a good night's sleep

Planning this trip was almost as exciting as the trip itself. I traveled with a group of four theater students that were in our program. We sat down one night, each of us with our laptops looking at different websites. Three of us were researching flights on the cheap airlines and two were looking into hostels. We basically planned our trip around where we could get the cheapest flights. We had a few ideas on where we wanted to go, but being in Europe, there was really no way to go wrong. Around three in the morning and not thinking completely straight we were very close to booking flights to Egypt! Thankfully, someone chimed in and brought up the whole issue of leaving the continent, going to Africa, needing to get shots… a whole list of things we would have had to do.

Our first plan of business was getting to Milan to catch a flight to Athens. The flight was early in the morning so we had to take the nine hour slow train the night before. That in itself was an experience. Before I could catch the train, I had to take a final exam, finish a research paper, turn in conducting evaluations, and scramble around to throw five changes of clothes (for three completely different climates) into a small book bag for an 11 day trip. This left me with 12 short minutes to get to the train station. Zio Marco (Dr. Britt) was the man as usual and got me to the train station, NASCAR style, just in time to meet the four others and catch the 12:46am train!

Completely sleep deprived and utterly dumbfounded by the Greek alphabet and language, the five of us wandered around Athens that night. Lucky for us, one guy with us proclaimed he could get us around because he was in a fraternity and could read Greek! Umm… not quite. We just so happened to turn a corner and end up standing in awe of the Greek ruins upon the hillside, lit up and glowing gold! They were truly a marvel. After seeing the sights of Athens the following day, we took a ferry to one of the Greek Isles, Aegina. Everything was perfect, the weather was great, the island was beautiful, and the people were friendly. Minus one problem, the hostel we booked online was closed for the season and the owner was on vacation in Scotland. Great. With some sweet talking on my friend Shannon’s part and some bartering on mine, we made an arrangement with a moped dealer to put us up in his friend’s hotel for 10 euro a night in exchange that we rent three mopeds from him, a whole day for 15 euro each. It was a deal and things could not have worked out better! The two other guys and I spent most of the next day zipping around the island, down the coast, and up into the mountains. The girls would have nothing to do with the mopeds and spent the day on the beach, where we met up once we ran out of gas. It was hard to leave Greece but there was still plenty in store for us!

We let my buddy Danny make the arrangements in Barcelona. Those of you who know Danny know this is should be entertaining! A normal person would look into finding a hostel with nice amenities, good location, and clean; Danny is anything but. He tells me after booking the place he tried to find the most ridiculous hostel in Barcelona… he did, Graffiti Hostel. The name should say enough, but I’ll elaborate. First off, finding the place was like a quest for Neverland. Tucked away, not even in the right numbered order on the street, we find a door to “Graffiti Hostel” that takes us to a series of rooms, all decorated in graffiti and themed different cities around the world. We got there early and they were not ready for us to check in so we wandered a couple miles down to the beach and took an incredible six hour nap in the sand. We ended up staying in a NYC themed room of 20 bunk beds, one bathroom and a rabbit named PooPoo (take a wild guess at the name…) The place was awesome though! We had a blast and met some of the coolest people. Oh, but don’t say “awesome” too much in front of Europeans, apparently it is a dead give away that you are American; “Everything is awesome to Americans!”

Ireland was my favorite leg of the trip, which might have had something to do with the fact I was actually literate in this country! As we were walking through the airport, I noticed all the signs were in English. I stopped, threw my hands into the air and shouted, “I CAN READ!!” Although thoroughly embarrassing myself, I was too happy and too tired to care. Little did I know, the Irish accent on some people was so strong, it did not matter that they were even speaking English… There were far too many stories from Ireland to tell but I can share one highlight.                   

Dublin was one of our destinations so we could meet up with the theater students’ movement teacher, Bryan Burroughs, and his friend Aaron. Both of which are very well known, young Irish actors and spent a great deal of time hanging out with us while they were in Arezzo. They took us to see “Playboy of the Western World” in the Abbey Theater, a show Aaron had done a few years back. It was really a blast to see; they actually had a functioning tap of Guinness on stage for the bar scene! It was good fun, or as the Irish commonly say, “good craik,” not to be confused with “crack.” It took us a while to figure that one out…

Hands down, this was a trip of a lifetime! We pushed the limits on what people thought could be done in 11 days, how much one could fit into a book bag, and how long a person could, or better yet, should go without a shower, and it was worth every wrong turn.

 

Ben Grube 

ALTO CINQUE!!!

