that his crew is satisfied and equipped to do business is a challenging task indeed. Additionally, there are controversial issues to be address at the conference, so consensus needs to be formed prior to its start. So there is plenty for our small office to do.

Most of my work is organizing information for the conference binders and position paper tracking, which is tedious but absolutely necessary. I have been making quite a few spreadsheets in Microsoft Excel and have recently become known as “the Matrix Guy” for my work. Though I insist that it is not that difficult, everyone is really impressed that I can use colors, varied lines, and tight spacing in these charts. At first, I offered to help others organize their own spreadsheets, but in our time-crunch, it has just become my job. I make charts look pretty. Though it is not a title I would like to hold long-term, for being an intern, I am happy just to be known for something, even if it is as simple as “the Matrix Guy.” When it comes down to it, I am happy to be actually contributing.

Outside of the office, I have been extremely busy in preparing for my family’s and girlfriend’s trip in December and in making the most of this experience while it lasts. The latter included ending the running strike that I started after the Run-for-Food destroyed my feet. I ran for three of the week’s lunches in the park, rinsing off in the office shower before sitting down at the computer again. Thursday night I attended a young adult Bible Study with the International Christian Fellowship, which provided my with the spiritual nourishment I usually get on Wednesday nights at school. Speaking of nourishment, I also made the most complicated meal I have ever dared to create with great success. It was just spaghetti with ground beef, fresh tomatoes, basil and provolone cheese, but it was challenging given my limited cooking space.
Friday was not my best day, however. Not only did my workload overflow out of my control, but the pizza I had for lunch was a huge disappointment. It was supposed to be some of the best in town, but it was so hot and greasy that my mouth was peeling and my stomach was upset a few hours later. Of course, this decreased my productivity, which made me feel awful, since I had so much to do. When I left work, though, I felt alright, since I knew that tomorrow was the start to another exciting weekend. Since my Eurail Pass was activated, I have tried to travel every weekend, knowing full well that side-tripping through Italy is a opportunity that must be seized.

On my travels, many people have found it odd that I would travel alone. Sure, it has its drawbacks, you can get lonely from time to time, but it has its freedoms as well. Especially when the lone traveler has a flexible Eurail Pass, from which you purchase days of travel and not the ticket cost from one place to another. So last Saturday, instead of stopping at my original planned destination, the Cinque Terre, I rode for another hour until I came to the fair city of Genoa.

I would never have heard of or even been slightly interested in Genoa if it was not for my college professor Dr. Smith, who studied there. She would rave about the glorious Genoese, even though the city does not make it into many tourist books. Genoa, or Genova as the Italians call it, is a port city that matched (Dr. Smith says surpassed) Venice at the peak of its power. Its trade routes extended to all corners of the Mediterranean, importing silk from Asia, spices from the Middle East and goods from Anglosaxons up north. In fact, a very famous explorer was Genoese; you may recognize him: Christopher Columbus. However, unlike Venice, its primary purpose is still to be a port city, not a tourist attraction.

Still, there were some sights to see. There is a beautiful Gothic church, an ancient lighthouse where they used to hang people, a modern waterfront with Europe’s largest aquarium (I did not go in) and Christopher Columbus’s house. By the way, it was surprisingly small: three stories, but extremely narrow. However, what attracted me to Venice that day was not any of these, but the hope of having wonderful green pesto from its birthplace. After a thorough searching through the historic center, I found a tavern that was serving two-course meals (very standard here) with a glass of wine for only 10 Euros. This was truly a deal. Most second plates in Rome cost that much alone. I was nervous about the quality, but sat down anyways. For my first plate I ordered some noodles “alla Genovese,” which basically means “with green pesto,” and I chose for my second course some meat at random. Both were some of the best food I have ever had. The pasta was magnificent and the meat was very tender. The wonderful green pesto reminded me Duzen cafeteria at Alma College and its stir-fry bar, where I first learned of the taste of green pesto. If only Rene, my favorite stir-fry chef, had Genovese green pesto, lunch would always be the highlight of my day.
I got lost on my way back to the train station, though, and I witnessed the horror of my train pulling away just as I ran up to the platform. For those of you who know how impatient I can be, imagine my fury in that moment. The next train was set to arrive in another hour, but the next train that I was allowed to ride came in another two. After an hour of groveling, I decided to risk it and board. Then halfway there, the train came to a stop, and it stayed that way for an hour. We found out from a frantic attendant that somewhere on the line an individual had been walking the tracks and was plowed over by a train. So since I missed my train an hour earlier, I was now two hours behind schedule. When we reached the Cinque Terre, finally, I had to wait another hour to get to my appropriate town. By the time, though, I started to play a comedian on my iPod, which improved me attitude considerably. Still, I had to cross my fingers, because now that I was three hours behind schedule (9:30pm instead of 6:30pm), I was unsure if the hostel was still open, and if it was, whether or not it was full. Thankfully, both uncertainties were revealed in my favor. Shortly after check-in I crawled into bed, reading a little Dante before drifting off to sleep.

