Fútbol and Corrida de Toros

After several months in Seville, I found myself with a dwindling amount of remaining time and many more feats to accomplish.  Prior to departing for America, I knew that I wanted to experience a traditional Spanish bullfight and that I wanted to partake in the lunacy that is European football.  Fortunately, I was able to strike both events from my list in the span of 27 hours.

My First Soccer Game

Estadio Benito Villamarín.  Unfortunately, I neglected to bring my camera to the game, so all pictures will be obtained from the internet.

On a whim, my friend Erik and I made our way to the outskirts of Seville to check out the masses at Estadio Benito Villamarín.  The stadium is the home to Real Betis Balompie, Seville’s perennially second-tier football club.  Betis has been playing second fiddle to FC Sevilla ever since the team’s inception in 1907: two years after the founding of Sevilla.  In fact, Betis has been bottom-feeding in the Second Division of Spanish soccer for many years after several glorious decades in La Liga, Spain’s premier soccer league, in the mid-20^th century.

Some Betis fans sporting the team colors.

Yet, Erik and I picked an opportune time to go see Betis play, as the team was coming off a remarkable season that included a momentous blowout of FC Barcelona (the eventual winners of the Champions League, Europe’s most prestigious soccer tournament) and enough victories to promote Betis once again to La Liga for next season.  Not to mention, Erik and I were in attendance at Betis’ last game of the season, in which Betis had the chance to clinch the Second Division title with a victory, an exclamation point atop a fantastic season.  Erik and I picked up tickets from a scalper for a measly 15 euros, but we were not ready to enter just yet: Erik was wearing a Portland Trailblazers jersey and I was wearing a Vampire Weekend t-shirt, so our “American-ness” was overly blatant.  We both agreed that we had to show support for our newfound team and purchase a couple of mementos to use during the game.  Erik opted for a typical football scarf that showed off the bright green and white colors of Betis, while I selected a large flag to wave during the game.

Betis players celebrating a monumental victory over FC Barcelona.

When Erik and I entered and located our seats, we could not believe our vantage point.  We were starkly centered at midfield with only eight rows separating us from the field.  Yet, we soon realized why our seats were so cheap as the high sun was bruising and brutally hot.  Five minutes before game time, Erik and I made a crucial and clutch decision:  we disrobed and covered ourselves in our new Betis gear.  Erik tied the Betis scarf around his temple, reminiscent of Ralph Macchio in “The Karate Kid” (1984) and I knotted the Betis flag around my neck, mimicking the caped superheroes of Marvel fame.  Otherwise shirtless, Erik and I stood tall, cheering like the lunatic “hinchas,” Spanish soccer hooligans, who flooded the stadium as our soon-to-be idols entered the stadium.  I could tell immediately that the Betis players loved performing in front of their home crowd; the energy in the stadium was electrifying as fans called out the names of players and sang fight songs to intimidate the opposing FC Huesca. 

As the game got underway, this energy immediately turned into hysterics as Betis scored a beautiful crossing goal five minutes into the match.  Erik and I high-stepped down the aisles high-fiving strangers as if we had been cheering for Betis since the womb. The songs erupted, louder than before, including a particularly feverish chant of “Puta Sevilla!” (“Sevilla are b*tches!”) that elucidated the severity of the crosstown rivalry.

The Betis crest.

The game lasted another 85 minutes, with the same constant intensity of the fans.  Betis went up 2-0 on a penalty kick, then saw their lead cut in half by a dubious call and the resulting penalty kick in the 73^rd minute (soccer matches are 90 minutes long).  At that single point in time, there was a moment of nervous silence that settled over the crowd, but a Betis goal minutes later put the game out of reach and put the crowd into a frenzy.  I loved the artfulness of the players, the passion of the fans and the tradition.  In fact, though I portray the Betis fans as bordering on insanity, they were all extremely proud and kind, teaching Erik and me the Betis cheers and even having boyish fun with a couple of rowdy Huesca fans who occupied their own little section of the stadium.  All in all, I thoroughly enjoyed my first soccer game and I hope to follow Betis in the upcoming season.  I should have no trouble remembering to check the Betis schedule and results, as my flag will hang honorably in my dorm room next semester.

Corrida de Toros

Erik and I triumphantly returned from the Betis game and met our friends, Vika and Vini, by the Guadalquivir river.  There, Vika and Vini surprised me with a ticket to the following day’s corrida de toros, or bullfight.  Bullfights in Spain are still extremely popular, yet controversial.  Advocates of the corridas argue on behalf of the tradition of the sport, which dates back to the 18^th century in Spain.  In fact, many corrida frequenters consider the spectacles more of a fine art than an actual sport, as the toreros (bullfighters) display technique and form rather than competition.  Yet, the obvious opposing argument is that the bulls in each corrida are killed in a dragged out, public display of human supremacy over the animal kingdom.

The Plaza de Toros in Seville.

Prior to attending the corrida, I had ambiguous feelings towards the bullfights, but knew I had to see one for myself to form a proper opinion and experience an event that is important in the history of Spain.  So, on Sunday night, one night after reveling in the Betis victory, I donned my most formal outfit and headed over to the Plaza de Toros bullfighting arena with Vika and Vini.  Bullfights are held on Sundays during the short bullfighting season, which often goes from April to June.  Attending a corrida is almost like attending mass at church: you are expected to dress up for the occasion and be very respectful.  In addition, elderly Spanish folk are much more likely to frequent the corridas, with seat cushions, plump cigars and decorative fans in tow to achieve maximum comfort in the broiling arena,  Seville’s Plaza de Toros is the oldest bullfighting structure in the world, dating back to 1765. Thousands of toreros have flaunted their technique in the open arena and the world’s most celebrated toreros gather in Seville during Feria.

Vini (left), Vika (right) and I pose inside the Plaza de Toros.

