It's been a week since I've been home from Europe, *sigh*, I miss it. I've been terrible about posting and promise to catch everybody up over the next few days. Be patient with me!
Here's what's happened over the last week:
I arrived home on Thursday, the 14th of June and went straight to Andy's bachelor party with a toga and a laurel wreath on my head. Pretty tame night, but that's a good thing considering I didn't sleep on the flight back.
I got fitted for my tux the next day, and the wedding was on Saturday(i have pictures of me being photographed with the wedding party. Hilarious and worth a look, check again later.) The wedding was phenomenal and I ushered with Brett, my best friend. Andy was a proud man. I could tell when I went up for communion, I've never seen anyone look so proud and happy.
I danced like a fool to "play that funky music white boy" at the wedding reception and had a blast.
My sister's grad party was on Sunday, and I unpacked on Monday and Tuesday. Wednesday, Brett and I started demolishing the shed in our driveway with sledgehammers and crowbars, we finished Thursday and began painting the house on Friday.
I don't have a job this summer since I'm home for only a month and a half. I'll be doing a few jobs around Rockford and I have some business ventures I'm investigating otherwise.
My plans for the summer:
I'm putting in a retaining wall this week.
I'll be in Chicago next weekend, the 30th of June.
I'm working at Rock Valley College from 7-6 from the 5th-14th of July.
I'm hoping to be in the Boundary Waters on the weekend of the 20th-23rd(approx.).
Third Eye Blind concert on July 26th
July 27th I leave for Arizona with my buddies, be back on the 10th of August.
11th of August: Another Third Eye Blind concert
12th-15th of August: Family Vacation in Chicago
Few more days until I have to be back at school.
Marquette starts on the 27th
That's it for now, more to come! I'll bring everyone up to speed on the events in the past few months, don't worry! More photos to come as well.
Rudz
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Spiritual Epiphanies, a note to the Vocation Seekers out there
Expectations are rarely fulfilled. I figured as much when I made it to Rome, expecting a warm, tropical paradise of great food, beautiful women and a easy classes. Well, I was right about the food and the classes, but most of what I expected wasn't even close to reality.
I came here hoping to be affirmed. I got that at Marquette, instead, Italy humbled me. I expected easy, and got knocked on my ass.
In hushed conversations on lonely afternoons, mom and I would talk and type for hours, discussing the rollercoaster bumps of life: Bud has cancer, it's hard making friends abroad, Julie is having trouble finding a college that works, I'm depressed, we don't talk enough. I miss you.
And life goes on. I realized that I had come here hoping that I would figure out somethings about myself, affirm the person I wanted to be and become, well, awesomer than awesome. Sounded reasonable at the time.
"Did you ever think that you aren't in Italy to fall in love, but rather to figure out what it is about yourself that you love?''
I quiver at the thought. What do I love about myself? I'm not really sure. I'm lovable, I know that. Heck, I'm The Rudz. To know me is to love me. But do I love myself? Do I know myself?
My mind was obsessed with the question. Always questions, always answers more complicated than I wanted.
Dad visited, we traveled, ate gelato, I pondered love of self. Can I love myself? Am I allowed to do that? Isn't that selfish?
I hiked back to our hotel one night along the Vatican Wall, pondering the self, myself, late into the night. I had always read that self-realization, fulfillment, the pinnacle of human endeavors is the death of the self. Christ lives inside us, he is apart of us as we are his children. So then, logically, the self has to be put to death in order to reach Christ. The Ego, the selfish wants and needs of one person, are all that stand in the way. They must be defeated in order to reach fulfillment. That's what I'm after, right?
And then it hit me: in order to put the self to death, I have to love myself first. I.e. I have to love myself to put the self to death. Only then can it be given away. I stopped in my tracks, realizing I had reached the sign for the "Musei Vaticani." I was stunned at my revelation.
Time passed, I pondered more on the subject of fulfillment, of my purpose. Everything must have a purpose for an ENFP like me, everything fits in a cosmic whole. In God's Divine Providence, there are no coincidences.
