Mes Amis Allumés

Italian culture does not support or encourage quirkiness. Perhaps it exists somewhere, but even within the walls of the Scuola Normale Superiore (SNS), the Harvard of Italy, it’s hard to find. I’d been thinking that it must just be me and a run of bad luck until I finally fell into a group of foreigners scattered throughout the different SNS colleges (dorms) who all confirmed my observations. In the US, we have a time in which people can exist between childhood and adulthood, those few years known as college. This period of limbo when we experience our first taste of freedom but are not yet burdened with the full responsibility associated with adult independence does not exist broadly in Italy. Most Italian students live with their families throughout their undergrad years, and their universities do not have campuses or extracurricular student organizations. This leads Italians to not fully understand or appreciate the young, energetic culture on which many (American, at least) college students thrive.

Fortunately, I finally found some kindred spirits, even if it took a fair bit of time. In mid-November, one day while in line for dinner at the SNS cafeteria, I caught a few words of English while my iPod was switching between songs. Slipping off my earbuds, I realized I was standing right in front of a couple British students. After a bit of internal turmoil as to whether or not it would be too awkward to interrupt their conversation with an obviously American "Hi!," particularly after having stood in front of them for the past ten to fifteen minutes, my urge to converse with some people who shared my native language got the best of me and thus I turned around. The two, Jack and Lucy, happen to be Italian literature students from Oxford and Cambridge spending the year abroad. We ended up eating dinner together that night and though we didn’t see each other again for nearly two weeks, Jack and I caught up again over my Thanksgiving feast. From there our friendship snowballed into something that’s colored my entire experience in Pisa.

Soon I met all of their friends, a group of literature, history, art history, and film students from France, Spain, and Germany. Conveniently, we’re all at about the same linguistic level such that, though they don’t help my Italian like native-speakers do, they make for a much more balanced conversation. Furthermore, we all have some sort of a working knowledge of almost everyone else’s native language such that at times our communication can become somewhat of a linguistic mélange. Together, we’ve shared many meals, afternoon coffees, and several very random adventures including a three-legged racing competition through the Florence train station which I’m proud to say Ivan and I won! I wish I could have met the group sooner, but I feel so incredibly blessed to have fallen into this crowd at all. We’ve clicked wonderfully. They’re all absolutely crazy in a wonderful way, or allumés, to borrow a quite adequate French adjective. I haven’t laughed so hard or smiled so much since I left the US. Suddenly Europe seems a lot less big and the prospect of coming back next fall seems much less intimidating.

I Concerti della Normale

The Scuola Normale Superiore is currently in the 42^nd annual season of its concert series. For the first time, I found some friends who felt like going together and so I took advantage of my final opportunity to attend a performance, an organ concert entitled Teatro Religioso hosted in the Duomo of Pisa, the cathedral right next to the Leaning Tower. Though I’ve walked past this building many times since the day of my arrival, I had yet to walk through the giant wooden doors. Inside, I was amazed by the splendor and very pleased to be accompanied by some new Anglophone friends.

While sitting in a pew together listening to the music, I slid on my glasses so I could get a better view of the building itself. I wondered how many lives must have been devoted to simply constructing this church where so many generations wept and sang God’s praises, a church filled with art so beautiful and detailed that it could, for financial reasons, never be made in its magnitude today. I pondered how many organists’ fingers had run across those keys and how very many notes had been played in this church since it first opened. It was a sensation somewhat like looking up to the clear night sky and trying to count the stars after the campfire has burned low. It made me feel so insignificant, though that’s not necessarily a bad thing. I find I experience this fairly regularly in Europe, surrounded by so much history. I can name every one of my ancestors who was born or lived in my native country. Many Americans can, and so in our national memories each of our lives takes on a much greater significance. Our lifespan is still comparable with that of our nation. One’s whole existence seems to take on a whole different significance in the face of such aged splendor. It’s quite eye-opening and I cannot deny it brings with it liberation. There comes the realization that we may each truly be but a speck in history. If likely each of our life stories will be lost in the oblivion of human memory shortly after our passing, then rather than worrying about our every step, why not allow ourselves the freedom to chase our happiness, to follow our own dreams, and to shape our futures to the best of our abilities? If few people in the course of history may even realize that you ever existed, then the least you can do is let yourself know, as often as possible, that indeed while you are here you are most certainly alive.

So it seems I’ve finally become a Pisana

I took advantage of my proximity to Florence to spend a Saturday evening simply wandering through the city. This time I tackled Oltrarno, the neighborhood on the other side of the Ponte Vecchio. On my way, I passed the Chiesa Santa Maria Novella and the Piazza della Repubblica, taking a slightly different route through the center of the city. Passing by the Uffizi, I finally found the painting for which I’d been searching. On my last full day in Boston, while with one of my best friends, I found an artist on Newbury Street selling paintings of Boston. One painting found its way to my nightstand here in Pisa; it’s the last thing I see before I go to sleep each night. Though I don’t like collecting art in general, I think it would be sweet to have one painting of each city I’ve grown to call home. I haven’t found any artists in Pisa selling paintings on the streets, but last night I finally ended my search in Florence.

