Efren in Rome Part III- Take a Walk but Don't Forget your Camera!

It’s always fun to get a chance to walk around a beautiful place and snap a picture here, a picture there. But when you live in the city the experience begins to transform like the flavor of a pretzel with mustard, dijon mustard, honey mustard, any mustard really. When you live in the city, many times you take monumental grandeur for granted, well I speak from experience, having lived in Pasadena for twenty years before coming to appreciate the Rose Bowl, the Civic Center, the Arroyo Seco, etc. My goal is to capture the “first impression” or “love/hate at first sight” conglomeration of emotions before they slowly dissolve into routine buildings on the way to classes.

Less than a hundred feet away from the Colosseum lies the Arc of Constantine.

Keeping the goal in mind, I also realize that Rome is a monumental attraction in of itself and this is prime time for tourism. Spanish, French, Greek, and yes, even American tourists flood the streets morning to night and have been part of my first exposure to this city. I notice that many tourists here are similar to tourists in Los Angeles and even New Orleans. Walking around with their heads up, necks arched so as to catch every detail of the roof lines of the buildings, and what they don’t cache in their minds gets saved indefinitely in their cameras. When I say they I, of course, must include myself because I go about my day in the exact same way. I walk through the cavernous streets as if at the bottom of a valley that is adorned with beautiful, enchanting, spiritually stimulating ornamentation. With obvious look-where-I’m-going glances at the streets and oncoming traffic, I try to activate the photographic memory I once wished to have after reading a Nancy Drew book in the fourth grade. But it seems that many of my birthday cake candle wishes have yet to come true, so I rely on my camera and my normal, non-capture-spooky-bad-guy memory, for now at least.

Took the time to take a "postcard picture"

So I walk, and I look, and I shoot pictures. Stopping to calm the running of my mind to rest underneath the shade that these buildings, these structures of architecture, this history provides. At times, I become overcome by emotion, it comes on slowly, like ivy over a brick wall, but the end result is always beautiful. A feeling of euphoria. A feeling so high above the clouds, it seems to never end. It’s peaceful, it’s calm, it’s forgiving, it shoots throughout every single part of my nervous system. I have begun to experience the genuine feeling of reality through this first week abroad with no need or temptation to alter it.  

Altar of the Fatherland 

Rome: 1, 2, 3, GO! Many

If there’s something that needs to be said, it is that jet lag is real! Day 1 consisted of trying to stay awake through the day (which my mind and body still thinks is the night in Los Angeles) without falling asleep. This included the nausea that comes with an all nighter, but no great feeling of accomplishment that you just completed your final review (for those of you familiar with the plight of the pre-review final stretch). But there is always a great consolation, I’m quickly learning, remembering that I am in Rome.

In Italy.

In Europe.

It blows my mind. But to take care of the fatigue, there is a nifty little beverage called espresso, not to be confused with eXpresso, which I learned a few months ago doesn’t exist because the Starbucks barista would flinch every time I would order it, But I digress, although tasting espresso, not just drinking it for its caffeine, has made me realize that when I go back to the States, coffee will never be the same. Coffee (espresso) here tastes as if the Roman gods themselves harvest and manufacture the beans to then gift the people of Rome with a small, yet abundantly concentrated, dose of heaven.

So I’m not opposed whatsoever to the drinking of the heavenly syrup and one main reason is that it gives you enough energy to walk through the cavern-like streets of Rome and see all the monuments there is to see. But there’s always a catch, and Rome knowing that people who drink espresso will need water, placed fountains of natural water all over the city that is constantly flowing. (Realizing that some people may think that the fountains were actually installed to hydrate folks who drink too much espresso, I must say this: It is absolutely true.) The water is perfectly safe to drink and preserves the old style of living which used aqueducts to deliver water to the people of Rome.

The first couple of days here have been Orientation style and have been full of adventures and culture shock (for lack of a better phrase). Our professor, Giovanna Galfione-Cox, is simply one of the best. I am not just saying that because she had us over her apartment for gelato, but because she treats us all as if we were family, with love and understanding. I’m excited to see what else is in store.

Our professor had us all over to her rooftop apartment that looked over Rome

Many people refill their water bottles, wash their hands and face, or splash water on themselves to cool down at many of these fountains all over Rome.

Flying to the Other Side of the World

Guest Blogger: Efren Lopez, Class of 2016

Having only flown to New Orleans regularly from Los Angeles for school, I was in unknown territory flying to Rome. I found myself, for the first time in my life, in a I-don’t-know-the-language situation when I boarded the Russian Airlines plane like a freshman in high school, trying to look experienced, but knowing that I did not know what I was doing at all. I did what I knew from previous plane rides, although domestic; I listened. When the hustle and bustle of the passengers began to simmer down I heard the pilot begin to speak words, but I wasn’t sure what he was saying. It was quite simple; I don’t speak Russian, so I didn’t understand what he was saying. But just like the white knight rides in on his noble steed and cuts the dragon’s head off as it is about to bite the princess’s head off, I was saved. After the pilot spoke in Russian, one of the flight attendants said the same thing in English. And hearing this, my anxiety cleared, my breathing returned to normal, and I was able to reassure myself that I would just be fine. I would be just fine and could focus on the huge task that was now at hand; being on a plane for the next twelve hours.

The flight was somewhat quick in retrospect, but as always I went in with an idea of what I would do, a plan, if you will. But I am here to tell you that nothing went according to that plan. I had, a week before, been asking friends about what books I should look into to read on the plane, because that was my plan, to read a book, an entire book on the plane ride. But just as we all tell ourselves that we will commit to a strict salad, vegetables, and no sweets diet, I quickly ripped open the box of chocolates and watched two movies on the plane. I assure you, you would have done the same thing, had you browsed the airline’s library of movies. After this I was treated to another of many firsts to come; airline meals. This was followed by about two hours of doodling that became my usual calligraphic endeavors with the name of my love Jasmine. After this, one more feature film, followed by a second meal, followed by my attempt at sleep, not a nap, on a plane.

I must tell you that it was not an easy task.

I must tell you that I was dead set on sleeping.

Boarding the plane from Moscow to Rome.
One of many firsts to come. 

I must tell you that I tossed.

And turned.

And moved pillows this way and that and finally, with the help of music from the airlines vast library of albums from Amy Winehouse to Daft Punk, I was able to drift off into a peaceful, blissful sleep that carried me through the rest of my flight.

Upon arriving in Moscow, although hungry once more, I sought out to find the gate for my connecting flight and to make sure it hadn't changed. It had, but luckily for me my layover was four hours and the gate that it had moved to was not far at all. Having all the essentials out of the way, I turned my attention to getting a cold, refreshing soda. The first I found was Pepsi and it was amazing. The taste so much different than American Pepsi, but still great, although I have always been a Coca-Cola enthusiast, I had to have a taste of the soda in Moscow, albeit in the airport and extremely overpriced.

Before I knew it, my layover was over and I was making line to board the plane to Rome. I found myself overcome with excitement.