And then my best friends came to visit. Brett revealing how much I value their company, and yesterday, Tim revealing to me just how much they mean to me emotionally. Those were the 2 best hours of my week while Tim was here.
We shared a cone of Gelato at Old Bridge Gelateria, on the same corner as that sign for the Vatican Museums. Rarely in life do we have the privilege of hearing our thoughts clearly, concisely, piercing and firm in our minds. Thoughts that speak like a booming voice, overwhelming everything else in our heads. But that's what I heard when I walked back from dropping Tim off at the Stazione Termini.
Coming to Rome has made me see something else in man that I've missed before, something that was so crystal clear yesterday afternoon as I walked back home: we are full of hope. I see it in each and every face on the street, people walking, begging, sitting, photographing, kissing, driving, staring.
There is so much love in the world, I see it reflected in my friends. If I ever doubted God's love for mankind, then those doubts were dashed by my friends. We have so much potential, so much Hope in us. So much ability. I can see it in everyone, clearer than ever before. I haven't quite sorted out the feelings, and I feel they fall on the page like a shattered glass. But yesterday, I swore I could see something different in people, a love for people that wasn't here before, wasn't something I identified with myself. Each person visiting me in Rome has revealed something to me about myself, something I do love about me. Something I didn't know before.
I watch the faces as I pass them in the street, overwhelmed with the hope of it all. Mankind has never done well underneath restrictions, never reached its potential by being forced into anything.
Instead, we reach our peak, our very best, when we are inspired. When we find someone, something to follow, someone to believe in, we can go wherever we want, as far as we want. We only need that inspiration. The hope is there, waiting to be harnessed, waiting to push us beyond our potential.
Anyways, this was my most recent epiphany as of late. It still leaves me with questions, but at least it's something I can grasp, something I can identify with my own eyes.
I'm still getting used to this whole notes/blogging thing, but I thought that if I penned this, some good might come of it. Bene, bene.
hope this note finds all who read it well, keep safe and say a prayer for Virginia Tech and for US Embassy in Morocco.
God Bless, Ciao Ragazzi,
Rudz
I came here hoping to be affirmed. I got that at Marquette, instead, Italy humbled me. I expected easy, and got knocked on my ass.
In hushed conversations on lonely afternoons, mom and I would talk and type for hours, discussing the rollercoaster bumps of life: Bud has cancer, it's hard making friends abroad, Julie is having trouble finding a college that works, I'm depressed, we don't talk enough. I miss you.
And life goes on. I realized that I had come here hoping that I would figure out somethings about myself, affirm the person I wanted to be and become, well, awesomer than awesome. Sounded reasonable at the time.
"Did you ever think that you aren't in Italy to fall in love, but rather to figure out what it is about yourself that you love?''
I quiver at the thought. What do I love about myself? I'm not really sure. I'm lovable, I know that. Heck, I'm The Rudz. To know me is to love me. But do I love myself? Do I know myself?
My mind was obsessed with the question. Always questions, always answers more complicated than I wanted.
Dad visited, we traveled, ate gelato, I pondered love of self. Can I love myself? Am I allowed to do that? Isn't that selfish?
I hiked back to our hotel one night along the Vatican Wall, pondering the self, myself, late into the night. I had always read that self-realization, fulfillment, the pinnacle of human endeavors is the death of the self. Christ lives inside us, he is apart of us as we are his children. So then, logically, the self has to be put to death in order to reach Christ. The Ego, the selfish wants and needs of one person, are all that stand in the way. They must be defeated in order to reach fulfillment. That's what I'm after, right?
And then it hit me: in order to put the self to death, I have to love myself first. I.e. I have to love myself to put the self to death. Only then can it be given away. I stopped in my tracks, realizing I had reached the sign for the "Musei Vaticani." I was stunned at my revelation.
Time passed, I pondered more on the subject of fulfillment, of my purpose. Everything must have a purpose for an ENFP like me, everything fits in a cosmic whole. In God's Divine Providence, there are no coincidences.
