Weeks 3 and 4, 13-11-2021
Hello again, friends!
I have been looking forward to writing this since I sent my last one. I was almost tempted to write it a week early, but given that historically I've been bad at pacing myself, this seemed like a good opportunity to practice. And speaking of practices -- when I've talked with close friends about the writing process, the most succinct reflection is that it feels good to be writing towards something specific, which I don't often do outside of academic contexts. This feels very authentic. (I've moved the ground rules to the bottom of the email, as an appendix, but they are still top of mind and heart for me.)
Since my first email, I spent a long weekend in Napoli with 3 other Fulbrighters, which will feature heavily in the word pictures and the actual pictures. I'm adding a new section, just to try on for size; it's a place for thoughts and reflections that don't fit well into the word pictures section but aren't cohesive enough to warrant their own section. And I'm sharing one longer reflection on history. (I was going to compare Italian and American public high schools, but this email is also much longer than my first! I'm reflecting on how to balance being authentic with being concise. Pushing high schools to the next one.)
And a quick housekeeping note -- I know a few people have joined since Oct 29. Welcome!! I'm excited to converse with you. When I added your emails, I also forwarded you my first newsletter (and if you didn't get it, the archive is here), but that will not be the cadence. Generally, I'll write & send updates every 2 weeks on Fri or Sat.
Napoli waterfront, just southwest of Piazza del Plebiscito, looking south towards Vesuvius (the top of which is hidden by the clouds). So far, this is my favorite part of the city.
Castel dell'Ovo, looking North towards Pozzuoli. Pozzuoli is a little closer to Mondragone, and is next on my day trip list.
Vomero, right in front of Castel Sant'Elmo. These are the other Fulbrighters! They traveled from Brindisi, Campobasso and Aversa to get there. We took the funicolare to get up the hill -- I was expecting it to be like the Mt Washington incline in Pittsburgh (shoutout to Pittsburgh friends!), but the route we took was fully underground.
Vesuvius from Vomero, sans our faces. We arrived at dusk (which came much earlier than expected -- it was the first night of Daylight Savings, which we realized at 10 am that morning), but we got to watch the city wake up for the night.
Word Pictures (from Napoli)
- Within the first few hours of exploring the city together, the other Fulbrighters noted how good my sense of direction was. So the next morning we left the airbnb, and I confidently started walking directly south, because we were trying to get to the water. We did get to the water! But we ended up in the middle of the port of Napoli, walking on the narrow shoulder of a one-lane road between warehouses with the container cranes looming over us. There were only busses and trucks, and the drivers were giving us weird looks. We eventually made it to Castel Nuovo, but it was not the scenic route. (My sense of direction wasn't totally off, though.)
- A very stereotypically Italian street performance. (Word pictures will not do it justice, please please click this drive link; the video is short.)
- A lost water bottle! RIP. I purchased it at a small bike shop in Great Bend, KS about a year ago. From there it traveled around St. John, KS and the surrounding area (strapped to my bike), and then it traveled back to Philly (in the cup holder of my car), and all up and down the Schuylkill trail (strapped to my bike again). It also joined me on trips to Poughkeepsie, Pittsburgh, Indiana, Maine, Baltimore, DC, and New York City (on my bike, in my car, and in the side pouch of my backpack). From Great Bend, KS to Naples and everywhere in between. It's been a good run!
- Sitting on a ledge at Castel Sant'Elmo with our legs dangling over the hill (sorry, Mom), watching the sun set and the lights turn on. It was Halloween and there were lots of bats flying around. Everyone said how fitting it was, but I couldn't stop flinching. (For anyone who didn't hear, I had to get rabies shots this summer because while I was riding my bike at dusk, a bat collided with my face.)
- Walking around Napoli for 2 hours in torrential rain. (There is a meteorological phenomenon called a Medi-cane? It's a Mediterranean cyclone/hurricane. Every time I hear Medi-cane out loud I think "Medicaid," and then have to remind myself that we are talking about weather, not healthcare policy.) Rounding a corner near the water, getting hit by a strong gust of wind, unzipping our jackets and standing at the pier with our arms outstretched, whooping into the wind and letting it carry our voices across the city. Nobody else was around. Sprinting across an empty, wet, (and slightly slippery, sorry again, Mom) Piazza del Plebiscito (where we'd seen the singers earlier in the day). The walk was my idea, and I was grateful that the others went along with it. I think often about a similar night at Vassar 3 years ago -- it was an April rainstorm in the Hudson Valley. Cassie and I ran around campus in the rain without umbrellas. Nobody else was around. We encountered only one other rain-walked who said "Ah, more crazy people!" The next day somebody asked me, "Was that your laughter I heard from my window during the storm last night?" So this made Napoli feel like home.
