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!