Category: Featured

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.

Arcetri’s Ambiguity: A Hidden Escape

written by Amber Roldan for SPEL: Journalism

A 27-minute walk.

0.9 miles away from my apartment in the heart of the city center. 

Where would it lead?

Would the noise fade? Would tourists disappear?

I typed “Chiesa di San Leonardo in Arcetri” into my phone as I descended four flights of stairs.

I love living in Santa Croce, but existing in such excitement can become overstimulating.

The walk started similarly enough to routes I have taken dozens of times before. 

Past the basilica, over the river.

Usually, once I cross the river I turn left or right.

Left towards Piazzalle Michelangelo, or right towards Santo Spirito.

Today I went straight. Straight up a road I never noticed before. 

A road I have passed and neglected countless times.

As I climbed up Via Di San Leonardo, the curved roads invited me to discover what they were hiding.

The further I climbed, the quieter it got.

Street noise was replaced by the sweet song of birds.

Do the birds not sing in the city center, or is it just too loud to hear?

As I continued my climb, my calves felt the impact of the increased elevation.

I passed a few locals: a couple holding hands. A woman walking her dog.

Should I be concerned that the further I get the more alone I am?

Why do I feel safer in the empty streets of a foreign country instead of crowded streets at home?

My lack of fear was both frightening and invigorating. 

I stopped to take in what was in front of and behind me. 

Unable to see the beginning or end of the street. 

Like my study abroad experience, I knew what was at the beginning but not what lay ahead.

An orange tree sat perched in front of Chiesa di San Leonardo in Arcetri.

Full of bright promising fruit, the tree appeared untouched.

Oranges littered the sidewalk after falling from above.

No one to taste, but animals living close.

How can such a scenic street remain so untouched?

Walking the empty streets felt like a privilege.

A privilege that came with a promise.

A promise to not exploit.

Arcetri’s ambiguity allowed me to reflect on the last 12 weeks I spent living in Florence.

I think I’ll always remember the streets and serenity of Arcetri. 

As I began my descent, I stopped in an alley with a gate overlooking the city. 

Viewing such a vibrant city in this intimate way, filled me with immense gratitude.

Arcetri. A 27-minute walk.

0.9 miles from my apartment in the heart of the city center. 

Over the river, past the basilica.

Where the noise fades and the tourists disappear.

Traveling Alone to Study Abroad: SAY YES!

Studying Abroad Alone: My Fears, Making Friends, and Why You Should Do It

written by Margaret Hann for SPEL: Public Relations

I’ll admit, I was scared. Studying abroad in Florence would be my first time leaving the United States, and I would be traveling completely alone. However, studying abroad has always been a dream of mine since I was young. My mom studied abroad in London for a semester during her college years, and ever since she shared her experiences, I have dreamed of doing the same. I knew I wanted to make my dream a reality, but the prospect of doing it without any of my friends joining me, on the other side of the world, was daunting.

Regardless, I signed up for the six week summer program at Florence University of the Arts – The American University of Florence. I wanted to experience the world and fulfill my dreams. Although I was nervous, I knew it was something I had to do. To make the most of my experience abroad, and to meet new people before settling in Florence, I also enrolled in the pre-week travel course, Cultural Introduction to Italy. I scheduled my flight – Detroit to Philadelphia to Rome – and began my preparations. Despite my best efforts, I never felt fully ready; it was simply a leap of faith. 

Airport Trouble

I hit my first challenge at the airport. Navigating an airport can be daunting, especially when you’re alone and it’s your first time out of the country. Even before I arrived, my flight had been delayed, and my connecting flight had to be rescheduled. Once I went inside, I checked in my large suitcase and asked the attendant about my new flight information. I was now rescheduled to go from Detroit to Philadelphia to London and would end in Rome. I inquired further about my options in case of additional delays. The woman mentioned there were flights with more transfers, but in the worst case, I might have to stay overnight in a hotel and wait for flights the next day if international flights were unavailable. I waited at the gate for departure and made sure to keep an eye on all of my stuff. When traveling alone, it’s scary. It’s nerve wracking. I tried to remind myself that I know more than I think I do, to trust my instincts, but still not be afraid to ask for help. 