- I learned that most cafes don't like to seat you at a table unless you are buying food with your espresso. One morning I woke up before the rest of the group and wanted to find somewhere to sit and journal. I went to THREE different cafes, ordered a coffee, and then went to sit at a table, only to be told I needed to stand at the bar. After an hour of walking, standing, drinking espresso, and looking for a bench or planter to sit on, I went back to the airbnb -- very caffeinated, and with just as many thoughts to write down, except they were even more difficult to keep track of.
- Eating a pastry alone in the piazza -- On the last day, there were only 2 of us, and we decided to walk around separately. I went back to the GF bakery and got a pastry for breakfast, but it was a beautiful morning and I wanted to eat outside (they only had indoor seating). So I walked until I found a bench, and sat in a piazza by myself, and ate a (messy!) pastry while people walked past. They were delicious!
Word Pictures (not from Napoli)
- "I eat Philadelphia for lunch!" --- Two of my students are very checked out. The teacher explained that high school is mandatory in Italy until the age of 16; they are both 15, and will likely drop out when they have their 16th birthdays this year. (More on that next week.) They only respond if spoken to directly, so I asked one a question for the first time since I started, and he asked who I am and why I'm here. I explained that I'm American, I'm here to teach, and I'm from Philadelphia. He responded, "I eat Philadelphia for lunch, that's a cheese!"
- Carrying 26 lbs of water a half mile --- The water here is not potable (it smells a little musty when I do laundry), and I've been told very clearly not to drink it, and only to cook with it if I'm boiling it. So everyone buys cases of water at the grocery store every week, six two-liter bottles. (I really am unsure about the environmental impact of these? Because Italy's recycling program is much more comprehensive than anywhere I've lived in the US.) I made it 2 weeks with the case of water that my host family had left for me, but last weekend I finally caved and bought some water at the store. I have seen people carry it -- I realized after the fact that I've only seen them carry it for short distances -- so I walked out of the store, bear hugging my case of water to walk 750 meters home. And after about 200m, I started to wonder how much this case of water actually weighed. I got many weird looks, and an old woman (the same one from last time!) said in a combination of Italian and Mondragonese dialect that "I'll tire myself out if I keep going like that!" Once I got home, I looked it up and 12L of water is ~26 lbs. So my arms and upper back will be very strong by the time I leave here! The funniest part, though, is that the cases come with these terrible, useless plastic handles (I'm talking grocery bag plastic) on the top that roll up and dig into your hands, and that are not well-connected to the actual case of water. 26 lbs of water on a single piece of grocery bag plastic.
- "Pumarole" --- In Italy, you cannot pick your own produce. You tell the shop owner how much you want of each thing, and they weight it. So I went to the corner store and was buying my produce, and I guess my accent gave me away (which usually does not happen) because the owner asked where I'm from. I explained my situation, and he started to teach me how to say each vegetable in the Mondragonese dialect! My favorite one is tomato -- instead of "pomodoro" it's "pumarole." I'm going to get produce there every weekend, and by the end of the year I'll know all the fruits and vegetables in Mondragonese.
- Accidentally purchasing 6 jumbo packages of swiffer wet refills instead of one normal package --- I mentioned that my culture shock has manifested primarily in me not knowing where to find things. This week I was able to find a swiffer and swiffer wet and dry refills online -- finally! I hate mopping, but I'll swiffer all day. (There is a video somewhere of me, senior year of college, at 2 am swiffering our apartment after hosting a birthday party while the rest of my house sits on the couch, feeling sick.) When I'd purchased the refills, I noticed that they were a little more expensive than in the US but was happy to pay the difference. The package arrived a few days ago, and it was massive and heavy -- turns out that swiffer refills are in fact significantly cheaper here than in the US. I don't think I could use all of these between now and July even if I swiffered every single day.
- Giancarlo is the 9-year-old child in my "host family". He attends an English immersion elementary school, and we usually speak in English. At pranzo last Sunday, we had one of the longest uninterrupted conversations we've had yet. I was trying to figure out what was so amusing about talking with him. It's that he speaks English with the voice of a child, and with a heavy Italian accent, but he also has the patterns of speech, cadence, intonation, facial expressions, hand gestures and mannerisms of an old Italian man.
Napoli Sottoterranea -- a museum, with guided tours only, that chronicles the history of the manmade tunnel system underneath the city from inside the tunnel system. It isn't all this narrow!
There is an ABUNDANCE of gluten free food in Napoli. I was able to find a meal in whichever neighborhood we found ourselves in when we got hungry! Pictured here, a marinara pizza and sfogliatella ricca.
There is also an abundance of graffiti! Not all of it is this inclusive; these were some highlights.