Vika, Vini and I only paid 12 euros for the tickets, but we had a great view of the entire ring.  Much like the Betis match, ticket prices reflect whether or not one is sitting under the scorching Spanish sun or in a shaded part of the stadium.  A corrida spectacle lasts about two and a half hours and has many stages.  There are three cuadrillas, or bullfighting entourages/teams, and six bulls.  One cuadrilla faces the first bull, the second cuadrilla faces the second bull, the third cuadrilla faces the third bull and then the rotation of cuadrillas repeats for the next three bulls.  A cuadrilla is made up of seven people: two picadores, three banderilleros, the mozo de espadas and the matador.  (As a slight aside, matadores are only referred to as such in an anglicized manner.  Actual Spaniards refer to the banderilleros and matadors as “toreros,” a more general term for those who actually tempt and trick the bull inside the ring.)  This cuadrilla enters the ring to a paseillo, a customary promenade around the ring in which the toreros salute and bow to the crowd before the actual corrida begins.  The matador and his cuadrilla are brilliantly costumed in shiny, colorful garb reminiscent of 17^th century Andalusian attire.

The matador sidesteps his bovine nemesis.

Each round with a bull lasts about twenty minutes and has three stages: First, a small brass section announces the unleashing of the bull with a medley of trumpets and cornets.  The bull runs out of an opening in the stadium, with one small .  As soon as the bull makes a move towards the other end of the ring, the gate is closed behind him, sealing his inevitable fate.  The only way the bull can avoid an untimely demise is by showing no aggression or desire to fight.  In that case, the bull is herded to return the way he came, where he must wait and grow before being paraded in front of the spectators once again at a later corrida.  At our corrida, there was one bull who showed a slight disinterest at the beginning, but was quickly coaxed into fighting by some relentless, pesky toreros.  Yet, for the most part, the bulls are extremely aggressive and more than willing to charge at the slightest show of movement.  Additionally, the bulls all weigh over 1000 pounds, making the spectacle increasingly nerve-wracking and astounding.  The corrida that Vika, Vini and I attended happened to be a “novillada,” meaning that the bulls were slightly smaller and oftentimes less aggressive, but more agile and quick.  Still, I remember gasping from my seat each time a bull galloped into the ring, since even the novillada bulls are hulking bundles of muscle and brawn (especially when compared to the thin and dexterous toreros who face them).  The first stage begins with the toreros testing the bull and getting a feel for his perceptiveness, speed and personality.  The toreros observe the bull by tempting him, waving shiny magenta and gold capes around and, when he charges, ducking behind a thin, protective opening in the ring through which the bull cannot pass.  Then, the matador performs a series of quick passes and moves with his cape to analyze the bull for himself.  

A picador readies himself.

The climax of the first stage occurs when the two picadores enter.  The picadores are lance-bearing horsemen.  The picadores hold large lances and their horses are heavily padded with a square, ornamental padding that protects them from the bull.  The picadores enter the ring at opposite sides and provoke the bull to charge either horse.  Once the bull fixes his sights on one of the horses and charges, the picadores jam the lance into the back of the bull, behind the large neck muscle of the animal.  The bull hits the horse with heavy impact, yet the weight of the horse and its rider equivocate the power of the bull, forcing a sort of standoff in which the bull tries to move the horse to no avail.  Prior to the 1930s, the horses were not padded, and many would be disemboweled during a corrida.  In fact, the number of horse casualties often outnumbered those of bulls during early corridas.  As the bull and the horse battle for footing, the picador continues to twist his lance into the back of the bull.  This draws first blood and also weakens the bulls neck, forcing him to carry his head a little lower throughout the rest of the corrida.  This altered posture of the bull is ultimately important in allowing the matador a proper angle for the final deadly thrust with his sword.  Additionally, the matador is able to observe the bull’s tendencies by watching how he charges the horse and which side of his body the bull favors.

The second stage is much shorter than the first, but is similarly intense.  Once the toreros have recaptured the bull’s attention with their capes and the picadores and their horses have exited the ring, the three banderilleros come out one by one.  Each is wielding two banderillas, short barbed weapons with decorative color bands.  The banderillero provokes the bull by stamping his foot several times and yelling loudly.  He faces the bull sporting nothing but the two banderillas and allows the bull to charge.  As the bull charges, the banderillero lifts his two banderillas above his head, jamming them down deftly into the shoulders of the bull and even more deftly avoiding contact with the bull’s fearsome horns.  Then the banderillero scampers away and the other toreros grab the bulls attention with their capes once more.  This process repeats two more times until the bull has six banderillas sticking out of its thick shoulders.  These banderillas serve to further aggravate and weaken the bull in preparation for the final stage.

The matador tempts the bull.

Finally, the matador enters the ring once more for the final stage.  The matador swaps out his magenta and gold cape for a red one, not to provoke the bull—since bulls are in fact colorblind—but to mask the bull’s blood and follow true torero tradition that is centuries old.  The matador exhibits his dominance over the bull by ostentatiously passing the bull with his cape.  More skillful matadores draw the bulls closer to their bodies, while still avoiding contact entirely.  During our corrida, there was one extremely impressive matador who even passed the bull behind his back several times and from his knees, displaying fearlessness and adroitness.  Yet, one matador was not so lucky, as the bull collided with him and rolled his limp body about ten feet before the other toreros leapt to the rescue, confusing the bull with cape thrusts until the matador stood up once again, dusted himself off and resumed his dance with the beast.  After about ten minutes of avoiding the bull and wearing him down, the matador is handed a sword by his mozo de espadas.  The matador continues passing the bull, sword in hand for some time before raising the sword horizontally in a warrior crouch.  The bull charges one final time and the matador drives the sword between the shoulder blades of the bull, through to the bull’s heart.  The matador is supposed to drive the sword all the way into the bull, literally up to the handle.  If done properly, the bull is killed with the least amount of pain and suffering and the matador is thus cheered raucously by the crowd.  Vika, Vini and I had the grand displeasure of watching a talented female matador, who succeeded beautifully in every aspect of the corrida up until the final sword thrust.  Her short body must have given her an awkward angle when trying to stab the two bulls she faced, because it took her about 25 times with each bull to get the sword through.  Instead, she kept jamming the tip of the sword into the bulls, further injuring them.  As soon as this final thrust is accomplished (hopefully in one fell blow), the matador raises one hand to the bull as a salute to the animal that has given its life for the enjoyment of the crowd.  The other toreros run out, waving their capes at the bull, who follows the capes with his head until he stumbles and falls to his knees.  Once the bull falls to his knees and lowers his head, one of the toreros comes out with a small dagger, jabbing it in and out of the bull’s brain one or two times until the bull crumples and keels over dead.  Ultimately, the bull is attached to three blindfolded horses by hooks and is dragged in a circle around the ring, with several rake wielding men obscuring the bloodied path left by the carcass.  Finally, the horses and the bull exit the ring and there is a slight delay before the next round starts.