For those of you who may not be familiar with the Cinque Terre (CHINK-weh TAY-reh, literally meaning “five lands”), now may be a good time to fill you in. Though they were recommended to me by Dr. Smith, my guidebook is also a fan of them too. They are five seaside villages that still retain a horde of community culture. Each town is proud of their own Italian dialect, the area is known for their own wine and seaside food dishes and every town has a fantastic view of Italy’s steep green hills crashing into the sea. If the area was connected by bus, and not train, and had Arabesque architecture, and not Romanesque, it would be nearly identical to the Amalfi Coast and little Altrani. Personally, I prefer the Arabesque architecture, but the Cinque Terre is also connected by just over five and a half miles of trails, which makes for an exceptionally beautiful hike.

I spent my entire day hiking it, spending at least an hour to enjoy each of the five towns. In between towns, the trail would change in elevation, taking you from the shoreline up into the village vineyards, though always guaranteeing a view of the royal-blue sea. I frequently stopped to observe the charging surf and listen to the clicking of the rocks that were pulled by the force of a receding wave. The weather could not have been better either, revealing the sun just enough to bring out the smell of the surrounding vineyards, but covering it enough to keep the diligent hiker cooled. The panorama also included picturesque views of the villages; some nestled around a harbor, one perched on top of a cliff. I felt a rich aura walking when I walked through these, and I enjoyed snacking on some local specialties, including green pesto pizza and a gelato made from local honey. That evening I stayed at the hostel and enjoyed an eggplant dish made by the hostel’s cook. While I ate, I made some new friends as we worked on a puzzle. The hostel was fantastic, definitely the best I have stayed in so far. It had modern facilities, including an elevator, and worked hard to stay clean. It also had no requirement for membership, so people of all ages were permitted to stay. My favorite feature was that it had large lockers that were inside of our dorm rooms, so that my backpack of stuff was padlocked nearby at all times. My only qualm was that it was at the very top of the town, which made for a difficult final stretch at the end of the day.

I woke up Monday morning thankful that American Veteran’s Day had allowed me this extra day of travel. I started by walking one town over to catch a desired train. The stretch I walked is known as the Via dell’Amore (meaning “the street of love”), the easiest and most popular hike in the Cinque Terre. It was an appropriate end to my visit, being that I had very much fallen in love with the place.

Thankfully, I made it to the station this time, and got on the train. I did not intend to head back to Rome, however, not yet. I decided to get off at the city of Pisa, check out the sights, and board the next train to Rome three hours later. From what I had heard, this is all the time one needs to see Pisa, because there is pretty much only one place to go: the Field of Miracles, where one can see the Pisan cathedral and its famous belfry, the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Oh, and lots and lots of tourists.

What amazed me most about Pisa was how they were able to attract so much attention to a failed piece of architecture. I mean, ultimately, that is what it is. And now people pay 15 Euros to go up its crooked flight of stairs. Well, I am cheap, so I did not, and frankly I was more interested in other sights that the lovely Field of Miracles (literally a huge lawn) had to offer. First there was the cathedral, which highlights a special Pisan Romanesque architecture. Essentially, that is architecture that blended styles from North Africa, the Middle East and from the Romans. It makes for a quirky and beautiful combination of colorful arches, Gothic spires, foreboding columns and elegant mosaics. Across from the cathedral is the largest baptistery in Italy, and its domed shape has earned it comparisons to the Pantheon. Though I have little interest in Catholic baptism, I was fascinated to learn that some think the building was also constructed to be a musical instrument. As the guards demonstrated, when you sing a pitch, it echoes for ten seconds, giving a vocalist enough time to construct an entire chord. I also visited a nearby museum, which shed some light on the long-time cosmopolitan port city of Pisa. Despite my malcontent toward the tower though, I did find some Americans to take my picture of me with it. However, unlike most pictures where someone pretends like they are holding it up, I used my photo as an opportunity to vent my frustration.
I left the Field of Miracles with enough time to walk back to Pisa’s train station. Along the way, I came to the piazza that hosted the University of Pisa, which earned much of its reputation when astronomer and professor Galileo challenged church doctrine from within its walls. I have respected Galileo ever since I wanted to be an astrophysicist in second grade and suddenly I was struck with a sense of awe. I was now walking through the piazza and down the streets where he once walked… before he was put under house arrest, that is. On the last leg of my journey, I tracked down a grocery store and bought my lunch off the shelves to save on money. I made to the train station with a few minutes to spare and rode back to Rome in the same car as two people I had met in Cinque Terre.