When I arrived in Philadelphia after my first flight, I had already missed my new connection due to continued delays of my flight. Myself and two others I had met on the plane were in the same predicament – we were all supposed to be on the London flight that we had now missed because of maintenance. We stuck together to talk to guest services to try and get our flights rescheduled. When we talked to them however, they said there were no more international flights that night for them to put us on, meaning that the worst case scenario had happened. Thankfully, the airport supplied me with a hotel and money for food until my flight the next day at 6:40 pm. 

I arrived at the airport early since the hotel checkout was at 2:00 pm. I made sure to keep in contact with the FUA-AUF support team in order to update them on my flight and when I would be arriving so I could meet up with the class. Finally, it was time for my flight and the beginning of my study abroad journey.

The Beginning: Travel Week

After landing in Rome at Fiumicino Airport, I collected my checked luggage. Thankfully, my professor for the Travel Week class had sent me all the necessary information regarding which train to take, the hotel address, and the restaurant I could meet the rest of the class at for group lunch. Navigating the train system was difficult, being from a place without public transportation, but the airport had workers throughout that I could ask for directions or assistance. The machines which sell the tickets are able to be translated to English in order for easier navigation. 

Luckily, our hotel was a few minutes walk from the Roma Centrale train station. I was able to check in, drop off my luggage, and change before going to meet the rest of the group for lunch. When I arrived, the group was already seated at the restaurant. I was filled with nervous energy from all the chaos from the flight, navigating the train, and walking to find the group all on my own. Despite this, I pushed myself to introduce myself to my professor, his assistant, and the rest of the students at the table I had joined. Everyone was very friendly and open to meeting new people. This theme was carried throughout the rest of the week, as the group of people I met in the class had become increasingly close and bonded over our adventure together. We all exchanged numbers and shared where we were from, what university we attend back home, and compared what classes we were taking in Florence. After our meal, we continued on to the Colosseum, Palatine Hill, and the Imperial Forum. Our class had a guided tour through the three landmarks, and we were able to listen to our guide with headphones. The history behind the sites was extremely interesting; we learned the myths behind some of the architecture, and were able to discuss as a group and ask the guide questions.

During the week-long course, we visited many Italian cities throughout the central region of Italy. We were given the opportunity to travel to different landmarks and unique Italian sites. We traveled north from Rome to explore multiple Italian Renaissance gardens such as Villa Farnese, Villa Lante, and Sacro Bosco. We learned of the historical meanings behind the structure of the gardens and the different statues. As a group, we continued north along the coast to visit Viareggio: the city of Carnevale, and two of the cities in Cinque Terre, Vernazza and Monterosso. Each day, we were allotted free time to explore on our own or with others in the group. All of us grew extremely close and would often eat dinner together, even if it wasn’t an official group meal. Throughout the entire week-long trip, we had visited 15 different cities in total and had arrived in Florence with long-lasting friendships.

My Classes at FUA-AUF 

When selecting my classes for study abroad, I knew I wanted to immerse myself in the Italian culture and community in Florence. Luckily, FUA-AUF offers a range of classes that enable their students to connect to the culture, the food, and the local community. For FUA-AUF, it is extremely important for students in all of their classes to be interconnected with the Florentine community. One of the classes offered is the Food, Wine, and Culture in Italy course. Through this course, we learn about the history of Italy, regional differences, and of course, the food and wines of Italy. 

The class takes on a very interactive approach, as it is considered an experiential learning course. This means we learn in a hands-on learning environment, allowing us to cook historical dishes, taste local wines, visit restaurants in Florence, as well as work a shift at FUA-AUF’s student-run restaurant, Ganzo. 

The class typically consisted of a lecture followed with an interactive experience. The class encourages the students to explore and interact with the city. We visited local restaurants, markets, and were able to sample classic Italian foods such as arancini and cannoli. Another part of the class we enjoyed were the cooking labs: we were able to both cook and taste dishes from different Italian eras. Two of the Renaissance Era dishes we made were Pollo alle Prugne and Schiacciata Bianca Cappello. 

