Month: September 2024

Italy From the Lens of Media, and the View From Reality

written by Alex Daggett for SPEL: Journalism

Italy has become one of the most popular and sought after destinations for travelers in the past decade, and this tourism boom has been heavily contributed by depictions of Italy and Italian culture in American media. However, the way that this representation in popular movies, pop culture, and television shows has portrayed the country does not accurately reflect the current landscape and culture of Italy. After living and studying in Florence for the past 10 weeks, I have sought to examine the differences in expectations set by the media, and the reality of the country. 

One of the main reasons that I had such an affinity for Florence and Italy was the rich history, the art, and the culture that I have been studying and reading about for years. However, it is becoming more and more common for people to travel to Italy because of the images and ideas of the country that have been pushed out and popularized by American media. The issue of this is that these depictions are not accurate, and portray a romanticized version of the culture and country. Thus, leading to travelers who seek these unrealistic expectations being left with disappointment, and an unfair resentment for the true Italian culture. Some of the common tropes and ideas that I have seen being pushed come from very popular movies and television shows, such as the romanticized version of Northern Italy in the film, ‘Call Me by Your Name’. 

While many go to Italy expecting to see the same lush landscapes and sprawling villas that are portrayed in the feature film with Timothée Chalamet, they are confronted with the fact that Italy is not the perfect utopia that is depicted in the film, but rather a real living country, with a diverse and intricate community from all walks of life. This is not a bad thing at all, and part of what makes Italy so special to me, but to many who have watched this film, they are expecting reality to align with Hollywood. When they are inevitably confronted with the truth of the situation, they unfairly direct their anger at the country and the people who did nothing but get stereotyped by Hollywood. In my personal experiences, I have found some amazing small towns and beautiful surroundings, that are nothing like what is shown in movies, but are even more amazing than the cliche scenes in movies. Seeing actual vineyards, with real farmers, and to see real homes that you can tell people actually live in rather than just decorated like they are in magazines is so much more personally fulfilling to me, and I wish that was what was shown in these movies, rather than an idealized version of reality.  

The language barrier is also something that many tourists are not prepared for, as in films such as ‘Call Me by Your Name’ or the hit series ‘The Sopranos.’ In these forms of media, characters are portrayed as speaking mostly English with a vague ‘Italian’ accent, and that is the image that is seared into the brains of the viewers, setting them up for disappointment when they realize that most Italians speak their actual native tongue. That is part of the immersive experience, to try and learn someone else’s language, while you are in their country; it is selfish to expect the opposite. ‘The Sopranos’ also paints a scene of Italy where everyone is connected in some form to the Mafia, or organized crime, and this is also simply not the case. 

The problem also lies in expectations set by Italian-American culture, that many have internalized as just purely Italian. The most obvious example of this would be the differences in food, and dining culture. While many Americans think that the dishes of Spaghetti and Meatballs, thick and creamy Fettuccine Alfredo, and Chicken Parm, are dishes that they can find that are native and from Italian culture, they are actually creations from the blending of Italian immigrants and American culture, that only exist in the states, and are not actually from the country of Italy itself. This culture shock is often hard to adjust to for many travelers, and unfortunately many restaurants have started making these Italian-American dishes exclusively for travelers to eat because it is what they expect of Italy, causing many tourists to completely miss out on proper and authentic Italian cuisine. This is defeating the entire point of traveling. The failure to appreciate true Italian culture is heartbreaking to see, as I have found so many amazing dishes that I could never find in the United State. These dishes have actual history and roots from the country of origin, and are not portrayed nearly as often in American media. There is a large disconnect between what is portrayed in the media that is classified as ‘Italian’ and what you actually find in Italy, which is sad to see, because the real Italy is far more interesting than the version that is shown to Americans in the media. In order to appreciate the true beauty, one must set aside past baisers from media, and experience the culture authentically. 

Parts of You

written by Valerie Tiscareno for SPEL: Journalism

A bag, the clothes on my back, the shoes on my feet, that is all I need to leave — something you and I talked so heavily about. Our dreams of being nomads, going from here to there with no ties. Here I am, 6,191 miles away from home, walking the normally-crowded streets of Florence at 6 in the morning with nothing more than a side quest in mind to get outside of Florence. Meeting up with my friend Kyla at the C1 bus station to get to Fiesole, We waited, groggy and tired. 

I thought of you. 