When I arrived back at my room in Rome, disheveled and tired, I was startled to find Jose and my landlord talking about the internet. Since I could not understand them, I just pretended they were not there and went into my room. Later I found out that we should be getting internet soon, which I am not going to get the internet. I have accepted this and am fine with that now; it was probably for the best. I had no time to talk about it then anyways, since my evening had another event planned for it: a Peace Corp reception at the Ambassador’s residence.

Though I was tired and hesitant to go, this was probably one of my favorite events at the Ambassador’s house, and I think it was one of his favorite too. As former director of the Peace Corp, he was thrilled to host the current director of the Peace Corp, who had come to Rome to sign an cooperative agreement with the Food and Agriculture Organization and the World Food Programme. The event was full with the Peace Corp delegation, USUN staff and Peace Corp volunteers who were living in Rome. The cooks served a delicious buffet of Mexican cuisine, which was a pleasant change of taste,

To my relief, there were also two university students there, who had been invited by the Ambassador. It was nice to have casual conversation with two people my age every once in a while. As we entered, they wondered whether they would have the privilege to talk to the current Peace Corp Director. “Don’t worry,” I said, “by the end of the night, I guarantee that he will find all of us and try to recruit us.” My time came about twenty minutes later, just after I ate a cabob of bananas that I had dipped in the chocolate fountain. I wiped my mouth quickly. “So young man, have you thought about joining the Peace Corp? You know, it is the best thing that you can do for your professional career.” To get him off my back, I told that I had been very interested, but was now leaning toward a program through the Congressional Hunger Center instead, since it focused more on what I am interested in. He detected my confidence, and so quickly eased the conversation into a more relaxing mode. The two students one the other hand must have been much vulnerable. At the end of the night, they were both convicted on joining the Peace Corp, and I was happy for them.

The work week since that incredible weekend has been a roller coaster ride of ups and downs. With this Conference so fast approaching, it is difficult to predict what needs to be done next and whether or not what you are doing is of value. For example, I found at Tuesday morning that someone from Washington has already made binders, which canceled out all my efforts, but then I found out today that the Deputy Chief of Mission (2nd to the Ambassador) likes mine better and wants me to make more. Meanwhile, I have continued to organize information and make documents “look pretty” for other people. It has been stressful, but I prefer to be overworked than underworked in any internship. Besides, when I put on my iPod, it all goes by so fast anyways.

I know these last two and a half weeks are going to zip by too, so forgive me if my posts are scarce. Thank you for your interest and attention. God Bless!

Downhill from Here

Welcome,

Since one of the purposes of this blog is to keep you, the noble reader, up-to-date with my everyday life, it is necessary for me to catch up in my posts. For instance, the last entry, which I posted yesterday afternoon, concludes with me returning on the Sunday night a full week earlier. So reading my blog has become like looking at the light of the stars, which appear to burning in the present, but actually are burning millions of years in the past because of the time it takes light to travel. Well, unfortunately, in a million years we will all be dead, so that must be avoided. It is time to catch up.

The challenge behind my work at the Mission took a step up last week for two reasons. First, my supervisor went on leave to visit with her father, forcing me to rely on her less. Now when I find an article that should either be sent around the office or posted on our website, it is mainly at my discretion since she no longer checks. Though the work is not particularly difficult, it carries some responsibility. For example, when President Bush nominated a new Secretary of Agriculture last week, I had to make sure our staff was informed quickly. Because the upcoming meetings at the Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) usually include the Secretary, it is critical for us to know whether we should plan on him attending or not. However, my supervisor is constantly on her Blackberry (a gameboy-sized laptop) to ensure that I do not mess things up too much.

My work also experienced a change of pace when I was “tasked” into a new project, planning the logistics for the aforementioned FAO meetings. It started with me just making a simply spreadsheet, but now I am in charge of tracking position papers, making the binders (something that I learned well from Model UN), and creating a sort of master table-of-contents/agenda/seating-chart that will tell the American delegation where they have to be and what they have to do once they get there. While organizing this is a time-consuming process, it is a vital one to ensure our success at the FAO conference. As an intern, I am grateful to trusted as an active member of a team with time-sensitive objectives. It shows that I am valuable to the Mission staff, either that or they are just really desperate. Oh, and I am also gathering information for an African Union / US luncheon, but that is largely unrelated.