I loved seeing Florence decked out for the holiday season. Every street had a different style of Christmas lights strung out between the buildings. The Ponte Vecchio was particularly cute, with branches of pine trees and artificial fruit strung with small blue lights overhead. That night I had dinner at a small, classic Italian restaurant and, of course, finished the evening with a gelato and a stroll past the Duomo. What a luxury to be able to simply spend an impromptu Saturday night in such a fashion.

On Sunday, I toured Nina and her friends from NYU around Pisa. I loved playing hostess, for once having the opportunity to show off my own town. I took my friends through back routes and showed them the best places to get coffee, gelato, and an inexpensive sit-down meal. Walking down the old, narrow, familiar streets, Pisa felt cozy and comfortable. It occurred to me that this city really has become my home.

My Italian Thanksgiving

Back in June, my Italian roommates began asking me about Thanksgiving. Any holiday focused primarily on food can’t be too off-putting for Italians. Finally, the time had come. Early this week, my roommate Claudia and I sat down in front of allrecipes.com and team-translated the following dishes:

• l’insalata con clementine, uve, noce, olio (salad with clementines, grapes, walnuts, and oil)
• il pane di zucca (pumpkin bread)
• il pane di banane, noce, e cioccolato (chocolate-chip banana walnut bread)
• il pane di mais (cornbread)
• il ripieno (stuffing)
• la salsa di mirtilli (cranberry sauce)
• il pure di patate
• il “pie” delle mele (apple pie... pie cannot really be translated since the closest word for it in Italian is torta, literally “cake”)

We found ourselves missing a few key dishes: il tacchino con il sugo della carne (turkey with gravy) and il “pie” della zucca (pumpkin pie), but in the end we had our Thanksgiving feast, albeit somewhat unconventional. There was quite a hubbub in the small kitchen as guests began filtering in at 9pm. (Having a Sicilian roommate means starting dinner at bizarre hours of the night.) We hurriedly finished preparing the last dishes, shouting back and forth in both English and Italian. The night brought together my Italian, British, and American friends. (Nina Chen and some of her NYU-London friends had flown down to Pisa that morning, and the British guest happens to be studying Italian literature at the Scuola Normale Superiore here in Pisa.) The evening was a satisfying mélange of confusion and joviality, but I believe it was quite a success. As my British friend said afterward,

Grazie mille for a bellissima festa. I will always remember my first Thanksgiving. In Italy.

Business and Leisure: A Long Weekend in Paris

Late Wednesday night my plane landed in Paris. My friend Gabriel, a physics student at Ecole Normale Supérieure, kindly hosted me in his dorm. We caught up that evening over tea which he forced me to drink out of a Harvard mug. (He worked at Harvard for five months and takes pleasure out of taunting me about the Harvard-MIT rivalry.)

On Thursday I visited an amazing lab at the Université Paris V, a partner in the Ecole des Neurosciences international PhD program to which I’ve applied. The research in this lab had interested me enough to prompt an email to the professor back in early August. What I discovered in this lab visit went far beyond the study of synaptic signaling and new microscopies. I found myself at home. I haven’t felt this excited about a lab since my first position at MIT which I grudgingly left in May 2007 to diversify my laboratory experience. This lab is young and will always be small. The people were enthusiastic and quirky. They laughed easily, knew each other well, and genuinely enjoyed each other's company. They not only talked to me about their lab but also life in Paris and transitioning into the culture. Conveniently, the professor and one of the post-docs are American, so there were no linguistic or cultural communication barriers. I have so much hope for this lab. That night I even took Gabriel out to dinner to celebrate.

On Friday I spent the morning and early afternoon visiting several labs at Ecole Normale Supérieure. The experience felt somewhat overwhelming as there was so much to see and learn in such a short time. The researchers are developing exciting new technologies and investigating many interesting questions. That afternoon, I returned to the Université Paris V to visit another new microscopies lab which takes a more physics-based instead of biology-based approach to the research. This too looked very appealing.

That night I met a fellow 5^th Wester, a person from my hall in my dorm at MIT. Jeremi, who actually lived just next-door to me last year, is studying abroad at the Ecole Polytechnique in the suburbs of Paris. We wandered along Rue Saint Germain des Pres, stopped at a bar for Belgian raspberry beer, and finally went to Le Bistrot Gourmand (78, rue Mouffetard) for a three-course meal and some Beaujolais wine, a special wine released once a year on the weekend I had unknowingly planned my trip to Paris. The wine wasn’t fancy but had a distinctive, enjoyable flavor.