The final showdown.

Following my experience at the Plaza de Toros, I considered myself ready to formulate an opinion on the custom of corridas in Spain.  After all, I had gotten a little taste of everything, from a very skilled matador to an inept matador to a foolhardy matador who was barrel-rolled by an enraged bull.  I also witnessed large beasts from a daft bull who headbutted the walls of the rink several times to a skiddish bull who showed little original desire to fight to an incensed, passionate bull who fell to his knees several times and continually got back up, even after his heart slowly gave out.  So, after my day at the Plaza de Toros, I have come to the conclusion that I, personally, am not an advocate of bullfighting.  I understand the significance and magnitude of the sport as a remnant of Spanish history, but I do not approve of the drawn out killing of animals for pure entertainment.  Yet, let the record show that the bulls are not killed and simply incinerated or buried; each bull is fully used as nourishment in a post-corrida celebration or otherwise, even down to the bull’s tail.  I, however, simply find the ritual too gladiatorial.  Man should not feel any innate desire to demonstrate dominance over another living species as mankind has been so detrimental and virulent to the populations of many species that once walked this earth and currently roam the earth.  Now, I am not about to become a vegetarian anytime soon, but I do not think I will be attending too many corridas in the future either.

Feria de Abril

Feria de Sevilla.

Every year in Seville two weeks after Semana Santa, the sevillanos put on their party hats for six straight days for Feria de Abril, or April's Fair.  This 150 year-old tradition dates back to a cattle fair that used to be held in the city.  Now, however, Feria has evolved into a citywide festival with dancing, singing, eating and drinking.  Almost every city in Spain has its own Feria, but the Feria of Seville is known as the most widespread and fun.

The gleaming Portada that welcomes people to Feria.

For the past 20 years or so, Feria has been held in the Parque de los Príncipes, in the Remedios of Seville.  There, hundreds of casetas are set up to receive guests. These casetas are small, open tents which can fit anywhere from 20 to 150 people at a time.  The casetas often have tables for sitting and eating, a large dance area and a bar that serves tapas and the customary drink of Feria, rebujitos.  Rebujitos are typical Andalusian mixtures of manzanilla, a pale sherry, and Sprite.  These casetas can be private or public, some are owned by individual families while others are rented by clubs, restaurants or political parties.  I hopped around some of the public casetas, but was also invited into a few private casetas by my American friends' host parents.

A long row of casetas.

Yet, sevillanos take their Andalusian heritage one step further with the garb.  During Feria, the women all wear trajes de flamenco, flowing, ruffled gowns, often coupled with matching shoes, scarves and a tightly wound hairstyle with a large flower.  The men, on the other hand, wear neatly pressed suits, sometimes with a ruffled undershirt, flat-brimmed cordobés hats, short jacket and boots.  Additionally, many sevillanos arrive in style, renting and riding horses from their home over to the Feria grounds.  It is also typical to pay for a horse and carriage to chauffeur you and your family to Feria.

A sevillano family gets carted off to Feria.

Feria is a time of merrymaking and dancing, as all of the sevillanos perform the same signature dance, Sevillanas.  The women twist and turn their hands in the air and whirl around, while the men have several steps and turns they themselves must know.  One of our sevillana friends tried to teach some of the American girls how to do the Feria dance.  Her advice, regarding the elegant hand movements, was to "Take the apple, and throw it away."  I tried to keep time with the moves, but was consistently outperformed by children no older than seven.  Just as the adults, the children wear the traditional outfits and, also like the adults, they often stay out all night.  There are no classes during the week of Feria, so the Spanish children, like their older counterparts, can be seen dancing and playing until 5 or 6 in the morning.

Carnival rides at Feria.

Bob Esponja!

Aside from the casetas, Feria de Abril has a carnival section with a grand collection of rides and games.  My friends and I would hop around the casetas each night, dancing, eating and drinking, and then end our night by riding the Ferris wheel, the swinging ship or Gigante XXL, a ride that takes you upside down at rapid speeds.  Also, when meandering past the rides, one detail becomes evident: the Spanish love Spongebob Squarepants, or Bob Esponja.  I swear that I saw at least five different rides dedicated to Nickelodeon's favorite sponge.

A busy churros stand at Feria.

The Feria de Abril was one of the things that originally drew me to Seville and it certainly lived up to expectation.  The city's pride in its heritage manifests itself in a citywide party, where everyone becomes instantly friendlier, happier and more sociable.  Not to mention, the dancing, bright lights and wonderful outfits were quite a sight to see.  Some of my friends were even adorned in the Feria dresses, passed down to them from their host families.  Feria in Seville is a great experience and I hope to return someday.

From Rome to Florence to Venice in One Week

Earlier this semester, I took some time to plan many trips around Europe.  By thinking ahead, I discovered that I had an entire week off from school for the Feria de Abril, April's Fair, in Seville.  (More to come on Feria in a later post!)  I decided to use that week off to explore Italy, since there were a number of different cities I wanted to see.  I figured I would apportion my time between Rome, Florence and Venice, visiting my friend David in Rome and my friend Zach in Florence.  Yet, several weeks before my Italian adventure, my good friend Erik asked if he could piggyback on my plans.  He had been thinking of going to Morocco with some of our friends during Feria, but had found that no one was taking initiative to thoughtfully plan the trip.  So, Erik and I embarked on a trip of a lifetime to experience three of Italy's most famous cities.

DAY ONE

Piazza del Popolo's obelisk and twin churches.

Since Erik did not book his flights when I did, I found myself flying alone into Rome.  I arrived around noon and had a full six hours before Erik came. So, I decided to follow my map and walk around in order to get my bearings.  Our hostel was in an ideal location, equidistant from Vatican City and the Piazza del Popolo.  Erik and I had exciting plans for the Vatican the following day, so I decided to walk to the Piazza del Popolo and make my way down towards the heart of Rome.  The Piazza del Popolo, or "People's Plaza," is a popular square, brimming with statues and fountains.  Tourists park themselves on benches in the square to eat and take in the scenery while street vendors peddle roses and toys.  In the center is a large Egyptian obelisk and two twin churches sit around the square.  From the Piazza, I picked up my first slices of authentic Italian pizza and was extremely satisfied.