I have also become a more personable face around the office. Everyone says “hi” to me, and I return the gesture. On Halloween, I was the one of the two people who donned a costume for the day. The receptionist wore striped tights, and therefore was a witch, while I taped three black circles to the left side of my shirt, and therefore was a three-hole-punch version of Jim. For those who do not know, this actually has a double-meaning, drawing from the character of Jim on The Office, who dresses this way for the episode “Halloween”. No one immediately got the reference in the Mission, so people insisted that I was a domino or a Dalmatian. Either way, it was a simple costume that brought smiles to people’s faces, and after the hour and a half long staff meeting, they needed it.

We got the day off Thursday though, because of All Saints’ Day. So naturally, I spent the day traveling to parts of Rome I had not seen. I traveled to the St. Paul’s Outside-the-Walls Basilica, one of the four basilicas that is part of the Vatican and not Italy. I also walked around the Roman district of Trastevere, which lies south of the Tiber River. It is a very characteristic neighborhood that boasts that it is true residential Rome. Though I am not fully convinced of this, it was still a lovely time, strolling from church to church, despite the day’s drizzle and overcast.

Throughout the rest of the week, I spent bits of time here and there daydreaming about what I was going to do that weekend. I wanted to go north to the trails of the Cinque Terre before it got to cold, but I would have had to take another half-day on Friday (two in row is not my style) and would be gone all weekend again. One night, I talked to Joye about my dilemma over Skype in an internet café, since I still do not have internet in my room. She warmly suggested that I take the weekend to rest and relax a bit, “maybe go to a park and read.” However, such was against my nature when I only have so much time to spend in such a wonderful place, but upon further deliberation, I decided she was right. Of course, my understanding of rest and relaxation was a little different than hers.

My alarm clock went off at the same time on Saturday morning then it does every other day. I washed my face, ate my cereal and prepared myself to go, but instead of going to Piazza del Popolo, I went to the train station instead. I was taking a day trip to Assisi.

Most who hear of Assisi recognize the name, but have trouble placing where they heard it. Well, it is the birthplace and resting place of St. Francis, a saint and religious teacher that even Protestants can enjoy. J If you have not heard of him, I can almost promise that you have seen a bumper-sticker with something he said on it. Basically, he was one of the world’s first hippies. He preached and breathed non-materialism, living his life as a humble hermit for God. He was also an amazing teacher and is credited with the tradition of the Nativity, which he used an instruction tool. Additionally, he established his own order of monks who have traveled all over the world, eventually settling modern-day San Francisco (St. Francis) California. The popularity of his message was as pertinent then as it is now, which led to his canonization, or becoming a saint, shortly after his death, despite the fact that he was never ordained as a Catholic priest. Being that Francesco heard the call when he was twenty years old, I instantly felt like he had some commonalities. I don't nest live birds in a basket I carry though.
If St. Francis saw Assisi today though, I think he would start flipping over tables like Jesus did in the temple. Some stores are even solely dedicated to selling St. Francis merchandise (bookmarks, carvings, sweatshirts, sculptures…etc.), which completely missing the point. Additionally, massive basilicas have been in his name: one over the modest chapels where he started his order and passed away, and another which was named after and dedicated to him. The latter, the Basilica of St. Francis, is actually made of a lower and upper basilica, both beautifully painted from top to bottom, as well as a royal crypt beneath it, where Francis is today. In the alpenglow, its exterior reminded me of Minas Tirith, the great city of Gondor in The Lord of the Rings. I laughed at myself for this observation, thinking “only me,” but when I walked into a nearby information center, they were playing The Lord of the Rings soundtrack. I guess I am not the only one. But materialism aside, all of these basilicas are gorgeous. The Basilica of St. Francis is probably the most beautiful church I have ever seen. Still, I have difficult worshipping in any of these churches; I prefer to think of them like museums or art galleries. Rather, I found solace and beauty in one of Assisi’s small churches, away from the crowds and the hype. This is the church that St. Francis probably knew best.
Assisi has a lot more wonder and excitement than just St. Francis, though it is commonly overlooked. The old town, which rests upon a hilltop, retains much of its looks and feels from when its construction through the “Middle Ages.” It still prides itself in its delicious sausage, which I had for lunch in a sandwich. At its highest point stands the shell of the town’s fortress, which yields spectacular views of the city and Umbrian landscape. Many of the town’s streets and residence are still build of stone and wood, and remnants medieval life (including a town washing station) can be found. If you look closely, one can also see proof of Assisi being a successful Roman city as well, long before the St. Francis tour industry. All in all, it was a day of wonder, beauty and spiritual reflection.
At the end of the day, I went to the bus stop to return to the Eurail train station down in the valley. To my surprise, the stop was cluttered with many more people that would make it on to the bus. Checking my watch, I decided that I had a better chance going on foot than by bus, assuming of course that I ran part of the way. I made it on time with the walk taking me nearly a half an hour, almost half of which I covered in five minutes. As I mentioned, Assisi is on a hilltop, and I ran all the way down, much to the grief of my leg muscles today, but it was worth the adrenaline rush.