Jeremi and I reflected over our experiences abroad until we were the last ones left in the restaurant. He told me about learning what to do when you get sick in a non-Anglophone country and need to find medicine during a holiday weekend in France. He told me stories about trying to visit a doctor, finding English-speaking friends, learning to dress more European, and adopting a different relationship with food. We reflected on the European attitude of work only filling a more discrete space in one’s life and of valuing relaxation and conversation. We discussed how interesting it was to be able to evaluate the merits of another culture and to be able to better appreciate our own culture now that we’ve stepped outside.

Jeremi was such a remarkably pleasant, familiar, and friendly figure so far from home. It was incredible to see someone who could understand me so completely, both because of our shared experiences MIT and from our similar experiences as Americans venturing on an independent study abroad. From the first American-style greeting to the last hug goodbye, I had forgotten just how much of home there is to miss.

On Saturday Gabriel took me to see Lycée Louis le Grand (pictured on the right), his alma mater and one of the most prestigious schools for the classes préparatoires, two years of rigorous courses that the most competitive students study after high school in order to enter the elite French university system. Afterwards, we spent a lazy afternoon together in Paris. That evening, I met Nina Chen, my reliable travel buddy. We bought baguette sandwiches and ate them as we walked along the rue Mouffetard, a trendy street in the Latin Quarter decked with blue lights presumably for the approaching holiday season. We chatted over a set of raspberry beers and then walked along the streets of Paris. When we said goodbye, I headed out to the 20^th Arrondissement where I met Gabriel for a concert. His trombone teacher was performing with a Columbian band in a small venue. The music was lively and we danced late into the night. We caught one of the last metros home. (Fortunately they run until 2am instead of 1am on Friday and Saturday nights.) The night air was very chilly, but the crepes we bought after leaving the metro kept our fingers warm as we walked the final blocks back to his dorm. I felt deliciously Parisian.

On Sunday, Gabriel and I went out for brunch, returned to his dorm, and enjoyed some tea as I gathered my belongings. We took a walk in the rain that afternoon and I wistfully looked on at the city I hated to leave yet again. I think it did me a world of good to not spend the weekend packing in every possible activity. I’ve already spent a few weeks in Paris and have seen a great deal of the city. By allowing myself to do little but spend time out on the town with friends, I began to feel like this city could really be my home.

Made in Italy with Love

Over the past couple months I’ve occupied myself with a side project when I haven’t been busy with research, exploring Europe, evenings out with friends, my independent Italian studies, grad school applications, a collection of novels, and catching up on all the sleep I missed during the past three years at MIT (and four in high school and three at West Hollow…) Okay, maybe I’ve been a bit over-ambitious but if I weren’t, would I still be the Mimi/Em/Emilienne you know and love?

In the end, here is my completed MIT Senior Ball gown.

As sewing is my art, I’d like to dedicate this gown to my Mémé.

From the time I was little, my Mémé always took joy in sewing me outfits. I’ll never forget the Christmas pajamas she made that I donned each year on the night most filled with anticipation. When my Mémé gave me a large check for my sweet sixteen, she suggested I buy a watch but I don't think she disapproved when that money went to my first sewing machine. Only a year and a half later, my MIT application essay began with the words

“The light from my window slices the cool night air. Inside, a dull whirring filters through my bedroom door. My house is fast asleep, all but me and my sewing machine.”

By the time I’d begun making clothes, my Mémé’s eyesight had already become so poor that she could no longer make anything herself, but she took a silent, reserved pride in watching her love passed down to another generation, her namesake nonetheless. My Mémé and I have followed very different paths in life, but we both came together in our love for sewing.

When she passed away in September, I returned to the US for a few days. During that time, I purchased the pattern for this gown and some notions. I had a layover in Paris on the way home, and it seemed only appropriate that my first time using French while fabric shopping should be for a gown whose memory would be inextricably tied to my grandmother. It was, after all, for her that I began to study the language I now love. I purchased ribbons and a few final notions in Italy, quickly turning this dress into an international project.

Even the international nature of this project could be tied back to my grandmother. Having been given her unusual (and unpronounceable) name, I must always explain in introducing myself that I am, in fact, American, but named after my Canadian grandmother. Constantly recounting her story instilled within me the idea that you should never be afraid to seek your most fulfilling future, even if it takes you alone to a new country whose language you hardly speak. That’s what my Mémé did when she was only twenty-one years old. And though I may have long outgrown the pairs she actually wore, I have finally grown to walk in my Mémé’s shoes.

Genève, le Salève, et Lausanne: Oh My!