The floral-themed Spanish Steps.

I continued on to the Spanish Steps.  The Spanish Steps are the site of a large staircase that leads up to a hill overlooking Rome.  The stairs are covered in floral arrangements that beckon tourists up the hill on a sunny day.  At the top of the steps, the Trinità del Monti church looks out, with twin belltowers.  From there, I had an awesome vantage point of the entire city of Rome.  Ancient architecture juxtaposed with gelato parlors and trinket shops splayed out in front of me.  I saw large domed churches and tall spires jut out of the afternoon skyline.  I continued around a bend in the hill and saw the Villa Medici, the Roman residence of the famous Italian banking family.  After some more exploring, I ventured home to await Erik.

The Villa Medici overlooks the city of Rome.

Lasagna and red wine for dinner.

When Erik arrived, we were both ravenous, so we went to Piazza Navona, a popular foodie hub, for some authentic Italian cuisine.  We both sampled some delectable bruschetta and the day's special lasagna.  Our first bites of Italian pasta were heavenly, and we topped our meal with some nocciola, hazelnut-flavored, gelato.  There, we met my friend David, who is studying in Rome.  A history major at Williams, David loves his current city of residence for its rich past, and he also enjoys spreading his knowledge with visiting travelers.  David showed us around and took us to the Pantheon for a nighttime spectacle.  Erik and I were awed by the ancient structure.  The Pantheon was originally erected as a temple to all of the deities of the polytheist ancient Roman religion.  Marcus Agrippa, the venerable military man and politician, chartered the building of the temple in the first century BC.  Then, the structure was rebuilt by the Emperor Hadrian in 126 AD.  The skeletal structure of that building from almost 2000 years ago remains intact.  Obviously, the Pantheon has been consistently reinforced and repaired, but the longevity of the building is incredible.  The Pantheon is round, with an outer facade with large stone columns.  Overhead, there is a Roman inscription that commemorates the architectural vision of Marcus Agrippa.  Currently, the Pantheon is still in service as a Roman Catholic church and is also the burial site of several kings and famous Italians, like the painter Raphael.  While we did not go inside, the Pantheon was truly a sight to behold and visions of Rome from past millennia danced inside my mind.

The front of the Pantheon with the engraving dedicated to Marcus Agrippa.

DAY TWO

A square in the Vatican with one of Arnaldo Pomodoro's "Sphere within Sphere" sculptures.

Erik and I awoke early the next morning and headed towards Vatican City.  At the behest of my mom, we signed up for a guided tour through the world's smallest autonomous country.  We convened with our group of about twenty people and met our tour guide, who would converse with us via an earphone the entire time.  As part of the tour, we were able to hop the hours-long line that wrapped around the Vatican City walls.  Our group strolled through to the Vatican Museums where we saw works ranging from modern religious art to woven tapestries that mapped the rise of the Roman Empire.  We snaked through the halls of the Vatican Museums and stopped at the Raphael Rooms.  The Raphael Rooms are a series of reception halls decorated with the masterful frescoes of Raphael and his apprentices.  In front of our eyes, scenes from the Garden of Eden jumped to life in vivid detail.  Raphael created many large scenes with dozens of characters showing distinct expressiveness and movement.  My clear favorite was "The School of Athens," one of the few inherently secular pieces in the Raphael Rooms.  The piece embodies the Renaissance period of Raphael, as it portrays the wisest classical scholars convening in a shared location.  At its center, "The School of Athens" shows Plato with his student, Aristotle, with contradictory gestures.  Plato points upward at the cosmos while Aristotle points outward at the rational world.  Encircling these scholars are others, such as Socrates, Zoroaster and Pythagoras.  The scene is thought-provoking as it conjures images of brilliant debates and existential discussions between intellectual giants.  Among the crowd, Raphael himself peeks out into the eyes of the onlookers.

Raphael's "School of Athens."

 From the Raphael Rooms, we descended some stairs to one of the most hyped and recognized sites on earth: The Sistine Chapel.  Before entering the Sistine Chapel, I began to be disillusioned.  After hearing the same structure be romanticized time and again, I felt that the actual product could never live up to the hype.  Yet, as soon as I set one foot into the Sistine Chapel, an enchanting tingle traveled up my spine.  Signs in the center of the room cautioned, "NO TALKING!" but I had no trouble biting my tongue.  I was rendered absolutely speechless as my head swiveled, trying to take in the visual ecstasy all around me. The magnitude of the frescoes combined with the history of the art is difficult to comprehend; Michelangelo was commissioned to paint the interior of the Sistine Chapel based on his artistic prowess alone.  He had never even painted using the fresco medium, but was simply entrusted to do the job.  Reluctantly, he accepted his position as the master painter of the chapel and set out creating epic renderings of biblical accounts.  Our guide told us anecdote after anecdote about Michelangelo, including a story recounting his technique.  Michelangelo's dedication was so intense that he fashioned scaffolds so that he was always 20 inches away from the ceiling.  He had to make many different scaffolds because the ceiling is actually curved, and he also would draw enormous images by looking and painting straight up at the roof.  The chaotic image of "The Last Judgment" welcomes entrants.  Each figure is crafted with expert detail, with many swirling spirits skying towards Jesus' Kingdom of Heaven, whilst others plummet towards the depths of Hell.  On the ceiling, the iconic "Creation of Adam" shows God, his outstretched finger injecting life into Adam.  I really enjoyed viewing the depictions of the Old Testament stories of Adam and Eve, namely the fresco that shows Adam and Eve being cast from Eden.  The Sistine Chapel is such an amazing triumph of beauty, spirituality and creation that it is exceedingly difficult to describe it in words.  Instead, the Sistine Chapel must be seen and experienced.

Adam and Eve being cast out of the Garden of Eden.