Sunday I slept in. Not only did I deserve the rest, but my aching legs required it. After I woke up, I made my way to some nearby catacombs for another plunge into early Christian history. Because this site is out of the way of most tourists, the tours are typically more personal; my group comprised of only three people. Though the catacombs were similar in appearance to the other, having a personal guide who could actually answer your questions made it a lot more interesting. He also allowed me to take my own pictures (with no flash, of course), which made the trip entirely worth it.
Later, in the afternoon, I attended an English-speaking Protestant church service for the first time since my arrival. I discovered the service by stumbling by its headquarters not far from where I live. They are known as International Christian Fellowship, and though it is pastured by a husband and wife team from the US, it truly was an international congregation. No one region of the world stood out in the group. There were a handful of Africans, Arabs, Asians, Europeans and Americans (not the country, but the two continents), which made for a packed sanctuary of global Christians. Singing contemporary worship songs again with such an enthusiastic crowd was very meaningful for me. Afterward, I was welcomed by some of the church leaders who invited me to a young adult meeting this Thursday with others from Ethipoia, Brazil, Kenya, the Philippines and Italy. Finding this worship service and the opportunity for further fellowship gave me the relaxation that Joye recommended I should get.

And even though I did not do so in a park, I read quite a bit the weekend too. I started my second epic poem for this year, previously smashing my record of none whatsoever. I am almost halfway through Dante’s Inferno, which I thought was an appropriate read for being in Italy. In fact, while in Asissi, I learned the background of some of the references he mentions in the story. Also, since my book has both the Italian and English, I have learned some new words, like the ones for “darkness,” “blood,” “sin,” and other uplifting vocabulary.

Furthermore, I noted this week that I have started to blend in with the Italian culture. I am often approached by Italians with questions now, though most I can not answer, and I have begun to pull off ordering food at a restaurant without the server speaking English with me. I mean, heck, I am a Caucasian with thick, black hair, is it too hard to believe? As long as they do not figure out that I like John Milton’s Paradise Lost over Dante’s Divine Comedy, I may become Italian just yet.

Lastly, I realized last week as well that my internship is beyond half over. From here, it is no longer a build up, but a count down. In a way, it is like my descent from Assisi to the train station. In the time span of one month, I have so much ground to cover, so much to work at and learn from, but I know that if I sprint down it, I may be aching and sore at the end. If I am drained of my energy and passion, my experience means nothing. Rather, I need to take Joye’s advice and find times of rest and relaxation for both my body and spirit. Maybe not as much as St. Francis did, but at least a bit every once in a while. And I think this weekend did just that.

Thank you for reading everybody. God bless!

The Beauty of Southern Italy

Dear readers, even though last week (well, two weeks ago now) was an amazing educational one, it also seemed the most purposeless. Though I am sure that each and every experience I have will play its role in the future, for the sake of this internship, I offered next to nothing as I sat and observed the WFP Executive Board Meetings.

This negative perception, I am sure, was also affected by the fact that I have been drifting in my faith. Though I have searched for churches and Bible studies, I have found nothing that fit into my schedule. Finding an English-speaking Protestant church here is quite difficult. So one could see why I was so excited for my “weekend retreat,” a weekend to spend on my own in an entirely new environment. I asked God to meet me there.

I left work last Friday after a half-day. In an hour, I was on a train, heading to the Amalfi Coast, one of Italy’s must sees. After three-hours in sweaty second class, I hopped on board a bus in Salerno, which was to take me to my final destination. For those who do not know, a bus ride on the Almafi coast is one of the “great white-knuckle” rides. It is a narrow and winding road on the edge of a cliff that plunges into the sea. Frequent hairpin turns are equipped with large mirrors so that busses can be aware of oncoming traffic to avoid ramming them through the guardrail. It reminded me of my ride through the mountains of Rwanda, when Caleb and I played a game to see who could stay up. Same as then, I was not afraid of falling off. If it had happened, it would have been a good way to go.