I also decided to sign up for the Special Project: Experiential Learning in Public Relations (SPEL PR) course which resembles an internship. For this course, I was put on a team with other students in the PR course where we would work together to manage the image of FUA-AUF. We would attend events hosted by FUA-AUF in collaboration with the local Palazzi Community Center. As a group or individually, we would write press releases advertising the events to the public as well as write articles about the topic. Some of these included a story from a woman who had survived WWII, and a discussion on society and artificial intelligence. As a team, we also managed FUA-AUF’s alumni Instagram account. We planned the posts, researched our audience, and determined a posting schedule. 

Making Friends While Abroad 

I have to admit that my biggest fear about coming alone to study abroad was that I would remain that way. I was nervous that everyone else in attendance would have come with their friends from their universities and would not be interested in meeting new people. However, once landing in Rome for my pre-week travel course I was delightfully surprised. Many others that I met had also had the courage to travel across the world alone to study abroad. Regardless if others came alone or with others that they knew previously, everyone was very open to meeting new people and making new friends. The travel week prior to the beginning of the session was where I personally made most of my friends as that week helped us to form bonds and friendships. I also made friends with people in my classes and friends of friends I made while studying abroad. 

Exploring Europe

Everyone knows that one of the main reasons people come to study abroad is to travel on the weekends. With the different friends I made while in class, during the pre-week, or through other people, we would get together to schedule weekend trips. Throughout my time abroad, I traveled to Amsterdam, Lake Como, Milan, Switzerland, the Amalfi Coast, and Barcelona. Each of these trips I went on was with the friends I made at FUA-AUF. I found that I liked best to travel with other people, however other people that I met had no issue traveling alone. It all depends on your personal preferences. 

Regardless, one of the main things to do before traveling is set your expectations, budget, and boundaries. If you aren’t comfortable with leaving Italy, then don’t feel pressured to. Due to Florence’s centralized location, there are many popular Italian cities nearby where students will often participate in day trips and weekend trips to. Using the high-speed trains makes it easy to travel to landmarks such as Pisa, Venice, Milan, Lake Como, and Cinque Terre. You can often find people that you may not be close with who are traveling to places that you want to go, even if your friends are going somewhere else. Part of the experience is that traveling with someone you may not know as well is that it can bring you closer. Before setting your expectations, it is important to research the different countries and cultures of the places you plan

to visit: the currency, the food, the landmarks, and the cost. Cost is very important, and it’s necessary to understand that everyone has different financial situations. Do what works best for you and consider others’ needs as well. An important few things to note is that plans often can change, and it is smart to have a backup plan and be willing to be flexible and schedule loosely. You may not get the chance to travel to every place on your bucket list, and that’s okay!

Studying Abroad Alone: It’s okay

Despite all of my personal fears and the different obstacles I faced, I would not change my experience abroad for the world. The challenges and opportunities are what made it my own. During my time abroad, I experienced personal growth, cultural immersion, life skills, and above all, empowerment. I learned so much more from studying abroad than just what was in my class lectures – living in Florence provided me with so many opportunities to immerse myself in both the city itself and the culture while still having the safety net of the help from FUA-AUF and their staff. They provided me with so many resources and were beyond helpful with navigating the city, traveling, and day-to-day life. In summary, in my time of studying abroad alone, I learned that it is not only okay, but is an experience that I would not change. It has offered me so many unique opportunities for personal, academic, and professional growth which have helped me to become more confident, adaptable, and independent as an individual.

From a Smile to Friendship: Florence’s Small Moments

written by Gia Woodfolk for SPEL: Public Relations

My time in Florence has been full of newness: new people, new streets, new food, and everything in between. However, the element I have most enjoyed is the new smiles. Throughout my time living in the heart of the city center, and taking the daily walks to coffee shops, classes, and my internships, I have realized what I most look forward to is not the incredible grandeur of the city, but rather, a simple interaction. 

Living in a smaller town in Virginia, I have to drive everywhere. I do not have the opportunity to build relationships with shopkeepers and restaurant owners through the act of walking by them as I begin or end my day. However, Florence has provided me with the natural occurrence of relationships fostered through the mere existence of a small, walkable city. 