Finally, we found ourselves inside of St. Peter's Basilica, the largest Christian church in the world.  Again, we found ourselves engulfed in a house of lavish beauty.  The Basilica is bursting with sculptures and paintings and the walls are gilded and shining with religious inscriptions.  St. Peter's is a primary pilgrimage site for Christians as it is thought to be built atop the burial ground of St. Peter himself.  Additionally, papal tombs line the ground of the structure and attract tourists and pilgrims alike.  The influence of Michelangelo and Raphael is felt again through some of the works contained inside.  In fact, Michelangelo designed the architectural layout of the domed church itself.  At the end of our trip to the Vatican, Erik and I walked into the main plaza to look out at the complex.  The amount of beauty and priceless treasures concentrated in one area is unbelievable.

Erik and I with St. Peter's in the background.

View of Castel Sant'Angelo from a bridge.

Since we had arisen so early, we left the Vatican with the entire day ahead of us to wander Rome.  Erik and I decided to see the lower quadrant of Rome, where many of the famous Ancient Roman ruins lie.  We crossed the Tiber River by the Castel Sant'Angelo, Hadrian's cylindrical mausoleum, and passed through to Campo di Fiori.  This square plaza has a lively marketplace and several good restaurants.  Erik and I gorged ourselves on pizza and calzones before making our way to the Piazza Venezia.  At the Piazza Venezia, the imposing Monument to Vittorio Emanuele II stands, boxy, ivory white and enormous above the surrounding scenery.  The monument, which commemorates the king of the Italian unification in the 1860s, is crafted entirely of white marble and is controversial for its large proportions and glaring color.  Nonetheless, the monument is an incredible sight to behold and it is juxtaposed interestingly with the adjacent Roman Forum.

I stand in front of the Monument to Vittorio Emanuele II.

 The Roman Forum is an area with many ruins from Ancient Roman governmental buildings dating back millennia.  The Roman Forum used to be the nucleus of Ancient Rome and the site of speeches, gladiator battles, elections and trials.  Many of the ruins retain some of their original shape, leaving an expanse of isolated marble columns, eroded staircases and brick walls.  Walking past thousand year-old ruins was surreal, to say the least.  I found myself daydreaming about Rome, the epicenter of culture and sophistication in the ancient world, and all of its inhabitants bustling around the busy Forum.  

The ruins of the Roman Forum are starkly in the center of Rome.

The other appeal of the Roman Forum is its view.  Continuing down Via dei Fori Imperiali, the Colosseum comes into focus.  As moths drawn to a flame, Erik and I sped over to get a look at the massive amphitheater.  The Colosseum was constructed between 72 and 80 AD as a venue for many different public events.  Capable of seating about 50,000 people, the Colosseum was used for gladiator battles, executions, venatio (exotic animal hunts), battle reenactments and dramas.  The structure has been extremely well-preserved over almost 2000 years, yet one enormous section of the upper half of the Colosseum is missing along with some of the outer wall, as if some giant organism took a large bite out of the structure.  Actually, this phantom part of the Colosseum was destroyed by earthquakes.  Having laid eyes on the Colosseum, I can easily see why its a world icon.  The imposing dimensions and gory history of the amphitheater make it one of Rome's most chilling, yet wowing testaments to the Ancient Roman Empire.

Erik and I park ourselves in front of the Colosseum.

After circling the entire Colosseum, Erik and I walked under the Arch of Constantine, a triumphal arch that dates back to 315 AD, on our way to the Circo Massimo.  For one without any prior knowledge of Roman history, the Circo Massimo, at first glance, seems relatively unimpressive.  The Circo is simply a large open field with long, oval-shaped grooves in the grass.  On either side, two hills dwindle downwards, so the Circo is in a sort of valley in the middle of Rome.  A little history, however, brings the Circo to life: the Circo Massimo was Rome's first, largest and most famous chariot racing track.  The field was used as the dirt setting for one of Rome's favorite sporting events.  Now simply a public park, the Circo Massimo is yet another site where a spectator must imagine themselves back in time, cheering in the stands for some brave riders.

I gaze out at the Circo Massimo on a sunny day.

After we spent some time relaxing at the Circo, we walked back past the Colosseum, around the Roman Forum, by the Santa Maria Maggiore church, through the Piazza della Republica and finally stopped at the Trevi Fountain.  The Trevi Fountain is one of the most recognizable fountains in the world due to its size and aesthetic appeal.  The fountain is 8.5 stories tall and about 6.5 stories wide, depicting, in beautifully sculpted gray stone, Oceanus.  Oceanus is the anthropomorphic rendering of the world's entire ocean in Roman culture.  Surrounding Oceanus are hippocamps, half-horse and half-fish creatures, as well as the merman god and messenger of the sea, Triton.  The chaotic scene portrays the taming of the sea by the gods.  Work on the current fountain was completed in 1762, to commemorate the endpoint of one of Rome's many aqueducts.  Erik and I stopped for some pictures and threw in a couple of coins to bring ourselves some good fortune.

Oceanus stands proudly at the center of the Trevi Fountain.

The sightseeing ended as I took Erik past the sites I had seen before, such as the Spanish Steps and the Piazza del Popolo.  We went back to the hostel and washed up.  That night, we met my friend David for dinner near Campo di Fiore.  I enjoyed some delicious spaghetti alla carbonara and then we went to a gelato shop for the best nocciola gelato I have ever tasted.  Erik and I walked home, ready for one more day in Italy's capital.


DAY THREE

The traditional Italian deli where we ordered lunch.

Erik and I awoke late and headed over to the Circo Massimo stop of the Rome metro to meet up with David one last time.  David chauffeured us around his neighborhood and took us to a traditional Italian deli.  We listened intently as he conversed in Italian with the elderly, jovial men who worked at the counter.  Lining the walls were marbled cuts of dried meats and filling the refrigerated cases were fresh, homemade cheeses and marinated vegetables.  The deli men told David that they would cover us; they whipped up some delicious sandwiches with prosciutto, olive oil, zucchini and eggplant for the three of us.  Then, we went up hill to a park near David where there is a panoramic view of Rome and Vatican City.  Along the way, we passed by a locked doorway in front of the headquarters of the Knights of Malta.  Through a large keyhole in the doorway, you can look into the garden of the Knights of Malta, through to the city of Rome, and all the way to the dome of St. Peter's.  Thus, through one small slot, one can see three countries in one gorgeous view.