Action-packed would be an undeniably accurate description of this past weekend. On Friday, I jetted off to Geneva after a lunch-break in Florence. Did I ever mention that Italians cannot possibly understand how lucky they are to be surrounded by so much art and history? When you grow up walking past these things on a daily basis (while basking in the beautiful weather), how can you ever leave? Everywhere else must just seem so drab.

I met up with Nina Chen (yet again!) in Geneva. On my flight, I met an American who joined us for the evening. Together, we all went out for dinner and spent the night at a bohemian club called l’Usine. The crowd inside was worth the cover charge, and Nina Chen finally got the chance to take me dancing.

The next morning we headed straight down to Lac Lehman and walked along Quai du Mont Blanc. We ate breakfast on a bench in view of this giant water spout emerging from the lake, called jet d’eau. Walking along the quai, we next saw the Brunswick Monument, a replica of a famous tomb found in Verona, Italy, made for Charles d’Este-Guelph, the Duke of Brunswick, an eccentric man who had a bit too much money on his hands. With the statues of lions and sphinxes surrounding his ornate tomb, it was undeniably impressive.

After crossing the Pont du Mont Blanc, we entered the Jardin Anglais, home of the famous flower clock. Unfortunately, at this time of year, the flowers aren’t quite in bloom, but the gardeners still managed to get some plants growing to form the numbers on the clock. From here we wandered down to the Le Corbusier building, a building made almost entirely of steel and glass, quite a feat when it was built in the 1930s. We passed through a little market along the way and my map-reading skills turned out to be effective, but the building was under construction much to my disappointment. We discovered along our meandering that Switzerland may border Italy, but the Swiss are anything but Italian when it comes to driving manners. A driver spots a pedestrian walking too close to the edge of the sidewalk, just possibly contemplating crossing the road, and the driver stops. It was bizarre.

Nina Chen led on to the cathedral which was having a free exhibit underground: we walked through the excavated ruins of the ancient church upon which the cathedral was built. We then traversed the Treille Promenade to reach the University Park where we found some life-size chess boards. We consequently went about making complete fools of ourselves and having a darned good time not playing chess. Eventually, someone actually wanted to use the chess board for its intended purpose, so we continued onward. While in the park, we found the Reformation Wall, a wall built to commemorate some of the leaders of the Protestant Reformation.

Walking past shops, it was amazing to see Obama across the covers of every country’s newspapers and magazines. It’s not hard to understand how this could leave Americans convinced that we really are the center of the universe. Having always lived in the most powerful country, I’d never really appreciated our unique position in the world. Excepting French politics (because I continue to take upper-level French courses at MIT), I rarely hear about elections in any other country, could not name you many other heads of state, and certainly have never noticed an American news source put anyone else’s leader on their cover, not to mention publishing special editions of their magazines for another country’s leader.

My highlight of the day came next: we found the Schtrumpfs (Smurfs), a crazy, Gaudi-esque set of buildings constructed in the 1980s. These buildings, which appear to be an apartment complex, are simply wild. There were hardly any straight lines in any of the architecture. The stairwells were made of glass and the stairs twisted up around central columns that looked like twisted tree trunks. If I ever find myself rich and living in Switzerland, I know where I’d like to get a piece of real estate.

On Sunday, we caught bus #8, rode it to the end of the line, and walked to France. I loved seeing the small signs pointing in several directions with a few town names and France, an entirely different country, listed on one of the arrows. Just imagine, an entirely different country just down the street, no big deal. The border control was completely nonexistent. There was a building for customs, but it seems the employees don’t work on Sundays. Therefore, Nina and I wandered into the European Union and found the cablecar which took us up to the top of Le Salève, a mountain in the Northern Alps. It was fairly cold and extra windy on top of the mountain, so we bought ourselves some hot mulled wine and explored. Before we knew it, Nina had to return to Geneva to catch her flight and I had to head to Lausanne. We descended the mountain and left the European Union with no one besides our cell phone service providers any the wiser.

I spent Sunday afternoon and evening roaming about Lausanne to discover that, although plenty of pedestrians are out and about, there is little to nothing for them to do besides meander through the streets since nearly all shops are closed on Sundays. Yesterday I visited three labs at EPFL in Lausanne. Two of them were quite attractive and one in particular caught my interest for a potential place to pursue my PhD. Afterwards, I wandered around the city while enjoying some roasted chestnuts. I saw the famous Statue of Justice and re-visited Lausanne’s cathedral, Notre Dame, built during the 12^th and 13^th centuries and supposedly one of the nicest cathedrals in all of Switzerland. This photo is of the Montfalcon Portal, a particularly impressive part of the cathedral. The city was cute but very small. An American graduate student I met at EPFL described it as a “college town.”

Last night I caught an overnight train (my very first!) back to Florence and this morning, after enjoying the standard Italian train delays, I caught a train back to Pisa. I am getting the feeling that maybe Nina Chen might be right about my grad school search after all. I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see!