And another highlight -- my name! Spotted outside the train station. I hope that 2006 Antonella is doing well, with or without Agostino. I also have one student named Antonella, and my host mom's best friend is named Antonella. It's off-putting? I'm not used to encountering other people with my name. There were never any other Antonellas in my class in elementary school.
Last one from Napoli, not graffiti but on a wall. Many of the streets are named after notable Italians, and some of these notable Italians are composers. For example, my running route in Mondragone takes me along Via G. Rossini, and I cross Via G. Verdi. I don't think that Wagner's given name is "Riccardo," Wilhelm Richard is maybe a tad more historically accurate. But I appreciate the inclusion of composers of other nationalities in the Napolitano street naming process!
From the journal of Antonella
This is that section that I'm trying on for size! It comes from my wanting to share some of the big questions that are coming up in my writing. It's like "from the desk of..." except those who have spent a lot of time with me know that I never journal at a desk.
- The #1 biggest reflection: the relationship between loneliness and aloneness --- I was really struggling with the adjustment to being far away from friends and family. And I was surprised by this (no offense to my friends and family) because I consider myself to have a really strong relationship with myself, to the point that I sometimes get annoyed when I spend too much time with other people because it feels like encroachment on me-time. The difference between loneliness and aloneness is a concept I've sat with, extensively, but it seems I need to revisit it. So I've found myself reflecting on the moments in my life when I've been most secure in my relationship with myself -- the my car accident year, primarily, but also the 3 years after that. I spent a lot of time alone and enjoyed it, but it was all under this umbrella of my-number-one-priority-is-managing-my-neuro-symptoms. So the new question I've landed on: If my only experiences of having a strong relationship with myself were inextricably linked to physical health challenges, how do I draw from those past experiences of joyful aloneness without reverting back to the limitations of the physical health challenges which catalyzed them? How do I conceptualize and manifest a relationship with myself that is just as strong, but also more fluid?
- The relationship between reciprocity and community --- Someone recently asked me if I'm "finding community." My gut reaction was no, because I do not have meaningful friendships here. (Most of my social life is virtual with friends in the US.) However, I have felt so supported since I arrived: a family has opened part of their home to me; countless teachers have driven me all over Caserta to get me set up and have answered my many, many questions; I've had pranzo (lunch) at a different home every weekend; and nobody lets me pay for coffee or drinks. But it's not reciprocated. I'm receiving all this generous support, but I am not giving it back (except in that I'm teaching at the high school for much less than I was earning before I left the states). So I am unsure whether I can say that I have "found community"; it still feels like no, because previous experiences of being in community have felt much more vulnerable, less professionally-centered, very intentional, and very reciprocal. At the same time, this can be an opportunity to question, redefine and broaden my concept of community.
- Balancing my needs with my activism --- I'm using Amazon for the first time in 3 years. I'm eating meat (occasionally) for the first time in over 10 years. But I am not beating myself up for it. The actions I'm taking to meet my needs do not negate my commitment to these causes. To think that using Amazon (sparingly) for the next 9 months is going to make a significant difference in the movements against corporate power and income inequality, or that eating meat once a week is going to mitigate climate change and make the American food industry more ethical and sustainable is to perpetuate the individuation of responsibility (not to mention the impact on me while I'm here). That is not to say that action on the individual level is meaningless, or that it's impossible to manifest commitments to these causes in one's daily life. But it is to say that I am allowed to put my needs first, without berating myself for needing to change some of my behaviors. And despite these shifts, when one of my teachers heard that I needed to miss an (optional) lecture to be on a Zoom call for a nonprofit that I am part of in the US, she said she was not surprised because I am "impegnata" -- socially/politically active.
Mondragone (on another run, this time in the afternoon) looking South towards the island of Ischia, across the bay from Naples.
Regina update -- on Sunday I opened my door to leave and Regina meowed at me from the roof. I've never seen her sit there, but she looks very tranquilla! (Also, this is the yard -- cacti and palm trees.)
Reflections on history
This was originally one of my points in "from the journal of..." but I decided to give it its own space. We'll get to the school system next time.
I am struck by the history here - its longevity, its ubiquity, and its manifestation in physical space.