The view through the keyhole of three countries: the garden in the foreground is the property of Malta, the city beyond the garden is Rome and the dome of St. Peter's is in Vatican City.

After lunch, David took us to the Basilica of St. Paul Outside the Walls, an oft neglected monument in Rome, which happens to be an incredibly holy site for Christians.  The basilica contains a Hall of Fame of Popes, with each pope's portrait on its walls.  Inside, the basilica is supported by large columns, with polychromatic mosaics of Jesus overlooking the altar.  The most important aspect to the church, however, is the tomb that lies at its center, which, according to legend, is the tomb of St. Paul himself.  The basilica was awesome to behold and was our very last stop in Rome.  From there, Erik and I returned to David's room, stopping for a quick Italian pastry along the way, and hopped on a train destined for Florence.

The interior of St. Paul's.

We arrived in Florence that night and settled into our newest hostel.  From there, we decided to explore the cityscape at night and grab some dinner.  After a long train ride and a lengthy check-in process, we were hankering for some Italian cuisine.  We walked across the Arno River to Via dell'Orto.  My good friend from home, Zach, has been studying this semester in Florence.  We arrived on a Friday and were set to leave on a Sunday, but Zach was in Munich that weekend as it was his last weekend to travel before returning to Scarsdale.  He did, however, provide us with an unbelievable restaurant recommendation.  Before arriving in Florence, Zach told us to go to Club Paradiso for dinner because, although he had never been there himself, all of his friends on his program raved about the food and the company.  In fact, Zach had made plans to eat there on one of his last nights in Italy.

The happy patrons at Club Paradiso.

We arrived at Club Paradiso, ravenous and raggedy after a long day of traveling.  As soon as we entered, we were greeted by a little, elderly man with a silver beard and a huge smile.  He immediately pinned us as foreigners, but asked, "Mangiate?" motioning with his hands to his mouth.  We nodded feverishly and he sat us down.  The restaurant was decorated with a wooden interior and there were paintings plastering the walls, with wine racks in every direction.  All in all, Club Paradiso had the feel of a little Italian family kitchen, with relatives coming in and out.  The owner introduced himself in perfect English and, like the men at the Italian deli, he told us he would have us covered for the night's meal.  To our left, a large party of young Italians were celebrating a birthday and, behind us, a table of five Italian men were letting the wine flow.  We sat down to some bread with olive oil and balsamic vinaigrette and a bottle of the house red wine.  Andrea, the venerable owner of the bar, and his wife, Manuela, began bringing us plate after plate of delicious food.  We started with rigatoni bolognese, fat noodles seasoned with a chopped meat sauce.  Next came four gargantuan fried meatballs and a side of creamy mashed potatoes.  Throughout the night, Andrea would come around to check on us and ask us about our food.  With full cheeks, Erik and I would let out satisfied grunts and thank him repeatedly for the meal.  We saw Andrea bounce around the three tables, offering free shots of limoncello to the birthday girl and all her friends, while pounding back a few himself.  Erik and I ate like a pack of wild hyenas before realizing we were totally and completely full.  We declined dessert and asked for our check, a little nervous of the impending number.  Yet, to our surprise and delight, Andrea and Manuela charged us a set price of only 15 euros per person.  Erik and I graciously tipped the couple and promised to be back the next night.


DAY FOUR

The Duomo in Florence.

After thoroughly enjoying our first nighttime experience in Florence, Erik and I could not wait to see the city during the day.  We immediately made our way into the center of Florence and stumbled upon the Florence Cathedral, or Duomo.  The exterior of the Duomo is one of the most distinctive, eye-catching exteriors I have seen--and, please keep in mind, I have seen A LOT of churches during my time in Europe.  The Duomo has a large, Gothic dome that pierces the Florentine skyline.  The dome is roofed with reddish tiles and the church itself is decorated polychromatically.  White, green and red marble form intricate, geometric designs on the cathedral facade.  Furthermore, Giotto's bell tower, a similarly decorated tower that stands next to the Duomo, allows tourists a bird's eye view of the Duomo and the rest of Florence.  We decided against entering the Duomo because of the long line, opting instead for a different line in front of the Uffizi Gallery.

Leonardo Da Vinci's "The Annunciation."

 The Uffizi Gallery is one of Italy's most renowned art houses.  We waited an hour just to enter the Uffizi, snacking on some delicious paninis as we lingered.  The Uffizi has a wide collection of Italian sculptures, sketches and paintings.  Some of the notable works contained in the Uffizi are Leonardo Da Vinci's "The Annunciation," Raphael's "Madonna of the Goldfinch" and Titian's "Venus of Urbino."  Yet, perhaps the most famous work, and my personal favorite, is Sandro Botticelli's "The Birth of Venus."  This painting shows Venus, the Roman goddess of love and beauty, emerging from the ocean on a large, clam shell throne.  She is being blown gently by the Venti, the Roman gods of the wind, ashore, where one of the Horae, the goddess of the seasons, eagerly awaits her.  Venus is depicted in the nude, but she is tastefully covered by her outstretched hand and her flowing locks of golden hair.  The painting has a graceful movement to it and is a fine example of the Italian Renaissance.  Both Erik and I were impressed by the collection at the Uffizi and by the wide variety of famous Italian artists represented.  

Botticelli's "The Birth of Venus."

From the Uffizi, we started walking towards the Church of Santa Croce, stopping along the way for some gelato.  I decided to mix two Italian favorites: risa, a rice pudding flavor with grains of real rice, and ricotta.  The delicious concoction kept me cool on this sunny day and I finished right as we arrived at the Church of Santa Croce.  Though the Duomo is more revered and well-known, the Church of Santa Croce in Florence is a can't miss destination.  The church is also referred to as the Temple of the Italian Glories because it is the burial site of some of Italy's most celebrated artists and intellectuals.  Among the buried are Michelangelo, Galileo, Machiavelli and Rossini.  Additionally, the church showcases artistic contributions from the likes of Giotto, Donatello and others.  The church was a work of art in and of itself and the shrines to the aforementioned legendary Italians were incredible.

The tomb of Galileo in the Church of Santa Croce.