How you left home and moved from place to place. When you were unsatisfied, you disappeared in the mountains, canyons, somewhere quieter. Here I am doing the same thing, moving from the coastal ocean of California to the grassroots of Missouri then the cobblestone streets of Italy. The excitement and struggles of moving somewhere new; a rush we both divinely understood.  

Florence has been nothing more but eye opening. Even so, I feel the need to leave to go somewhere quieter. So, Kyla and I hopped on the bus and left. Up to the windy, narrow roads away from Florence. With every stop, the roads got greener and the world got softer. Until we stopped and went off near the hill tops in Fiesole.

With no agenda, others had a mission to find coffee. We set off together. The town center was lonely, everything facing each other. It took us no more than about 500 feet to find coffee. We were happily greeted by the barista as we ordered two cappuccinos and two croissants. We sat outside and discussed our friendships and our lives, something so dear to the both of us.

And I thought of you again.

How much you deeply cared for every person you met. The smile you were able to put on someone’s face, even if it was the first time you met them. How you dropped everything for a friend in need. 

As we paid for our coffee, we walked around the sleepy town and sat still. We wandered up the hills and discovered a playground. One swing set, one slide, one rocking horse. I had never been so excited for something so simple. I ran to the swing and Kyla took the rocking horse. Giggling, swinging back and forth, I was no longer grieving my home, my family, my friends, or girlhood. I hopped off and traded Kyla for the rocking horse. Then, eager to see more, we ran off to the other side of town. 

Leaving Florence with Kyla was the only thing I needed. Kyla was the first person I met before coming to Italy. We took on the long 12 hour flight together, and she was a hidden treasure in my life that Italy brought to me. As we walked together, we saw hidden pieces of art scattered around the town. We walked up the stairs of a church and we were greeted by a butterfly — another hidden surprise. Butterflies for me have always meant that someone who has passed was visiting. Insert sentence-long association. Sitting on the ground, spreading its beautiful orange spotted wings to the sun, it was  the first time I had seen a butterfly in Tuscany.

And I thought of you again.

How I met you by chance. Out of all the colleges I got into, I chose Mizzou. Out of the thousands of people to meet that first week, I met your friends. By chance I bumped into them before they were to throw their first college party. How you were not  supposed to go, but decided to go about 30 minutes before they were leaving KC. 

For a second, in Tuscany, I got to see you again. Before I could say goodbye, you fluttered your wings and flew away. 

Four Nights in the Desert

written by Lily Carroll for SPEL: Journalism

Working and studying in Florence the entire summer has been a great mix of work and play. As the workload began to grow, I decided to plan a trip I could look forward to and motivate me to work extra hard. On the day of our last exam, I could barely contain my excitement. With my pen on paper, I felt both prepared and full of excitement. I knew that whenever I finished my test, I would be bound for Marrakesh. Five days and four nights in the desert, a guided, group tour through Viaje en Marruecos. I had some friends go on this trip in the past, and they said it was the best trip they took. When the opportunity presented itself, I jumped on board immediately. I find that sometimes I can get overwhelmed planning, and feel like I’m frantically picking what to do. It was such a luxury to be able to be completely present, having all activities taken care of. 

We landed in Marrakesh Friday morning, and were brought to our first hotel of the trip. The heat outside exceeded my expectations, so I was elated when I saw the crystal blue swimming pool outside. The first day was spent relaxing in the sun and water, taking in the gorgeous views around us. We reflected on the things we have accomplished in our courses and internships, and how rewarding this day felt. Only a few short weeks and we would be back in the United States, preparing for the next semester at our University. With rosy cheeks, we left the pool and eagerly got ready for the morning ahead, where we would meet the rest of our group, and venture deeper into the desert. 

With a group of students from all over the country, we ventured to a small village just between our Marrakesh and the Sahara desert. We observed all sorts of tradition and craftsmanship as we explored the desert. People in small huts painted with natural materials, permanently sealed by fire. We visited the location where Hollywood films and shows have been recorded, such as Gladiator and Game of Thrones. Then, we climbed to the highest point in the village. This was no easy feat, but so rewarding to take in the beautiful architecture and desert scenery. Finally, we sat down for our first authentic Moroccan meal. We were showered with delicious bread, vegetables, and fruits of all kinds, and the most delicious chicken I’ve ever had. Kittens roamed freely and joined us for our table scraps. With picturesque stops along the way, we continued on to our hotel of the day to relax and get to know our tour group. Together we swam, shared a meal, and swapped stories of our summer travels. It was so moving to share such a unique experience with people ranging from Minnesota to Mexico that quickly became good pals. 

