Archive Page 2

And so, two years later…

…we’re back.

Maybe. Sort of.

I originally started this site, back when I was but a wee college junior, with the intention of chronicling my semester abroad, and thereafter turning it into a slice-of-life blog that would, indubitably, contain my witty (yet profound) observations on the trials of life as a middle-class 20-something. Needless to say, that fell apart pretty quickly, as you can see from even a cursory glance through the archive. I made it maybe three-quarters of the way through that semester still blogging, always playing catch-up (“Hey guys, just had an awesome time in Istanbul, I’ll tell you all about it later…oh, whoops, I have to go to Ireland now!”), never quite getting there. Then I came home, and the task of retelling all those wonderful beautiful eye-opening experiences just seemed too large to tackle.

Then senior year happened, and the less said about that milieu of sleep deprivation and overcaffeination and nervous breakdowns in diner parking lots at 1:00 in the morning and thesis-writing and some of the best times I’ve had with some of the best people I’ve met, the better, probably. After a while (and it’s been a while, over a year, Jaysus, when did that happen?), the college war stories stop being interesting to anyone except the people who lived them, and while there are a few experiences here and there from which I might still be able to pull a gem worth writing about, I think those stories will have to wait for a while. I miss them a little too much, still.

So Nine Points has sat in a lonely, dusty corner of the Internet, unused, unloved, unlooked-at since 2008. But I’ve been having the writing itch like mad, lately, and being no good at fiction and embarrassingly self-absorbed when it comes to poetry, what better way to satisfy that urge by boring everyone who comes across this blog with tales of the completely interesting (read: not really at all) things that happen in my life? I’m so envious of the blog-writers I follow regularly (Sars, Holly, Pamie—look at me, pretending I’m on a first-name basis with them; sorry, guys—my good friend Maggie, my sassy potato […don’t ask]), of their abilities to turn a week at the job or a business trip or a photograph or a conversation from last night into a beautifully-rendered story without it sounding like someone’s high-school Livejournal. I want to be able to do that, someday, and the only way to do that is to practice. There’s a quotation about writing I love, and I can’t remember who said it, or if I even have the phrasing right, but it’s something like “Writers write. That’s all there is.” Not to put too fine a point on it, but: exactly.

So, kind readers, if there are actually any of you out there (…I’m terrified that there are still some RSS subscriptions floating around, from back when I actually wrote here; sorry if this post shows up in your e-mail and you’re all “the hell?”), please be forgiving as I go about this completely self-indulgent exercise. I’ll try to make it at least a little interesting, and a little bit regular.

No promises, though. I am working three jobs at the moment. It’s hard out here for a recent college grad.

Éireann go Brách?

So I survived finals. I survived saying goodbye to Faraday House and the awesome people who run it. I survived the preliminary packing for home. And now I go to Ireland (Ireland!) until the 6th.  I’m still the world’s worst blogger, of course, and have a backlog the size of Pittsburgh to catch up on, but…I’m going to Ireland. If you know me at all, you’ll know that I’ve been waiting my entire life for a chance to go; it’s like a pilgrimage, like returning to the homeland. Which…I’ve never seen before. But shh.

Ireland! Back on the 6th, guys; then one last day in London, lots to get done, and home.

(Well, Syracuse, at least. Close enough.)

Excuses, excuses

Istanbul will “follow soon,” eh? Yeah, I’m a big fat liar. But it’s not (entirely) my fault, because let me tell you, that whole “Oh, I’m only taking fifteen credits, easiest semester ever” thing? Completely false. The past few weeks have been an absolute blur of papers and final projects and awesome London-y things, and…I don’t even know when I’ll have the time to catch up on bloggin’ it all. Probably when I get home. Which is a scant three weeks from today. Oy.

But rest assured, I’m keeping extensive mental notes on everything that’s happening. The retelling will be epic. Be excited.

Aaand back to work. See you…um, soon?

Roman Holiday (Part Four)

[The last of the Italy recaps, finally. Istanbul to follow soon!]

Sunday, 9 Mar: Rome, Sweet Rome

Our plan for Sunday is mighty ambitious. We’ve basically outlined a walking tour of the entire city to see all of the things we’ve missed: we start at the Vatican (where Flatmate Megan attended an early mass – we meet her there), walk over towards the Castello di San Angelo, along the Tiber for a while, across the river, by the Ara Pacis (which is enclosed in a gorgeous modern building with a disappointingly high entrance fee) and the Mausoleum of Augustus, up to the Piazza del Popolo for gelato and a sit at the base of the obelisk, up the adjacent steps and along the outskirts of a part, over and down the Spanish Steps for a quick street-café lunch, to Trevi Fountain to make wishes and throw Euros into the water, back over to the Colosseum and up the Via dei Fori Imperiali to take daytime pictures of the Forum from the Capitoline, then over to the Circus Maximus and, finally, down to the Baths of Caracalla to gawk at the mosaics and accidentally watch seagulls mating.

…For those of you keeping track, we walked ALL OF ROME. All of it. No, really – all of it. It’s incredible, of course, and I’m thrilled that I got to see the rest of the major landmarks (I really don’t think we missed a single one), but by the time we leave the Baths, it’s getting cold and I’m practically dead on my feet. Plus, I’d started feeling kind of ill around lunchtime (the details, you don’t need to know), so I head back to the hostel to lie down for a while, while the other three hit up the Santa Maria Maggiore, the beautiful old church we’ve walked past every day on our way to breakfast. By the time they return bearing dinner, I’m feeling considerably better. We’re all quite exhausted, and spend our last night in Rome on the roof terrace again, huddled in blankets, pondering Deep Things and talking into the darkness.