Once we finished at the Church of Santa Croce, Erik and I crossed the river to venture up a steep hill to the Piazzale Michelangelo.  The Piazzale Michelangelo is simply a large plaza that hangs off of a large cliff on the outskirts of the city of Florence.  At the top, we saw a number of street vendors selling different goods.  We both got some lemon ices and Erik purchased a black and white t-shirt with a picture of Marlon Brando from "The Godfather" that read "Il Padrino."  The Piazzale Michelangelo is worth the strenuous climb for a panoramic view of the city.  Florence does not have any skyscrapers or tall structures, apart from several church towers and domes that rise above their surroundings.  We relaxed for a while, enjoying our cold ices and the warm breeze against a truly picturesque backdrop.

The view from the Piazzale Michelangelo.

The Palazzo Pitti stretches out near the Ponte Vecchio.

Finally, we descended the hill and made our way towards the Palazzo Pitti, a large former residence of some of Florence's most prosperous banking families, the Pitti and the Medici families.  As we arrived, the Palazzo was near closing time, but we scoped out the brick exterior of the massive structure and picked up some cheap souvenirs at some souvenir stands out front.  From the Palazzo Pitti, we crossed--for the first time since we stepped foot in Florence--the Ponte Vecchio.  The Ponte Vecchio is a Medieval bridge crammed on either side with storefronts.  Open solely to pedestrians, the Ponte Vecchio is brimming with jewelery shops, souvenir stores and art dealers.  Though we only strolled across the crowded bridge, the Ponte Vecchio is certainly an important Florentine landmark and a unique experience.

A look at the Ponte Vecchio.

My delicious penne and pesto dish.

That night, we kept our word and headed back to Club Paradiso.  Andrea greeted us with a cheeky grin and sat us down right away.  After a light lunch, we stuffed ourselves with the house recommended five course meal: bruschetta, a green salad, penne and sun-dried tomatoes in a pesto sauce, sausage and a pork chop and, finally, cheesecake.  Like the night before, Andrea schmoozed and mingled with clientele while Manuela served.  Along with two bottles of house wine, the meal was one of the most delicious and satisfying I have ever eaten.  Yet, due to our loyalty, Andrea decided once again to only charge us 15 euros per person.  This time, we left an even healthier tip before sauntering out of the restaurant with our respective jeans unbuttoned.  As we walked back to the hostel, we stumbled upon a free outdoor reggae concert.  We stopped awhile to listen to some slick Italian rhymes and then made our way home.

The night was capped off by a picture with the friendly owner of Club Paradiso, Andrea.

DAY FIVE

This replica of Michelangelo's David at the Piazzale Michelangelo just did not cut it.

The synagogue of Florence.

Our last day in Florence provided us with our first, and only, speed bump of the entire trip.  We awoke early to get to the Accademia di Belle Arti to see, among other things, Michelangelo's sculpture of David.  Expecting a long line out the door, we were bewildered to find the street in front of the Accademia absolutely vacant.  Some friendly tourists came by and told us the bad news: although the Accademia is open on Sundays, today was May Day, the Italian labor day, and all museums were closed.  Erik and I cursed our bad luck and tried to hastily form a backup plan.  That day, we had planned to go to the Accademia, then the Florence synagogue and end at the Medici Chapels to see more of Michelangelo's work.  Yet, we were thwarted on all three accounts.  Though we were able to see the exterior of the synagogue, with its verdigris rooftop, we could not go inside.  Similarly, at the Medici Chapels, we were turned away.  The Basilica di San Lorenzo was open, so Erik and I had a quick look around.  We were able to see one fresco by Donatello and some other fancy artwork, but our thirst for the most immaculate artwork in Florence was left sadly unquenched.

The Basilica di San Lorenzo is connected to the Medici Chapels.

Parading labor party members.

We were, however, intercepted by a large parade of hooting, hollering supporters of the Italian labor party.  So, we substituted the sight of David for the sight of some enthusiastic people who wore red and clanged raucously on snare drums.  Yet, as Erik and I sat down for a pizza lunch, we assured each other that we would some day return to Florence and see the three sites that had eluded us.  In the afternoon, we snagged some gelato and boarded a train headed for Treviso, a city right outside of Venice.  Erik and I had booked a bed and breakfast in Treviso because of the lack of rooming and the outrageous costs of the Venetian hostels.  Our housing for the next three nights would prove to be ideal since we were flying out of Treviso.  We also would be welcomed each morning by the proprietor, Luca, with some warm croissants, cold cereals and sweet jams.  Plus, our bed and breakfast was near a pizza place called Mondo Pizza that served some of the freshest, largest and cheapest pizza Erik and I had ever come across.  Besides from our bed and breakfast, Mondo Pizza would become our home for the next three nights as Erik and I would order two different pizzas each night.  Hey, when traveling, one must sample the local cuisine.

Our first two succulent pizzas from Mondo Pizza.

DAY SIX

One of the thousands of beautiful canals in Venice.

The train from Treviso Centrale to the Venezia - Santa Lucia station was about half an hour.  Erik and I rose early so we could spend the entire day in Venice.  The train ride was pleasant and scenic; for the last four kilometers or so, we traveled on a single track over the water with boats and islands on either side.  Finally, we arrived in Venice and immediately understood why the island is revered as one of the most beautiful cities in the world.  Venice is made up of six different districts: Santa Croce, San Polo, San Marco, Cannaregio, Castelo and Dorsoduro.  The train station let us out in Santa Croce, a small district with many gondolas, souvenir stands and restaurants.  Though I had a map with me, I only used it as a general guideline to help orient us.  Yet, we really had little use for it because of the signs for main Venetian landmarks and the fact that Venice is a place where you must get lost.  In fact, as we were walking and I was gazing, dumbfounded, at my map, an Italian walked by and commented in English, "Guys, don't worry. It's only Venice!"

The busy steps of the Rialto Bridge.