Though most who travel to the Amalfi Coast stay in Amalfi, I stayed in its lesser-known sister town, Altrani, the smallest municipality in Italy. Both are beautiful and full of Arabesque and Moorish art and architecture, but ynlike Amalfi, Altrani does not have a touristy feel. Sure, there were English menus in its town square, but there were not gelatorias on every street. I took a good whiff. It smelled like sea and dirt with a pinch of spice; it smelled like southern Italy.
Though I had reserved a bed in the hostel’s dorm room, the owner was far from full so he gave me my own room. Well, my own walled space, but I still shared a ceiling with a few others. After securing my stuff anyways, I went out and ordered a fresh pizza with white cheese and ripe little tomatoes instead of a sauce. Though it was sprinkling, I was comfortable in my t-shirt. I took my meal to the shore and climbed rock to gaze at the sea. The sight was incredible. Waves burst up from the sea and a mighty lightning storm was ripping across the horizon. As I finished the best pizza I have ever tasted, the clouds receded to display a majestic night sky and a brilliant moon that lit the seaside village. I was comforted to know that God had met me after all.

I took advantage of the light and walked around the town after dark. All of these villages are a cartographer’s nightmare, which is what makes them so fun. When they were originally established, no one was thinking about the long-term. Narrow walkways wind and twist through passages and over staircases. About the only sense of direction I had was that if I went down, I eventually would reach the sea, and if I went up, I would eventually reach the hills. Getting lost in such a quaint village is quite amusing. In fact, when I asked the hostel owner earlier what there was to see in Altrani, he responded “Oh it is so nice. There are little streets, with little windows and little houses. Oh it is so nice.” Indeed, it was. I got back to my enclosed living space late and slept well.

Saturday began with an amazing breakfast provided by the hostel. Though I had come to expect prison food (bread and water), this is not the case for the A’Scalinatella hostel. I was served a abundant European breakfast of juice, a hot drink (I chose tea), a roll with jam, and best of all, a large croissant, the best I have had.

And after my meal, I climbed, and climbed, and walked, and climbed up about 1,000 steep stairs to the small village Ravello. For of all you graphic art enthusiasts, I learned that M.C. Escher paused to draw a flight on his ascent as well. He probably sketched to give himself an excuse to rest. Whereas Altrani touches the sea, Ravello touches the sky, set atop one of the mountains of the coastline. But the climb was wonderful because the higher I went, the more amazing the panorama became.
When I reached the top, I paid a visit to Villa Cimbrone, which was used as a villa for a English gentlemen in 1904. Its gardens were very nice, even though it is late in the fall, but the highlight was the villa’s famed “Terrace of the Infinity,” a balcony that hangs on the edge off the peak of the mountain, presenting an OMNI-MAX view of the sky and the sea. From here, it is often hard to locate the horizon, which makes the view all the more mesmerizing. If you looked at it long enough, you could almost imagine what it would be like to fly.

By the end of my day, I developed quite the fear for steps. To reach another village, I had walked down into a valley and up again. From here I walked up more to the Torre della Ziro, an medieval Aragonese tower with a spectacular aerial view of both Amalfi and Altrani. I laughed to see how small Altrani was considering that I had gotten lost in it the previous night. However, I did not find my return route amusing. Though Altrani was so close, I had to backtrack and go down into Amalfi and around to Altrani, using a path that I could clearly see from my position. I almost jumped down, but thought better of it.
When I finally returned, I was sweaty and warm, so I put on my suit and went into the sea, but it was salty and cold, so I quickly got out. I finally relaxed in a hot shower back at the hostel. My feet were telling me to turn in for the night, but I told them to suck it up. Besides, I was not going to walk around more, but get something to eat. I decided to try a sit-down restaurant down by the sea. This meal cost significantly more than the pizza, my homemade ravioli with squid sauce was the best food I have had in Italy, and it came with the best service. Along with the cost came a pre-dinner and post-dinner drink that my waiter had made himself. He told me that the former is used to ready your taste buds, while the latter is designed to freshen your breath. Both worked well.

I spent my last night in the village sitting in the town square, watching the locals. What I appreciated about Altrani was that it was not so influenced by tourism that the local Italians would not come out at night. To the contrary, they walked the shoreline, filled the bars and celebrated birthdays in the restaurant. The Italian soccer was on television too and every time the home-team scored, noise would erupt from the bar, followed by an uproar throughout the entire village. It was a classic “I’m in Itlay” moment, and it gave me tingles.

After a restful sleep, I woke up and packed an hour too early, literally. I had forgotten about Italian daylight savings. So while waiting an hour for the hostel breakfast, I walked the town and its shore one last time. Soon after my meal, I was aboard another bus bound for Sorrento, which covered the rest of the coastline. This stretch may have been even more twisting and beautiful than the one from before. I took particular interest in locating each of the Turkish pirate watchtowers that still stand by the water, which would have used roof bonfires to signal the others in case of an attack. Of course, when I learned about the bonfire communication technique I was reminded of The Lord of the Rings, which probably explains my fascination with it.

