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.

World Food Week (part 2)

Ciao!

I know you all have been anxiously awaiting this moment, so without further ado, the exciting conclusion of Jim Allen’s two-part special on World Food Week. However, I find it necessary to point out that Saturday, chronologically the next day to report, ironically had nothing to do with World Food anything. Sorry for the misleading introduction.

Saturday was a day of escape for me. Not only did I manage to escape from anything World Food related, but I also escaped the city of Rome. This is not to say that I needed to escape, because I enjoy both of those things, but it was relaxing to experience something different. Aside from the uniqueness of the location, travelling with others was also a new experience since I have previously gone sightseeing alone. For the day, I travelled with Tanaz, my office partner, Jessica, another intern, and John, a guy I had never met before who works at the main embassy. Along with these three others from the Tri-Mission community, I travelled to nearby Tivoli, a small town atop of mountain famous for its surrounding Tibertine villas.

The first of these, Villa d’Este was constructed by a cardinal during the Renaissance. The house itself was filled with fine frescos (filled with many exposed breasts as John pointed out), but the villa’s main feature is its abundance of fountains in its gardens. Since I was the only one with a fully-charged camera, I ended up taking the most pictures. While posing as if I was about to jump into one of the fountains, I got yelled at for doing so. In another comical moment, I had finally gotten the timer on my camera to work and just before the shutter clicked, a little Italian lady with her headset walked directly in front of us. It was so funny that we could not be upset.

After this we had lunch and proceeded to wait for a public bus to take us to villa belonging to the great Emperor Hadrian. We were told to wait for either the “4” or the “4X.” Due to ticket complications (we did not have them), we missed both buses and so had to wait forty-five minutes for the next bus. Since the day never warmed up, we all got cold, especially Tanaz who was only donned in a light sweater. But it finally came; we got excited and signalled the driver with our hands. However, as we got on showing him the ticket to Hadrian’s Villa, he shook his head and pointed to his bus number: “4/”. Who has ever heard of a “4-backslash” bus? And why would the “4-backslash” not go where the “4” or the “4X” does? I suggested that it might be bowling terms, the “4,” the “4 spare” and the “4 strike.” When the correct bus came we were quite bitter, but we certainly found comic relief in our suffering.

Hadrian’s Villa was impressive, especially considering that he designed much of it himself. Knowing how big it was, I suggested that we get a map to orient ourselves. Everyone agreed and said they wanted one to, after mentioning that they like maps as souvenirs. Personally, I thought it was unnecessary, but I went to check. After discovering there was no English maps, I returned, but they told me just to get Italian or Spanish. Well, I was not going to pay for a non-English map, but if they wanted one, then whatever. Turns out that they did not think we had to pay for them (which shows how few monuments they have been to in Rome), and they all have yet to pay me back for their non-English maps. So in exchange for entertainment during arduous times, when I travel with others, I have to deal with miscommunication. All in all it was a nice day, though an expensive and exhaustive one.

I woke up on Sunday, not fully refreshed from my busy Saturday. The temperature was still chilly, and it pressed in on me from everywhere except under my covers. I reluctantly got up, knowing that I was obligated to do so. After weeks of preparation, today was the Run-for-Food, and I had to make sure that everything went smoothly.

Not wanting to have anyone carry anything for me, I only wore the clothes I wanted to run in, and not the clothes to keep me warm. Few others did the same, and we found ourselves in constant motion to keep our blood flowing. Unfortunately, though, the cold weather scared off many of the runners, including a few from the Tri-Mission Community.

By the time it was necessary to move to the start line, we had about three-quarters of those who had signed up. This was okay, but it was alarming that the Ambassador was among those ranks. We proceeded to the start anyways, where I moved up to the front. Though I never saw it, the Ambassador and his wife found my supervisor and put on their t-shirt with five seconds left until the start, thus completing our team.

And soon we were off. The 1K had us run around the Coliseum, which was an awesome feeling, both because one can only imagine how long athletes had been running there, and secondly because I was not yet tired. The 2K, which took us by the Palatino, the great Roman palaces, filled me with a similar feeling. But having to run up and down a hill to complete the 3K was difficult, and the uneven and hard cobblestones started to strain my feet. Between the 3K and 4K, I entirely wanted to quit and start walking, but I persisted. I was further disheartened by my disillusioned understanding of how the race ended, which had me run around another street instead of just cutting into the stadium. I finished though, second out of our team, in almost exactly twenty-five minutes. For someone who hardly runs, I am very proud of this time, which is good, because I doubt I will ever run it again. While stretching out and gaspign for air, I signalled everyone over who finished the race. After everyone congregated, we went to his residence for some very anticipated post-run refreshments, which was an excellent way to end the successful event. I received many thanks for organizing my end of it, which was almost as rewarding as running that twenty-five.