We followed signs towards the Rialto Bridge, a widemouthed bridge that crosses from San Polo into San Marco.  San Polo is similar to Santa Croce in that it is covered by shops, gelaterias and some kitschy restaurants.  Everywhere we turned, we saw stores selling glass works, keychains, t-shirts and Venetian Carnaval masks.  Yet, San Marco may be the most touristy district of all.  As a tourist myself, I had no right to complain about the swarms of people flashing photos, speaking several decibels too loud and wearing hats that read "Venice" across the top.  I did, however, wish for a little more peace and quiet so I could enjoy the scenery around me without interruption.  So, Erik and I only stayed briefly in Piazza San Marco, a huge square with several beautifully constructed buildings.  On one end, the Basilica di San Marco, a Byzantine church dating from the 11th century, stands tall with its pointed domes, intricate, rooftop iconography and gilded accents.  Adjacent to the Basilica is its Campanile, a 32 story high brick bell tower topped with a green, pyramidal cap and a gold weathervane.  Finally, enclosing the square are three connected buildings called the Procuratie.  The buildings have elegant archways throughout their upper and lower bodies and the last building was actually completed under Napoleon's occupation of Italy.  Piazza San Marco is certainly a must see destination, despite the massive crowds.

Piazza San Marco is quite the tourist hub.

A lone gondola in Dorsoduro.

 From Piazza San Marco, we traversed the winding streets to the Ponte dell'Accademia, the bridge that takes travelers from San Marco to Dorsoduro.  Dorsoduro was a lovely change of pace from the boisterousness of Piazza San Marco.  Dorsoduro has some of the most quaint and adorable Venetian houses with several good restaurants.  The streets are pretty quiet and it is easy to find yourself wandering without anyone around you at all.  Erik and I took some side streets to the Peggy Guggenheim Museum.  Built out of Guggenheim's former residence, the museum houses many paintings from her personal collection ranging from Picasso to Dalí to Jackson Pollock to Guggenheim's own daughter, Pegeen Vail.  Coupled with a sculpture garden and a temporary exhibition of Vorticism, a brief British art movement during the early 20th century.  The Vorticism exhibit contained sculptures, photos and paintings from the likes of Wyndham Lewis and Jacob Epstein, all with Cubist and Futurist roots.  The Guggenheim collection was especially intriguing because it was Guggenheim's personal collection, and black and white photographs on every wall showed Peggy and the interior design of her former residence from decades ago.

Part of Peggy Guggenheim's personal collection.

After the Guggenheim, Erik and I continued down the tip of Dorsoduro to Santa Maria della Salute, a white, domed church right on the water's edge.  There, we sat on the steps of the church looking out at the water, the row of houses in the San Marco district and the boats slowly passing us.  It was a special moment that I will never forget, sitting alone with my own thoughts and my own perceptions of Venice.  Finally, we roused and headed to a little corner restaurant for lunch.  Erik had a large panini and I wolfed down some tagliatelle bolognese.  We wandered around Dorsoduro some more before heading back towards San Marco and, finally, Castelo.  Castelo, like Dorsoduro, was much more tranquil and empty.  As we walked through Castelo, we saw women bustling around the kitchen through open windows and we saw some young kids kicking a soccer ball.  Castelo was truly the residential, secluded spot of Venice we had hoped to see.  Erik and I stopped and sat at water's edge once again to view the boats cruise by as the sun set.  

The Santa Maria della Salute.

Our last stop before taking the train home was the district of Cannaregio.  We followed the Strada Nuova, the main road, all the way to a little former Jewish quarter.  There, I was intrigued by the Hebrew written on the walls.  Yet, the Jewish center was very small and not too noteworthy.  Finally, we boarded the train back to Treviso for the night.  In one day of traversing Venice, we had cut through all six of the districts.  Yet, we had big plans for the next day as well.

The entrance to the Hebrew Museum in the Jewish quarter of Cannaregio.

DAY SEVEN

A scenic shot of Venice.

Our second day in Venice was much like our first.  We took an early train into the Venezia - Santa Lucia stop (where we met a nice, traveling salesman from Barcelona) and then began to wander.  Our entire morning was spent losing ourselves on the winding streets of Dorsoduro, gazing out from bridges at the canals, drifting gondolas and colored houses.  After a few hours, we stopped for an early lunch of pasta.  I ordered a tasty plate of gnocchi with mozzarella cheese that hit the spot.  From there, we headed back towards San Marco to the main square.  Erik had been interested in scoping out a temporary Ernest Hemingway exhibit that we had seen signage for the day before.  Eventually, we found the exhibit, which was held in an old library, and entered.  The exhibit was a compilation of black and white photos taken of Hemingway during his time in Venice.  Also on display was the black typewriter he used to create some of his stories while in Italy.

The library that housed the Hemingway exhibit.

From there, Erik and I had to venture over to Harry's Bar, the celebrity haven that has served the likes of Hemingway, Woody Allen, Alfred Hitchcock, Charlie Chaplin, Truman Capote and Orson Welles.  In fact, several of the pictures in the Hemingway exhibit showed a smirking Hemingway next to his friend and the owner of Harry's, Giuseppe Cipriani.  Since two college kids had no business entering such a classy joint and ordering 10 euro drinks, Erik and I took a quick peek inside and then snapped some photos of the inconspicuous exterior.

Outside of the famous Harry's Bar.

The day ended with more of the same: walking, getting lost along the winding streets and babbling canals and simply enjoying our surroundings.  Venice is truly a magical city unlike any other, and you feel the power of the city when you walk quietly down the empty, echoing streets.  We ended the day sitting on the edge of the water one final time, watching the gondolas pass and cherishing the moment and the beauty of life in Venice.

One last look at Venice.

DAY EIGHT
Erik and I had an early flight.  We bid one final adieu to Treviso and to Mondo Pizza and jetted back to Seville.

Since I returned from Italy, many people have asked me about my favorite city of the three.  I always give the same answer: after a short, one week trip, I fell in love with Rome, Florence and Venice because of their distinct qualities.  In Rome, I was enraptured by the preserved architecture and religious spectacles.  In Florence, I ogled the art, devoured the food and enjoyed the sites.  And, in Venice, I simply strolled down some of the most serene, scenic streets with flowing water lapping under my toes.  Each city was an adventure and an experience in its own right and I could not imagine possibly picking a favorite.  I can only hope to some day return and repeat my Italian journey when I am a bit older, and hopefully I will have a beautiful girl, rather than Erik's ugly mug, to keep me company!