Finally, we embarked onto the main event: camping in the Sahara desert. A long, windy drive up and around mountains through whirling sand built the anticipation for this incredible opportunity. We stopped along the way at a small boutique with kaftans, pashminas, and all sorts of authentic Moroccan crafts and garments. We took pictures in the traditional outfits, received henna tattoos, and got our own pashminas to wear in the desert. Then, we dropped off our luggage at a hotel that had the most gorgeous pool with a view of the sand dunes. After a few hours of swimming, it was time to ride camelback into the desert for a night of camping.

As I slowly admired the Sahara on the back of a camel, I was taken aback at the magnitude of this desert. Enormous, mounding sand dunes as far as the eye could see made everything else seem so small. Ten feet in the air, my head was on a constant swivel, completely awestruck and overcome with gratitude. I felt almost as if every twist and turn this summer had led me to this moment. The thousands of photos could never do justice to the sights to behold in the desert, and the powerful emotions this place evoked. The camels knelt down as we approached a row of buggies for us to ride through the dunes. I could not contain my excitement, kicking up sand as I ran to meet the passenger seat of the very first one. 

Through laughter and the sandy breeze, we zoomed over and around the dunes. A terrible driver myself, I was extremely nervous to switch into the driver’s seat. When I finally did, I felt more free than I ever have. With sand in my eyes, I slammed the accelerator and my inhibitions melted away. We came upon a steep dune, where we slid down on a snowboard, and climbed all the way back up. This adrenaline-packed day wore us out, and after the sunset, we finally arrived at our campsite. Small tents with beds housed us for the evening, with a gathering area where we joined for meals and a drumming performance. After the performance, we were welcomed to play along. We laughed at our mismatched rhythms and were in utter disbelief at all the adventure one day could hold. We stayed up until sunrise and tired ourselves out for the nine-hour bus ride back into town. 

Heading back for our last evening before our red eye, we rested and daydreamed about all that we had done in the days past. We caught up on our sleep and were on our way back to Florence. It’s trips like these that have enriched my study abroad experience so much. Expanding beyond Italian culture has been so impactful, and has made Italy feel more and more like home each time I come back. This trip gave me the opportunity to interact with a myriad of cultures, those of which I haven’t gotten to experience in Italy yet. Being able to integrate into multiple countries’ ways of life has been incredibly humbling. Engaging with locals and their way of life has been the best part of traveling, especially with such a rich culture as Morocco. With their patience and understanding, I continue to learn just how much personal and intellectual growth arises from immersing oneself in another culture. 

Behind the Scenes of the Palio

written by Alex Daggett for SPEL: Journalism

The light falls onto the street in harsh shadows, with the sounds of crowds and cheers mixing with the sharp rhythmic noise of hooves clacking. Antonio Mula is no stranger to this scene, as he has grown up surrounded by the Palio race and all that goes into it. As he prepares the racehorse, Estupendo for his trial run, he lets out a quick breath to calm himself down. Mula closes his eyes to prepare, letting the world quiet as he focuses on the task ahead. Together, horse and man become one, and they take off down the street. 

The Palio di Siena is one of the oldest horse races in the world, taking place annually 45 minutes south of Florence. The Palio is such an important part of Italian culture because of how far back the history of it goes. Officially starting in 1633, this race predates the entirety of the United States. I have never been involved in something that stretches back so far in time, which gave me a new appreciation for the event. There are trials and parties in the days leading up to the official race, which occurs on July 2 every year. This was explained to me by Mula while he gave Estupendo a shower following their practice. 

In my time in Florence, I have had the chance to be involved in this historic event, getting a glimpse into this cultural experience. Every horse has a sponsor, and since I am interning with one of the foundations that is sponsoring a participating horse, I was given a first-person vantage point into the race’s preparation. 

A month before the event, I took a trip out to visit the race horse, Estupendo, as well as his rider, Antonio Mula. Heading off into the Tuscan countryside from Florence is like taking a car ride into a different world, with a large expansive sky, rolling hills, and fields and fields of grass and vineyards in every direction. The ranch was located about 15 minutes north of Siena, and tucked away in the hills, only accessible by a seldom used gravel road. The ranch itself houses several different horses, as well as goats, cows, and a number of different animals, all roaming the property.