The next day, and final day to World Food Week, I was immensely sore, from my abdomen all the way to the pads of my feet. It hurt to walk swiftly, which made my morning walk all the more tragic. But my mind was mostly distracted from the pain all day, because of the immensity of what I was experiencing instead. But that ties in within to the rest of this week, so I will write about it in a separate blog. If you need to know what it was though, simply search “WFP EB,” and it should come up.

Monday night was the conclusion to World Food Week though, with a candlelight vigil near the Coliseum, which was regrettably much less exciting than one would think. Because of the “cold” weather, only a handful of people showed up to the torch lighting celebration for the Run-for-Food winners. Coincidently, I met another Michigander who is working in Rome, and we had fun observe ring how cold everyone thinks they are. It was chilly, but the Italians use of fur-rimmed down jackets was entirely inappropriate and somewhat cute. Overall, though, it was an anticlimactic ending to a very educational week.

It definitely had its moments when it reminded me why I am here. It is odd that sometimes, in the midst of the presentations, event planning and meetings, I forget the pounding truth that is repeated in every form of media available, which is that 850 million people go to bed hungry and chronically malnourished every night. I think this is because, even for people that have given their careers to fighting hunger, the enormity of that number is difficult to grasp. So difficult to grasp, that not even a week dedicated to it can make it urgently apparent.

Say a prayer for the hungry, and if you have time, also to the internet in my room, which should be installed early next week, allowing me to catch up on these blogs. It will also allow me to figure out why I can not seem to put pictures in this entry. Sorry. Until then, thank you for reading. God bless!

World Food Week (part 1)

Buon giorno!

For all of you who didn’t Google search “FAO, food” after reading the last blog, last Tuesday was World Food Day. Well in fact, since the Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) of the UN is headquartered here in Rome, it was more like World Food Week, since the festivities officially ended this Monday night. But it is only proper to start at the beginning…

Last Tuesday, officially recognized by over 150 countries as World Food Day, began with a celebration in the FAO’s plenary hall, the room where all the countries meet to discuss political matters. For me, attending the ceremony was like sitting on Santa’s lap. It was all I could do to not fidget and be giddy. Aside from seeing and hearing from FAO’s Director-General Jacques Diouf, German President Horst Köhler and Tanzanian President Jakaya Kikwete addressed the assembly as well. Parts of me were aggravated by the latter’s speech, who strongly supported this year’s theme “The Right to Food” while he is kicking people out of his country and into Rwanda and Burundi, though I am sure only a few people in the room knew. And though I was aggravated, I was not surprised that he did not practice his own preaching (this is politics after all). I was surprised though by a delegate from Tanzania who sat next to me; he started snoring in the middle of his own president’s speech!
After the ceremony, my supervisor asked me to stay for another meeting addressing civil society’s role in “the Right to Food,” and being the nerd that I am, I excitedly obliged. When I finished taking notes there, I went into the FAO atrium, which was filled with free literature regarding “the Right to Food,” World Food Day and specific FAO issues and topics. So naturally I amassed my own mini-library and took it back to my room.

Nothing actually happened Wednesday, so for the sake of your time, I am just going to skip over it. Essentially, I caught up from all the work I missed the day before.

However, Thursday is a day to note. It began with the press conference of a new independent evaluation of the FAO, which will be the main debate in its upcoming bi-annual budgetary meeting in November. The controversy is that the report states that while the FAO is a necessary organization, it needs to undergo extreme reforms to make it sustainable. My supervisor and I, being in charge of Public Affairs, attended the press conference to hand out our initial response to the finalized report. As we should, we strongly support the evaluation and its recommendations and hope to work with other countries to make the evaluation’s recommendations a reality. Not all countries share our view though, so we were interested to see whether the press would put the new report and our response to it a positive or negative story. My supervisor put me in charge of checking that first thing Friday morning.