One of these relationships happens to be with a local leather shopkeeper whose store stands next door to my apartment. Every time I leave my apartment, exiting the sprawling wooden doors, I greet my neighbor.

Since the first “ciao!” was exchanged, there have seldom been days without this meaningful interaction. It became a part of my day I looked forward to. And, eventually, the “ciao!” turned into a “how are you?” As time has passed, on good days and bad days, a consistency I can count on is this exchange of words. I soon began stopping by for conversation for a few moments to learn a bit more about the man downstairs.

I eventually learned he hails from Bangladesh, and, through each interaction, he has told me bits and pieces of his life story. Although I may have expected us to be very different individuals, I came to learn we are more similar than I originally thought. 

Each moment I strolled by his shop, the conversations brightened my day. I cherished each hello and goodbye and felt more integrated with the community through getting to know such a unique Florentine individual. And, most importantly, these interactions helped me understand that what matters is not what is on my phone or computer screen. Rather, it is the people in front of me in this present moment. 

The lack of presence is something that transcends global populations; with the rise of technology and the capitalist drive that permeates our world, billions of humans are preoccupied with the future or materialistic aspirations.

Living in Florence, however, has made me realize that taking a moment to put down your phone, look around you, and say hello to a stranger is incredibly important. Because of a singular moment I was present, a stranger became a friend. And now, every small interaction provides more internal happiness than anything a screen could provide. 

Ultimately, Florence is known for its large attractions, from the Duomo to the Uffizi and Piazzale Michelangelo. But, it is the little moments that make the city so special. Florence is filled with people from diverse places who have many stories to tell; I am eternally grateful to have been able to meet and get to know one of these individuals.

Home Away From Home

written by anonymous

To be an immigrant’s daughter, there is a certain weight that sits with you. From the day you are born, you’re split in two. To be taught two languages, two cultures, two homelands. In the United States, to be an immigrant is to be lower. To be a Mexican immigrant is to be scum. As I grew up, I was taught to hide my identity. I spoke in English in public and Spanish in private, to favor American pop culture over Mexican. My golden skin was something to be ashamed of, to stay inside more. My locks of curls to be burned and tamed into straightened hair. My heart has always been torn into two.

At home, my family was proud of the life they worked so hard to make for my brothers and I. Now, it is our job to show that we are educated, organized, and hard working; that university is the goal to change the narrative for my family. My mom attended high school in the U.S. and graduated, but it wasn’t until 18 years later when she was 32 years old that she got her bachelor’s degree. She was the first in my family to ever receive a degree in higher education. My mom set the example that anything was possible, that my brothers and I had our futures handed to us; we were supposed to be nothing more than exceptional. In my parent’s eyes, that meant to hide our culture that America saw as less-than.

My brothers and I knew how to play the part; after all, we experienced the everlasting backlashes of America. Our whole lives, we have been told we didn’t belong where generations of my family worked for us to be. I was told to go back where I came from, and countless times I was picked on. Kids would throw my pencil case to the floor, leaving my things scattered, and tell me to pick it up “cleaning lady.” My brother was told to “mow the grass gardener” by a player of the opposite team on the soccer field. My little brother is a clean slate, doesn’t know any Spanish, and has yet to come to understand his culture.

The aggressions are something I’ve realized is my price to pay for living in the United States. Something I’m not sure I’m equipped to take anymore. Since going to university, I’ve been faced with micro aggressions, and it’s now supposed to be my job as the minority to educate my classmates. It’s aggravating, and parts of me wished I had never stepped foot in Missouri. Countless phone calls to my mom asking if I am overreacting or if they are being racist. It’s hard to be in a place that I have worked to be, and yet, in many ways said or unsaid, that I shouldn’t be in. Despite this, I continue my academic career in hopes of raising the percentage of 19% of Latino that have a bachelor’s degree, joining my mom and my older brother and showing my dad that his countless days of sacrifice have amounted to something.