Continue reading ‘Roman Holiday (Part Four)’

Now it’s Istanbul, not Constantinople

By 4:00 tonight, I’ll be on a plane to Istanbul. Istanbul! (Am I packed? Nope. Flatmate Kathleen and I just had a discussion about how this semester has utterly changed our perspectives on travel, namely re: our respective tendencies to overprepare. Never before would we be this lax about it. Throw some clothes and a toothbrush in a suitcase, done. It’s kind of nice, really.)

This means, of course, that we’ll have to take a break in the ongoing Spring Break Chronicles. I’m sensing a pattern here: whoops, have to go on break, I’ll talk about London when that’s done. Whoops, have to go to Istanbul, I’ll finish telling you about Italy when I’m back. But when do I post about Istanbul? When will I have the time to get caught up?

Apparently, I’m the world’s worst blogger. Awesome.

Hee. But no, I’m beyond excited for this weekend (Istanbul!), and I’ve determined not to let the scary amount of classwork I have upcoming distract me from having an awesome time. I’ll take far too many pictures and buy too many souvenirs and eat too much food and it’ll be perfect. And I totally have the They Might Be Giants song stuck in my head. I think I need to go listen to some Dvorak while I pack or something. Away! See y’all Sunday.

Istanbul! (Not Constantinople.)

Roman Holiday (Part Three)

Saturday, 8 Mar: There’s No Place Like Rome

Today, apparently, is our Vatican day. We spend the morning in the Vatican Museum, which…well, it goes on pretty much forever. There’s just so much stuff in there – so much stuff – that it’d be impossible to actually study it all, to give it the attention it deserves, and the museum is a constant mass of people. We pick a lovely day to wait outside in the line (sunny, blue skies, finally), and get there early enough to gain entrance pretty quickly. Once inside, I’m totally fine through the Egyptian and Greek and Etruscan collections, but by the time we reach the endless galleries of Christian art, the endless rooms with magnificent carvings and painted ceilings, I’m hungry and I have to go to the bathroom and my body is rebelling against the Museum Walk – you know, the terrible slow shuffling motion that, after a few hours, becomes unbearable. We keep turning corners and seeing more and more seemingly infinite series of galleries, and even though I pride myself on having a greater museum attention span than most, by this point my brain has totally shut off. Even worse, the crowds inside the museum are making it impossible to just rush through to the Sistine Chapel (the anticipation of which is the only thing keeping me sane), forcing us to move at an infuriatingly bovine pace. Let’s go, I want to shout at the tourists, forgetting, of course, that I’m one too.

Finally, just before the Sistine Chapel, we find bathrooms (sweet relief), and book it through the last few rooms to the grand prize awaiting us at the end of the line. The Chapel, of course, is jam-packed with people, but after a couple of minutes we find spots on the long bench at either side of the room. Sitting down, I’m much more able to appreciate the ceiling – which is, of course, incredible, and thanks to its most recent restoration in 2000 (or thereabouts), is exactly as you would hope it to be. The ceiling is impressive purely by its scale, of course, and by association with Michelangelo, but the more I look at it, the more details I start to notice, the more I start to appreciate it. Michelangelo’s sense of humor comes through in the most subtle touches – the expression of a face here, the angle of an arm there – and the overall composition and rendering is textbook Renaissance. Religious art has never been my favorite field, aesthetically speaking, but the Sistine Chapel is really incredible.

Continue reading ‘Roman Holiday (Part Three)’

Roman Holiday (Part Two)

Friday, 7 Mar: Romeward Bound (which I really should’ve used for the title of the last entry, but oh well)

Friday dawns grey and…wet. Again. Some more. Always. Great. But we have Big Plans, and I for one certainly don’t plan on letting a little rain stop me – I mean, I usually live eight months out of the year in Syracuse, New York, which is the Unfortunate Weather Capital of the World, so what’s the big? After a croissant and cappuccino from the café down the road (here’s a hint: when traveling, find a hostel that gives you breakfast vouchers) (and here’s another one: Italy makes great cappuccino), we set out to buy a three-day pass for the Metro and head for the Pantheon.

Public transportation in Rome serves as an interesting comparison to other cities’, especially after living in London for two months. The subway system has two lines (London has at least a million) that create a giant X under the city, at the center of which is Termini station. The problem with this? The X, while it’s an attractive enough shape, leaves huge swaths of the city out of convenient reach of the Metro. The Tube in London may seem a mess of lines and stations and buskers, but by golly it gets you where you need to go. I’m sure the buses in Rome supplement the service provided by the Metro, but it’s just…interesting, to see a completely different approach to mass transit. The Metro stations tend to be dimmer and generally sketchier than in London, the trains more…I don’t know, sketchy. It gets the job done, I suppose, but it certainly makes me appreciate (and I’m almost homesick for, in an odd way) the London Underground.

Whoo, tangent. Anyway: the layout of the Metro means we have to get off at some stop that’s really nowhere near the Pantheon. I like a walk as much as the next person, though, and even though it’s cold and wet, we splash our way merrily through the streets of Rome. No, it’s fine. My fingers are supposed to be purple like this. No, really.

Continue reading ‘Roman Holiday (Part Two)’