After the press conference and another day of Run-for-Food preparations, including a memo to the Ambassador, I was honored with an invitation to our Deputy Chief of Mission’s (DCM) residence for dinner. By the way, in the common tongue, a DCM is second to an ambassador, but whereas an ambassador is politically appointed, the DCM is a high-level Foreign Service officer in the State Department. Anyways, it was a beautiful house overlooking Rome. The meal itself was high-class, more than I would afford elsewhere, and the conversation with the hosts and other guests was refreshingly laid-back. The best part of the evening though, was none of the above, but an amazing spectacle brought to us by swallows. Over one of Rome’s tallest monuments, literally thousands of swallows formed moving shapes in the sky. Some were dark clusters, like tornados, and others were wide and abstract, like the northern lights. All of us agreed in a moment of communal astonishment that it was truly one of the miracles of nature.
I was the first USUN employee to arrive at the office Friday morning, which surprised the guards that waited outside. Because there is a series a security locks and codes that neither of us knew, we had to wait for someone to arrive. As soon as I got in I was looking for new articles on the FAO report. Sure enough, there were five, four by the Associated Press and one in Reuters. All five were positive, and the three in the most popular sources (Reuters, International Herald Tribune and USA Today) even quoted the US initial response that we handed out. Before my supervisor arrived, I had emailed all the articles with a short summary to all USUN employees and printed out copies with highlights for her. The DCM (remember from above) was especially pleased, telling us that when someone asked him at a meeting what our position was, he would answer “look it up in the paper.” Pat on the back; job well done.

The rest of the day though was rough as I finished up preparations for the Run-for-Food. This included traveling across town by Metro to pick up thirty-five t-shirts and then go about distributed them. To make matters more irritating, I had about five people ask me if they could sign-up then, even though I had been advertising this for three weeks. Of course, I would politely tell them “no” and advise them to sign-up on the day of the race, which was Sunday. I started my weekend at work once again, making sure everything was in order, knowing that once I left, I would have no control over the Run-for-Food until Sunday morning. And in the Foreign Service world, that one day can make all of the difference.

I have written enough for the today though. As you title states, this is only Part 1. But do not worry, all of your questions and concerns will be answered in the next exciting edition of my blog, appropriately titled “World Food Week (part 2)”.

By the way, please leave comments on my blog. It's easy to do and you can even be anonymous. Either write me a note, comment on something in the blog, or give me some constructive criticism for how to make it better. Without any of this, I never know if people find my blog interesting. My guess is that it is not, and so people stopped reading. : )

Thank you for reading. God bless.

Out and About

Dearest readers,

For those of you traveling to Rome sometime, this blog may be of particular interest to you as I highlight some of Rome’s lesser known attractions. Strange as it may be, I have been in Rome for almost a month now and have yet to visit the Coliseum, the Roman Forum and the Roman Palatine (ancient Rome’s famous attractions) as well as anywhere inside the Vatican (Rome’s other must-see). Perhaps this because these sites cost the most, or maybe because I know that the longer I wait the smaller the crowds will be. Either way, I am glad that I have missed out thus far, since it is given me time to enjoy less popular, but equally stunning, locations within and out of the city.

After work Friday, I started my weekend with vigorous work-out, attempting to run from Piazza del Popolo down past the Coliseum and Piramade Metro stop for the purpose of turning in the Run-for-Food registration forms at the sport’s center there. I should have taken the Metro, but since I plan to run the 10K, I figured the work-out was in order. However, I quickly noticed upon departure the running with a full backpack is extremely difficult. I made it the Victor Emmanuel II Monument (about half-way) before slow to a speed walk. An hour and a half from when I left work, I made it with fifteen minutes to spare. This humorous conversation followed:

“Ciao! Are you here to register Run-for-Food?”
“Si, signore.”
“Only one?”
“No.”
“Two?”
“No.”
“How many?”
“Thirty-five.”

I raced home when I was finished, taking a quick shower before heading out again. I planned to meet two other interns and my office partner for dinner downtown. It was difficult place to find, and I warned the others to use Google Maps. I was fifteen minutes late but did not see them down there. After forty minutes, I asked for my own table, at which point they said there was a short wait. I left, walked about, and when I returned, the others had arrived. We then had to wait even longer for the table of four. The meal was delicious though, and afterward we walked around to experience Roman nightlife. I found it funny that some piazzas were geared toward young Northern Europeans and Americans, filled with wild pubs that Italian did not go to. I had much more fun walking down the cobblestone streets with my gelato.