   Cinqueterre is on the Mediterranean coast of Italia, and literally means "five lands."  Some of the most beautiful hiking in the country is there, and they are known for their pesto.  Those two reasons alone were enough to spark our interests.  Though Cinqueterre is popular with tourists, we clearly went in the off-season; therefore, I found an apartment for 17 euros a person per night!  The apartment was completely precious, and so was our landlord.  After stepping off the train and being greeted by rocky coastlines, waves, and PERFECT weather, we traipsed up the road of Riomaggiore--the first city in a string of five--to find our apartment, "La Dolce Vita."  Inside we met our elderly landlord, who preferred to  speak only Italian, to get the key.  Thank goodness for all of those Italian classes and walks into the center of Arezzo!  We checked out the rooms, confirmed with the landlord, then set out for the water.  The sunlight was gently peeking through the soft clouds, forming a circle of golden light on the waves.  It was absolutely breathtaking.  Jay immediately ran to climb on the jetty, with Laura and I soon following.  Being the smart one I am, I was wearing a dress and jeans with flipflops--perfect rock climbing wear, right?  I decided to climb the rocks barefoot, which worked out fine until I slipped on some wet moss!  Laura was also unlucky and fell a bit, but we didn't get too wet.  For the longest time, we all just sat on the rocks and watched the sunset in the distance while the spray of the ocean danced around us.  Before the colors completely disappeared, we walked the short trail to the second city--Manarola--for some traditional Cinqueterre pesto.  We returned, exhausted, and soon went to bed.

    The next day, we woke up early to get a head start on the 6-7 hour hike to the fifth city, Monterosso.  The trail begins through the Via dell'Amor, one of the most beautiful places in Italy.  The entire portion of the trail from this point to Manarola is along the coastal cliffs; many small trails break off and lead down to the water.  After about 45 minutes of hiking and a short stop on a playground we found, we faced a problem.  There was a tall iron gate blocking the rest of the path to the third city, Corniglia.  There didn't seem to be a problem with the trail, so Jay decided to crawl through the mud and under the gate to inspect everything while I kept watch for others.  He gave us the go, so Laura and I skeptically wiggled under the gate and ran up the trail to meet him.  We weren't done, though!  We soon met another tall gate topped with spikes near two ladders.  Dirtied from head to toe with mud, we each carefully climbed over the top of the gate and successfully kept from being speared.  Corniglia was our next stop; however, you must climb over 350 stairs to reach this town atop a mountain.  The reward is great, though, because we could see the previous two cities from the center of Corniglia.  In addition, the roads are lined with numerous clementine and lemon trees which starkly contrasted against the rich greens and blues of the mountains.  The salty air greeted us as a warm breeze completed this heavenly view.  We continued on to Vernazza, the fourth city.

   The hike from Corniglia to Vernazza is the second longest hike, but also one of the most interesting.  We came to Cinqueterre just in time for the olive harvest, which happens the last week of November and first week of December.  There were orange nets everywhere, catching stray olive branches, but we saw no harvesters that day due to the rain earlier on in the day.  We suddenly stumbled across a side path that pointed straight down to the beach.  A piece of knotted seat belt material was tied to a tree, leading to another piece of yellow rope further down the drop-off.  Even as I write this, I wish I could somehow convey the steepness of this cliff.  There was nothing to catch us if we would've slipped, with the exception of the rocks below and the fast ocean current.  As I told Laura I wouldn't hike the path too far and mentally made out my will, I inched down the ropes and eventually joined Jay on the narrow dirt path that curved down the mountain and to Guvano Beach.  Guvano was amazing with its black stone beach and roaring waves.  I had already planned to swim in the sea and was wearing my bikini. Remember, it was December 2nd.  Probably temporarily out of our minds, Jay and I  ran for the waves.  I then heard laughing behind us and immediately stopped.  There was a family of bundled up Italians standing on their terrace above the beach, laughing hysterically at our antics.  "Nuotare?" they screamed.  I smiled back, gave a thumbs-up, and yelled back, "SI!"  We dove into the waves, shocked by exactly how cold the water was.  About thirty minutes later, we climbed back up to where Laura sat--cold, wet, but triumphant!

    Cinqueterre was probably my favorite place visited in Italia.  We didn't reach the fifth city, because we got lost in a vineyard for about an hour, but it still turned out to be one of the best and most stunning trips I took.  Just like the rest of my time in Italia, Cinqueterre embodied the adventurous, spontaneous, fulfilling life I learned to live. 

