Today I wiped out on the way to school. I mean really wiped out. It had just rained, so the streets were slick and the bottom of my boots have lost a significant amount of traction since we’ve been walking so much every day. I was casually walking to school by myself and then I slipped and ended up on the ground. My tights may not have ripped, but my knee was bleeding and my hand was covered in mud. Despite the fact that I was surrounded by ample Italians out for their morning stroll, not a single person helped me up or asked if I was okay or even acknowledged me at all. I didn’t really care, it’s not their job to make me feel better, but it was definitely a moment of culture shock. In the south, everyone within a mile radius would have rushed to my side to help me up while saying, “bless your heart!” Instead, I popped up by myself as if nothing had happened and continued on my way to school, trying to hide my muddy hand.
About two weeks ago, the architecture community of the world was shocked to hear of the loss of Zaha Hadid. Not only was she an innovative architect who designed spaces most of us can only dream of, but she was incredibly inspiring, being the first (and only) woman to win the Pritzker Prize, which is the highest award in architecture. Because I am lucky enough to live within walking distance of a Zaha project, I spent the morning wandering through the MAXXI Museum. At first I was disappointed to see only one sign commemorating her passing. After all she had done for the MAXXI, and they give her one monitor?? But the longer I spent in the building, I realized that it’s the passion and energy in her projects that celebrate her life, even if her clients don’t. RIP Zaha Hadid.
I wonder how many pictures I’m in the background of. With my walk to school passing right by Castel Sant Angelo and the Vatican, I pass about 1 million tourists every day, and they’re all taking photos: photos of the river, photos of the bridge, photos of the air (or so it seems). I don’t acknowledge them, but I am curious to know what kind of face I’m making as I inevitably (and unintentionally) photobomb their memories.
Unfortunately making out on planes is both acceptable and common in Europe. And somehow I always get stuck next to the couple that is soooooo in looooove.
We finally went to the Ice Bar the other night. After being draped in bright blue parkas, we entered a room that was -5ยบ Celsius. The room was small, and the 20 UARK Rome Center kids (from all four schools) that were there took up pretty much the entire space. We got free drinks in cups made of ice and posed with all the Roman emperors throughout the room. We only stayed for about half an hour, but for those thirty minutes we were in a room of pure ice so it deserves to be blogged about.
Let it be known that on this day, I, Haley Walton, cooked something other than pasta for myself for dinner. Those that know me know how much of a major milestone this is. I would like to thank my mom, Google Translate and Coop Supermarket for helping me accomplish this major honor.
Today we ate gelato in front of the Pantheon. The four of us stood there, looking at it (casually, not in awe like the other tourists). We probably looked pretty strange. We didn’t smile, we didn’t take pictures, we weren’t even talking. But we just stood there for 10 minutes in complete silence eating our gelato. To break the silence, Fien asked, “Should we go inside?” Eh, why not. [I’m really going to miss these casual encounters with world class historical monuments]
How are these Italians STILL wearing coats? It got up to 80 degrees yesterday! EIGHTY, and they’re in COATS. Spring has sprung Italian people, time to break out the shorts (and stop giving me dirty looks for wearing them).
One of the most flattering moments in my daily life is when a tourist comes up to me asking if I speak English. So I suppose I’m either starting to look, dress or act like an Italian.
Homesickness is real. It’s really real. There are days I live in awe of every rock and ruin that I pass and there are days I wish I was at home watching Grey’s Anatomy and eating Popeyes chicken. I struggle with homesickness because I know how many people think I’m crazy for it. I hesitate to say how I feel sometimes at risk of it coming across whiny and ungrateful. “You shouldn’t miss [blank], you’re in Rome!!” they say. Well yes, my being in Rome is precisely why I miss [blank]. My daily routine in Rome is full of wonder and amazement, but there’s something wonderful and amazing about my life back in Dallas, too, and I miss that sometimes.
(actual conversation between professors at the top of Mt. Vesuvius)
Professor 1: “Ah Fien you are so tall. Look everybody at the difference.” Professor 2: “The Italians have a saying [about women] that goes ‘the best wine comes in the shortest bottles, but they always finish too early.’” Professor 1: “Ah. This is why I have no boyfriend.” Professor 2: “We must go to a vineyard!”
We have to eat gelato much faster these days. With warmer weather comes faster melting. Basically this just means we get more gelato more often. But at what point is it acceptable to start eating gelato twice a day? After all, our time is running out and who knows if/when we’ll ever return to Italy, so we have to soak it all in while we can, right? So at what point do we go crazy? The last week? The last 3 weeks? [Spoiler: we have a month left and we’ve already started]
Number of Columns Hugged: 3
Days Since Mexican Food: 112
Read more from Haley at https://haleywalton.wordpress.com/
To find out more about the U of A Rome Center semester program for Architecture, visit http://studyabroad.uark.edu/romecentersemester/