From Sorrento, I immediately got on a commuter train that took my north to my next destination: the famed ruins of Pompeii. Off in the distance, the looming Mt. Vesuvius provided an ominous backdrop to the city’s ruins. It was the ash-fall resulting from the eruption of this volcano in 79 AD that put Pompeii in its current state. I had always thought that they had coming, being that they lived under a volcano, but I surprised to learn that the people assumed it was a mountain, until it exploded, rained tons of ash and killed everyone in the city. If you look at it now, it has two peaks, but prior to its eruption it was one connected peak that stood much higher than it does today.
It was strange to look at the plaster casts of the victims, which they can archive by using the empty space (once filled with a body that has since decomposed) as a mold. Though these people lived almost two millennia ago, you can not help but pity their fate. However, others will point out that their unintended sacrifice has provided us with a great insight into Ancient Roman life. Given the choice, though, I am sure they would have chosen survival.

Having said that, Pompeii is a fantastic ruin, and walking around the enormous seaport city (then populated by about 20,000 people) is fascinating for amateurs and experts alike. Some of Pompeii’s highlights were its forum, many temples and government buildings, political graffiti, brothels (with surprisingly graphic frescos), wheel-groves and “stepping-stone” sidewalks (used by locals to cross the streets when they were being cleaned). However, it reminded me of my visit to Ostia Antica in many ways too. Even though Pompeii has a much better drama to accompany, its popularity and continuing excavation makes its much more restrictive to the visitor. Besides, what made Pompeii so unique is that it came equipped with ancient artifacts and artwork, but most of this has since been relocated to the Naples Archeological Museum.
So, leaving Pompeii at about mid-afternoon, I hopped back on the commuter train and journeyed to Naples. I went directly the museum and spent a few hours looking at its exhibits of Roman statues, Egyptian artifacts, and the riches of Pompeii. Though each collection was extensive, I was annoyed by how unprofessional the museum seemed. In terms of proper lighting and artifact protection and placement, I felt like I could be a better curator. As I soon discovered though, this style was simply characteristic of the entire city of Naples.

It was dark when I was done with the museum, and I wanted Napoleon pizza, since it was invented here, but I was not about to go out alone at night. Fortunately, my gift of gab (passed down from my father) had gained me three American friends who shared a similar guidebook. So together we ventured in search of a pizzeria recommended in the book. On the way, we discovered that Naples in much darker than Rome, in terms of color, architecture and atmosphere. There are parts when you know it is not wise to pull out your English edition of “ITALY 2008!” Yet at the same time, there was something about it that was appealing too. It had continued to retain its character.

The pizza was good, but I liked my pizza in Altrani better. After I filled myself with the greasy-goodness, I took off for the train station. I returned to Rome at eleven at night and was sleeping an hour later. So for my entire weekend I spend two hours in Rome.

Thank you for reading this record-long post! God bless!

Executive

Dearest readers,

I am sorry it has been so long since my last entry. Though this post will refer to “last Monday,” I am actually referring to the Monday of last week, which is in fact two Mondays ago. However, the former flows much better, so I will use that phrase anyways. Before I begin, though, I would like to thank all of you that left a comment on my previous entry, putting the comment count at a record high.

Now I will start by reminding everyone that I am not a morning person. I hardly ever get the proper amount of sleep, so getting out of bed is tough. I usually find myself in front of a mirror, where I find that my hair looks like it is exploding off of my scalp. After this, I typically discover that I want to go to the bathroom, shower, and eat my bowl of cereal all at once, and so have to spend a minute contemplating which to do first. And no matter how early I awaken, I always end up running late.

However, last Monday (see note in paragraph one), my morning felt genuinely good. This was even more exceptional because I was up earlier than ever and had to start work at my supervisor’s apartment building and not at the office. This joyful mood was a result of my upcoming day at the World Food Programme (WFP), spending the day observing its Executive Board meetings. The Executive Board is a group of member countries to the United Nations (UN), who serve as the governing body to the WFP. Thrice a year, they gather to discuss and approve of the WFP’s budgets, strategic plan, country expenditures…etc. In short, it is when all of the WFP decisions happen; when all of what I study about the organization comes to life. In fact, during last year’s Model UN conference, I represented Algeria on the mock WFP Executive Committee. Now I was about to see the real thing.

It was a forty-five minute taxi ride from my supervisor’s complex because unlike to the Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) the WFP is far away from Rome’s center. I asked my supervisor what she was looking for as she dug through her purse. “My badge,” she replied casually, but it hit me like a brick, because my badge was hanging on my door handle in room (where I though I would not forget it). She was nice about it, but told me frankly that I was not going to get in without it.