While meeting with Mula, I got to see him take Estupendo out for his practice. The pair galloped across a small track, going in all kinds of different directions and speeds to prepare for the Palio. 

What really stood out to me was how much care was put into the animal, and how traditional everything was. Mula always rides bareback — a bizarre feat to me — and does everything very old-school in terms of horse raising.  

After Mula finishes hosing off and brushing Estupendo, he leads the horse back to the stable, where he gives him some hay to munch on. Mula takes a great deal of care when it comes to Estupendo, as this horse has never competed in a Palio before. To see the behind the scenes elements of what goes into everything to make a horse ready to race was truly an eye opening experience to me, and it would not have been possible if I never came to Florence. The Palio is such a unique event, and while it has many controversies surrounding it, I hope that it never goes away and we can continue to hold onto this historical event. 

The Magic of the Florentine Neighborhoods

written by Ashley Rodio for SPEL: Journalism

Neighborhoods. Something both Denver, my home city, and Florence are all composed of, yet have such different meanings. In Denver, a neighborhood is just where you live. Maybe you are attached to a certain local food joint or park. But in Florence, a neighborhood is where you live. There is an intense sense of pride that comes with the neighborhood you live in as a Florentine, and it’s apparent in every aspect of life. They have personalities, different charms and offerings to locals and tourists alike. 

Santa Croce 

I live in the Santa Croce neighborhood. It’s my beating heart of Florence, and I can feel the pulse in everything. Below my apartment lays a square of restaurants, vibrant as ever but only at night; it waits to come alive. I hear words in every language, see people of every decent, and smell the vast arrays of cuisine on display. Here lies the Santa Croce Basilica, where I pass on my way to class everyday. I have seen proposals, polo matches, and every celebration under the sun. I sit on the stoop with the painter who lives next door to my apartment. We sip cappuccinos and pet the dogs that trot by, and he tells me about his life in Yugoslavia. 

Santo Spirito 

I could never write enough about the Santo Spirito neighborhood, the area I frequently brave the cross-river trek to enjoy. My favorite tradition, Sundays in front of the Basilica di Santo Spirito, stems from this neighborhood. At the Sunday market I meet the Florentine vendors. I hear the stories of the lavender man, with fields long spanning the Tuscan countryside. He shows me the lavender soap covers his wife spends hours making. She couldn’t make the trip to the city. The Santo Spirito neighborhood holds the esteemed Pitti Palace, the Boboli gardens sprawling along the rear. I leave this place with a sore neck for days, as I can’t tear my gaze away from the intricate ceiling artworks in the Palace. 

Santa Maria Novella 

The neighborhood that first greeted me when I stepped out of the train station: Santa Maria Novella. My first introduction to the city I have been calling my newfound home. It stretches beyond the Arno River’s right bank, fitting, as the neighborhood flows with art and culture. Florence’s main exhibition center lies here, forming the Palazzo dei Congressi, the Palazzo degli Affari and the Fortezza da Basso. In front of the Basilica of Santa Maria Novella, the keeper of medieval renaissance art, I sit on the curb and sipped cappuccinos. I watch locals and tourists alike flit by. A new perfume aroma fills the air, presumably from the perfumery. Here, I feel peace.

San Giovanni 

The San Giovanni neighborhood, the real beating heart of Florence. The neighborhood with, arguably, the most tourists. This isn’t a bad thing. I watch people who have spent their entire lives saving to experience the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore, mouths agape as they take it all in. The marble of the cathedral gleams as I pass by. I can never take enough pictures. I hear children laugh as they go round and round on the carousel in the historic Piazza della Repubblica. At night it comes alive, with music filling my ears and lights lining the streets. 

The first time I really understood the neighborhood pride of Florence was during Calcio Storico, the classic Florentine sport. While violent, the game brings local comradery to light, displaying long fostered honor to the tourists. The parade, held before the first Calcio Storico game, marched through the piazza while I was on my way home. I remember being frozen, so intrigued by the chants, the Italians dressed in their neighborhood colors. Reds, blues, purples flash by, people from the streets joining in. Flags waved, and young children ran alongside their parents, gleaming at who they might one day become. It was incredible. Although I am an American, I was so proud of these people and what they were standing for. It was more than just a game, it was family ties. 

I may have only lived in Italy for a couple of months, but the importance of the Florentine neighborhoods has become increasingly prominent to me. This pride, these charms, are irreplaceable, and I’m so lucky to have experienced a piece of each location.