The apartment I just moved out of in Conshohocken, which I miss very much, was part of a farmhouse that was built in 1795. It was quirky -- it had no right angles, everything sloped (so much that my watch would say that I'd met my stair goal if I walked back and forth on the hallway enough times), all the ceilings were different heights, and it was so drafty that it would more accurately be called a breeze. The stairs had a banister that looked out directly onto the wall that divided the apartments, and there was a step down in the middle of the hallway where they added an addition at one point. It was also just off of the median of a busy 5-point intersection, surrounded by luxury apartment buildings (think Disney's Up). I would often think about how many people had lived/experienced life in the same space where I experienced 10.5 months of my life. (This stemmed from my thinking that the house was haunted, and, considering how old the building was, presuming that at least one person had died inside at some point.) I wondered if the house had been owned by one family for multiple generations in the 1800s, and if so, who they were. I knew it was turned into apartments around the 1920s/1930s, and wondered again if anyone rented long-term, or if they only stayed for a few years. Likewise, at Vassar I would imagine how many students for over the past 150 years had gotten ready to go out, pulled all-nighters, made new friends, learned something paradigm-shifting, lost a loved one, gained a loved one, dumped someone or been dumped, and felt everything in the spectrum of human emotion -- all in the same space where my friends and I lived and experienced the same. (The turnover on this one was definitely much higher than the farmhouse, less to wonder about there.) But how beautiful! The buildings here are all much, much older than the Vassar dorms and the Conshy farmhouse. I cannot begin to fathom just how many people, going back for hundreds and hundreds of years, have lived in the spaces that I occupy here in Mondragone, and in other parts of Italy. And I wish I knew more about their stories.
Which brings me to: in Napoli from the overlook at Castel Sant'Elmo I felt moved by Mt Vesuvius, as though it were emotionally significant to see it in person, a milestone of sorts. I immediately thought back to learning about Pompeii in second or third grade. I have a heightened awareness of the history of this particular mountain because of its notoriety. But then I looked the other direction and saw other mountains, I thought of the mountain behind Mondragone, and of all the mountains I drove through when I was here 3 years ago. Those mountains have also impacted the communities on and around them in countless ways for just as long (albeit not as catastrophically) as Vesuvius. But for their lack of inclusion in recorded and widely-taught history, I might never fully understand their significance. This makes me think of the first chapter of my senior thesis, about who records history (see Trouillot, Michel-Rolph. Silencing the Past: Power and the Production of History. Boston: Beacon, 1995.) This situation is less about identity and power and more about the preservation of archaeological artifacts, but there is some overlap. (When we were at the Museo Archeologico in Napoli, they had a massive wing just on Pompeii; in any other country, I'd question the ethics of how those artifacts were obtained, but they only traveled a few miles to get to this museum.)
I wonder this reflection is in part inspired by feeling more connected to my ancestry here. To some degree, yes, but that's for another newsletter. More so, I think it has to do with an awareness of the erasure of Native history in America. I rarely feel this sense of longevity at home, even in mountainous regions. But people have been experiencing life in America in all the meaningful ways that I'm reflecting on here in Italy, for just as long! It's because we colonized their land and deliberately erased their histories that it's more difficult for me to conceptualize this longevity in America. The concept of American history I had as a child started as late as ~1770, maybe 1492 if we're being generous, and what I did get after that was deeply ahistorical. But my concept of Italian/ancient Roman history extends much further back in history; it's still ahistorical in some ways, but not erased to the same degree.
I'm excited to write about the school system in my next newsletter, and share some of the lessons we've done so far. But even without that context, I can say that I will incorporate these deeper reflections and cultural comparisons, especially those around power, into my lessons throughout the year.
Funny selections from my TESOL (Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages) certification -- This slide was in the final module of the course. I don't think it has been updated since 2008 because it looks like something I'd have made in the computer lab in elementary school. And this video never loaded, so I'll never know why the children were yelling about fruit. But the transcript went on for 4 pages!
I am so happy that this community is growing! I am also going to keep reflecting on ways to be authentic to my community norms, and how to structure these in a way that facilitates 2-way interaction as much as possible. I think changing the last section to a reflection on history, since it was already near the surface, is a good example of upholding my intention to let the practice serve me rather than vice versa. In the meantime, thank you for valuing my reflections! And please know that I always welcome replies, and never want them to be burdensome.
Con tranquillita` (magari di piu`),
Antonella
Appendix: Ground Rules
- This is a time for me of reconnecting with a number of practices that have been interrupted by the pandemic; by the 3-part-time-jobs, recent-humanities-grad, gig-economy work routine that I've just left; and by the inevitable ebb and flow of intersecting needs. This is just that -- a practice, a practice of connection, a practice of reflection, a practice of synthesis, a practice of perspective.
- This is not meant to replace my 1:1 interactions!
- This should serve me. There is no right or wrong way for me to structure these. Like my bullet journal, if the structure becomes cumbersome, it means my needs are shifting and I need to re-evaluate what I am including and how I am preparing to write.
- This is not a finished product, ever, by any standard. I will not fret over punctuation, word choice, or syntax. There are many spaces in my life where those things do matter, quite a lot, but they are not a priority here.