After some deliberating and investigating, I managed to do the following. I left the WFP, went down a narrow sidewalk that took me to a street, which led to a train platform. The train was approaching as I was, and so I did not have time to find the ticket counter, so I just snuck on, which is extremely easy and commonplace to do. This eventually connected to a Metro stop, which eventually returned to my stupid badge hanging on the door knob. One shuttle ride from FAO later (which was not available earlier at 8:00am) and I came to the WFP. So now I was about the see the real thing. Phew.

There are two places to watch the Executive Board while it is in session. Of course, one can be in the room itself, but only a select number of people from each country delegation are permitted, and since our list was nearly twelve people long, I never made the cut. The alternative is the WFP Delegate’s Lounge, which has three plasma televisions with a live connection feed and individual headsets. These ear pieces are necessary for everyone because they are channeled to the translators, who were available in English, French, Spanish, Arabic and Chinese. Though the lounge was away from the action, it certainly had its luxuries; one could slouch in a sofa or stand up and stretch without appearing rude to whoever was speaking. However, if someone behind the televised speaker fell asleep in the Board Room (and they did), then everyone in the Delegate’s Lounge was immediately aware.
I spent a good portion of the entire week in this board room, staking out a full portion of the room for the large American delegation. I was there half a day Monday, half a day Tuesday and all day, from 8am to 8pm, Wednesday. I quickly learned that the WFP Executive Board Meetings were not terribly exciting since it was all formal procedure. Most of the progress made was done in side-meetings during small lunches and dinners. In fact, I heard others joke that it was a productive week, “oh, and the Board Meeting is going well too.” Moreover, though I appreciated the decisions being made, since I was not aware of each proposal in detail, the small and unexpected remarks from commenting countries were entirely over my head. Of the twelve or so of the American delegation, I would say that only five truly grasped all that was deliberated.

Despite this, I am very content now that the week is over, having left with an improved understanding of the WFP. Though the formal procedures of the Executive Board could be repetitive and dull, they are necessary. However, I learned it was the frantic and dedicated preparation beforehand that made them a success. Be rest assured that the United States did this well. The last day that I attended the meetings, last Wednesday, the morning began with me letting my supervisor borrow five Euros to pay for our long taxi ride. At the time, it seemed like a harmless gesture, but about five hours later it backfired on me. I stood in line at the WFP cafeteria cashier, realizing that I was short twelve cents as a result of me lending out the five Euros. Embarrassed and flustered, I picked up my tray to go return some food, when I was shocked to discover that our US Ambassador was next behind me in line. “Do you need me to lend you some money?” he offered. Great, I thought, this looks really mature. I tried to act like I had it under control, so I said sheepishly “that would be nice.” He still has yet to let me live that down, claiming that I am the first intern he has ever lent money too. I tried to explain over lunch to him and others on the US delegation that it would not have happened if my supervisor had enough money that morning, but you know what they say: no good deed goes unpunished.

When the Executive Board concluded on Thursday, the Ambassador hosted a well intended reception at his residence, to which I was gratefully invited. The night was a wet one, since it had been raining all day, but I had no choice but to walk. A little ways from the house though, I noticed a professional woman on the opposite side looking a bit confused. I offered if I could help, since I sort of knew the area. “Yes, do you know where the US Ambassador’s residence is?” Indeed, I did. In fact, I was just on my way. We got in her car and after I introduced myself, she informed me politely that she was Director of Communication of WFP. Though that may mean very little to you, she was someone that I was very familiar with on paper. To meet her in person, as I told her, was quite a pleasure. Others at her level at the reception I hardly had a chance to speak with, so it pure happenstance that I had this opportunity.

When we finally got the reception, the Ambassador was waiting to greet us at the door. I did so with five Euros and thirty cents. “6% daily interest rate, right?” The reception was the best I have been to yet. Not only was the food delicious, but there were so many people that someone was always free to talk with the intern. And since I seem to have the gift of gab, probably passed down from my father, carrying a conversation was never difficult. I spoke with a whole range of people, exchanging information cards on a few occasions, to follow up on requests. Once all of the guests left, just the American delegation and other USUN employees remained. We gathered in the Ambassador’s living room and toasted to a week well done. In the conversation that followed, it was interesting to see everyone so relaxed. We took a picture, and it was probably the first time that I actually like I was one of them. Because of the late night, very few people arrived last Friday morning on time. I was one of these very few, even though I longed to sleep a few extra hours, mainly because I had stayed up even later packing. It was important that I was in though, because I had much to do and my supervisor had to explain to me some new responsibilities since she would be on leave next week. All of this had to occur before noon too, when I was told that I could go on a half-day leave. So right at noon, I was out of the office promptly. I went back to my room, picked up my bag and headed for the train station. Where was I off to? I dunno. I guess you will wait until the next post.

Thank you for reading. God bless.