Saturday morning, I slept in, even though I had a busy day planned. At first I visited San Giovanni Laterano church, which was originally built by Constantine and was Rome’s most important medieval church. It was well decorated and had a lovely cloister featuring historical relics, one of which was a slab elevated at the height of Jesus (I didn’t quite make it). Next door, was the Sanctuario Pointificio Scala Santa (the Pope’s Sanctuary and Holy Steps). The actually sanctuary itself was once considered the holiest place in existence, containing an ancient alter from the 5th century. Centered in the church was the Holy Steps, a set of 28 stairs brought in by Constantine’s mother from the palace of Pontius Pilate. Since Christ was to have walked on this flight multiple times during his Passion, revenant pilgrims now climb these steps on their knees. I did not quite buy it, but I appreciated the symbolism anyways.


From here, I walked to the Basilica di San Clemente, which was my favorite church visit so far. Not only was the basilica itself impressive, with a golden mosaic and an impressive chapel, but what was underneath the church was far more interesting. For a small fee, one can descend into the lower church, built around the 8th century. It contained many early frescos, which told captivating stories (explained in English nearby). After exploring this old church, one can then descend even lower, into an old aristocratic residence of the 1st century that contained a temple to the pagan god of Mithras used through the 4th century. One does not have to appreciate history much to feel an eerie chills that one receives in such a place. The best part about this site was that it was well-kept and self-guided, so I never felt rushed as I explored every detail.

Admittedly, I tried to visit the Coliseum or the Roman Forum after this, but I knew that I did not have much time. I spent to long enjoying San Clemente. But to make matters worst, a gigantic political party rally had poised itself directly in front of the Coliseum, blocking an entire street. By the time I squeezed my through the crowd, everything was closed and there was no way to get around it all. So I retired back to room vowing to visit those sights the following morn. On the way, I stopped at San Pietro in Vincoli (St. Peter in Chains), which supposedly houses the chains that bound St. Peter in Rome as well as Michelangelo’s famous statue Moses.

When I woke up on Sunday though, I did not want to go. Instead, I wanted to go to the beach and visit the ruins of an old city that I had read about it my guidebook. I took the Metro to the Piramade stop, catching another tram that goes out into the suburbs. These other trains are used for commuters and do not cost any more, since you only pay once to get into the station. I got off at Ostia Antica, or Ancient Ostia, and made my way to the ruins.

Ostia Antica was at one time Rome’s port city. Since Rome is inland, it relied on much on Ostia to ship and receive its trade from the Mediterranean Sea. However, since Ostia was completely dependant on Rome, when the Empire fell, Ostia fell with it and was never restored. Today the ruins are a few miles inland and are spectacular.

Both guidebooks gave Ostia Antica a one-star, but I think it deserves much more. I went thinking I would spend a hour, but I spent at least four. The ruins make up the entire city. You have a theatre, baths, forum and a political center, which are all very nice, but then you also see residences, places of worships, meat markets, bars, stables and warehouses. A visit really opens one’s eyes to the everyday life of a bustling ancient town. The best part about these ruins is that you can explore them. There are very few places where barriers prevent one from going. I enjoyed getting lost in the deserted houses, walking from one to the next through collapse doorways or forgotten streets. Other highlights included located another underground temple dedicated to Mithras, descending into the cisterns and waterways of the Forum Baths and finding myself in the deepest part underneath a wealthy residence. I also located a mass burial site tucked away in the necropolis, which would have been riveting, had I not had a flashback from Rwanda. Its odd how the older history gets, the less emotionally-attached to it we become.

Leaving Ostia Antica thoroughly satisfied, I had one more goal to accomplish for the day: swim in the Mediterranean Sea. I continued on the train to Stella Polare, where I managed to find an opening on to the beach. Used to the beautiful and scenic beaches of home, I was slightly disappointed by the commercialized and uncharacteristic stretch of sand. All of this was okay though because of the sparkling sea in front of me. I thought of the last body of water I swam in: Lake Michigan at 9:30pm with my family on the eve of my departure. I rushed into the water, only to find that it was just a salty Lake Michigan, just as cold as the water was the night. I guess I expected something warmer. It was refreshing nonetheless. I walked up and down the beach until sunset, which exceeded my expectations. I spent the time thanking God for my restful and adventurous weekend, which was only possible now that I was not worrying about shelter or food. I prayed for those who could not say the same.

After being out and about all weekend, Monday was rather dull. Upon hearing about my weekend, everyone at the Mission seems impressed with how I utilize my free time. Hopefully I do the same during the weekday too, though all of my paperwork today did add up to much excitement. That changed today however. I will not tell you why, but if you Google News Search any of the topics I have discussed here, you should find the answer. Keywords: FAO and Food.

Thank you for reading another long one! God Bless!