Now, I stand here, not in the U.S. or Mexico, but in Italy, a country that my grandparents would have never imagined one of their grandkids would be in. I’m here interning for a food publication, where I had the opportunity to cover an event dedicated to Latino food. For once, I saw my culture being celebrated on a bigger stage instead of being shamed or transformed into something others could easily grasp. For once, speaking Spanish isn’t alien-like, but a bridge for me to communicate with others. Being Mexican doesn’t mean I’m associated with drugs, gangs, or the lower class. I was told by one of the chefs that, “It’s so wonderful that you’re Mexican. Your culture, your people are so bright, giving, and happy. Thank you for everything you have brought here.”

For once, I was seen for who I am, who my family is, and for how my people are. Parts of me never want to leave Italy with my little time spent here. The problem is, if I stay here, what was all that my family struggled for? To be an immigrant’s daughter is to be split in two.

Unpacking Self-Discovery: How Florence Painted My Journey of Growth

written by Kylyn Maxwell for SPEL: Public Relations

Packing is always daunting for me. Whether it is an overnight stay at a friend’s house or a three month endeavor in a foreign country, both scenarios instill the same amount of panic within me. How do I temporarily abandon the things that mean so much to me? I would never wish my most prized possessions to collect a layer of dust, leaving them neglected. 

My bag can only weigh fifty pounds. Even my youngest sister weighs more than that.

I had finally come to terms with entering a new country. I prepared myself to become consumed with a deep feeling of discomfort. I was willing to let things go. After all, how do you grow if nothing is changing? I let my petals flourish and my roots grow deep into unfamiliar soil. 

My suitcase held business casual loafers and slacks instead of my cherished paint brushes and 16×20 canvases. I had been decorating canvases with the thoughts that entered my mind since I was 16. 

I could refrain from zipping my sister up in my suitcase, but I had no choice but to let go of the things that have been grounding me for so many summers. 

The plane engulfed my thoughts. The amount of rows on the aircraft put me in a trance, I had never been overseas. The flight was filled with contemplation. I decided I would welcome the unfamiliar with open arms, in hope that it would do the same to me. 

A different scene appears through the narrow gape of the plane window. Mediterranean cypresses and warm-colored buildings caught my attention. They were quite different from the oak trees and neutral-colored houses I had been surrounded with my whole life. I had no idea what I was doing, and perhaps that was the best remedy for an intense desire for personal growth and expansion. 

I wandered the uneven, cobblestone streets of Florence. Not a single step I took was steady and secure, similar to my placement in the city. I couldn’t find anything reminiscent of the things that typically brought me comfort. 

I had four keys. Two small ones, one medium sized one, and one that looked like it was out of a storybook. I put the key in the lock of the large, decadent door, struggling to enter. 

Noticing my struggle, a man next door asks if I need help. He grasps the key in his hand, easily unlocking the door. I notice his hand is covered in swatches of paint; blues, yellows, and red-orange. I noticed his shop next door, decorated in canvases with thick strokes of paint and thoughtful color choices. I feel a sense of comfort knowing that my apartment is next to someone who shares the same love for painting as me. It was in that moment, that I knew I could make home in a place that was unconnected from the rest of my life. 

As my time in Florence dwindled, the sun gleamed brighter and my connection with the painter grew stronger. I used his acrylic paint and palette knives. I showed him paintings from the previous summers that I had left behind. Our styles of painting were so different, yet we could both appreciate each other’s talent. We made an exchange. I sketched citrus fruits along the canvas he lent me. I had painted oranges, lemons, and grapefruits before, but the painter insisted I try to paint in his style; a style that was reminiscent of Post-Impressionist artworks. 

As time is fleeting, my suitcase reappears in front of me. I stare at the canvas that hangs on the wall of my bedroom that I grew to love. How do I rip my roots from the ground that I had become so familiar with? I place my canvas in my suitcase, remembering how I came here lacking canvases, paints, and brushes.

My suitcase is more full than it was in May, along with my heart and my brain. I had flourished, all because of Florence. 

Connections can be forged no matter the location and there are always exchanges to be made that leave you fulfilled. Sometimes the best fertilizer for growth can be one you’re unfamiliar with.