Ciao,

Sarah Martin
 

The music professors at the Accademia are amazing, but only a few of them speak English. Alessandro is the piano instructor/accompanist extraordinaire with whom I spend an hour of lesson time each week.   During our first lesson, we had been in Italy a little over a week—to ease the transition, he tried to use some English. By the next lesson, however, he turned to Italian. (This change was partly due to an incident when we saw him in town and greeted him in Italian, and he seemed to believe our Italian skills were quite sufficient after that.) Yes, the language barrier provides a new challenge, but it isn’t too daunting. Rather, I find that it helps to refocus on the music itself. A melodic line is the same, no matter what language we speak. There are moments when a good game of charades is necessary, but the language of music carries its weight most of the time.
Parliamo in italiano... di musica, certo. (We talk in Italian--about music, of course.)

While lessons can be intense and the teachers demanding, we still have time for fun. During lessons, I ask Alessandro how to say things in Italian, and we sometimes discuss musical (and non-musical) topics, which provides real-world practice for the Italian we learn in class.   Alessandro stays for dinner each Monday, and we’ve started a little game: each night, I bring him a new delicacy from the United States. So far he’s tried a Reese’s cup, Skittles, and a Rolo. He was skeptical of the Reese’s cup because he thinks the American infatuation with peanut butter is disgusting, but he admitted he liked it. As for the Skittles, his favorites were orange and lime. His favorite so far has been the Rolo! 
Alessandro tries a Rolo. While I introduce him to American culture via candy, he shares Italian culture with us—we’ve discussed Halloween and the witch who brings children candy on January 6^th for Epiphany (this conversation took place the night we made him a s’more with a smurf-shaped marshmallow), and he says he’ll cook nutella crepes for us in his house before we go home.

With all the marvelous experiences we’re having in Italy, we have so many more stories to share through our music. The professors here show us how to express our music with an intensity that we’ve never known before, which is ironic because we’ve never been more helplessly unable to communicate with our teachers.   Studying abroad with this program has provided amazing revelations for me as a musician, but it also reminds me that thankfully I’ll never be done with my study of music. Just as we never finish learning new words in English (and especially in Italian), we will never finish growing in our acquisition of and appreciation for the musical language.

~Melissa Summer 

The group standing in front of the cathedralEarlier that afternoon, the FU music kids found all of the information on his funeral and the train schedule to get there. So on Saturday morning, 10 students from the Accademia got up at 5:45am (ouch) and headed for the train station on the other side of town. Two and a half hours later, we arrived in Modena- the hometown of Luciano Pavarotti. With the help of a very nice Italian man who decided to become our personal tour guide, we easily made it to the Duomo and got in line. I could never expect what was about to happen. When we got to the front of the long, but fast-paced line, we were told to put our cameras away. We walked inside and were handed a booklet commemorating our visit. It has a little Italian proverb on it, all the necessary details about his death, and it also has a picture printed inside. I rounded the corner and saw a huge beautiful wreath- probably the most striking funeral wreath I have ever seen. There was a ribbon on it that read- “With love from your American friends.”

And then, I saw him. The opera great. Lying in a fully open coffin, about a foot away from me. His head was draped in a red sheer covering and his hands were holding a rosary. His face was perfectly serene with a little smirk. I just saw Luciano Pavarotti.

We were not allowed inside the Duomo for the actual funeral. Instead we stood outside and watched everything from a “jumbo-tron.” You would have thought the president died! I have never seen so many bells and whistles being pulled for someone who was not politically affiliated. There were representatives from what looked like every state organization. From where I was standing, I could see every important person as they entered the Cathedral. There were tons of cameramen and reporters scouring the crowds for the best interview. Our group was actually photographed about four of five different times so keep a look out for those pictures! It was incredible to see just how many people he has reached. They interviewed people from all different nationalities- all of whom came to see the opera great one last time.

I was particularly moved by the music in his service (duh.) Mirella Freni opened the funeral with the “Ave Maria” from Verdi's Otello. Ironically, this was the song I chose to sing the day before to “introduce” myself to my new voice teacher. I chose this song as a personal tribute to the recent death of my great grandmother, who passed away on the same day as Pavarotti. It was surreal.

At the end of the funeral, the doors of the Duomo opened and his casket was carried out of the church. We then heard a loud roar and looked up to see about 9 fighter jets fly over; they had colored their tail smoke, making a giant Italian flag that covered the sky. Just moments later, the group crossed back over the Cathedral and was greeted with yet another thunderous applause.

I really can’t express what seeing this funeral meant to me as a musician. When I left the Duomo after seeing his body, I was overwelmed with a sense of sorrow and awe. Hours later we were still in shock at the day’s events. One Furman student said, “And to think, we thought we wouldn’t get to do anything cool this year. I mean, come on, last year’s group got to meet Renee Fleming!” Then we collectively agreed, that this could beat Renee any day.

- Meredith Owen