And then my best friends came to visit. Brett revealing how much I value their company, and yesterday, Tim revealing to me just how much they mean to me emotionally. Those were the 2 best hours of my week while Tim was here.
We shared a cone of Gelato at Old Bridge Gelateria, on the same corner as that sign for the Vatican Museums. Rarely in life do we have the privilege of hearing our thoughts clearly, concisely, piercing and firm in our minds. Thoughts that speak like a booming voice, overwhelming everything else in our heads. But that's what I heard when I walked back from dropping Tim off at the Stazione Termini.
Coming to Rome has made me see something else in man that I've missed before, something that was so crystal clear yesterday afternoon as I walked back home: we are full of hope. I see it in each and every face on the street, people walking, begging, sitting, photographing, kissing, driving, staring.
There is so much love in the world, I see it reflected in my friends. If I ever doubted God's love for mankind, then those doubts were dashed by my friends. We have so much potential, so much Hope in us. So much ability. I can see it in everyone, clearer than ever before. I haven't quite sorted out the feelings, and I feel they fall on the page like a shattered glass. But yesterday, I swore I could see something different in people, a love for people that wasn't here before, wasn't something I identified with myself. Each person visiting me in Rome has revealed something to me about myself, something I do love about me. Something I didn't know before.
I watch the faces as I pass them in the street, overwhelmed with the hope of it all. Mankind has never done well underneath restrictions, never reached its potential by being forced into anything.
Instead, we reach our peak, our very best, when we are inspired. When we find someone, something to follow, someone to believe in, we can go wherever we want, as far as we want. We only need that inspiration. The hope is there, waiting to be harnessed, waiting to push us beyond our potential.
Anyways, this was my most recent epiphany as of late. It still leaves me with questions, but at least it's something I can grasp, something I can identify with my own eyes.
I'm still getting used to this whole notes/blogging thing, but I thought that if I penned this, some good might come of it. Bene, bene.
hope this note finds all who read it well, keep safe and say a prayer for Virginia Tech and for US Embassy in Morocco.
God Bless, Ciao Ragazzi,
Rudz
On fat little Italian boys named Fabrizzio
I have this theory on fat little Italian boys. There's a million of them around Italy, and their unmistakable. You can also tell when you see a fat, grown Italian man with a 12 o'clock shadow. He may look 50, but deep down, there's a fat little Italian boy wiggling to get out.
Clear whatever's on your mind and prepare for this mental picture. These little boys are
usually about 8 years old, roly-poly fat, and have the shorter, greasy, curly black hair. For whatever reason, they love the color orange, and usually prefer orange-striped shirts. Their pants, regardless of jeans or khakis, are usually a few inches too short to cover their socks.
And they love to skip. You can see them down the sidewalks of Via Nazionale in the hot Italian sun, swinging their arms as they hold a coat in one hand and lick the lollipop in the other, stopping at candy shops as they go. If you're really lucky, they wear one of those multi-color beanies with the propeller on top. Priceless.
If you come to Rome, watch out for little Fabrizzio, he's always around.
Clear whatever's on your mind and prepare for this mental picture. These little boys are
usually about 8 years old, roly-poly fat, and have the shorter, greasy, curly black hair. For whatever reason, they love the color orange, and usually prefer orange-striped shirts. Their pants, regardless of jeans or khakis, are usually a few inches too short to cover their socks.
And they love to skip. You can see them down the sidewalks of Via Nazionale in the hot Italian sun, swinging their arms as they hold a coat in one hand and lick the lollipop in the other, stopping at candy shops as they go. If you're really lucky, they wear one of those multi-color beanies with the propeller on top. Priceless.
If you come to Rome, watch out for little Fabrizzio, he's always around.
Camera Broken!
I've lost a limb! The other night, I broke the shutter on my Nikon D50! It was sitting on a box in my room, and then things got tangled up in cords. Next thing I knew, it was on the ground. I didn't think anything of it, it was a very short fall, but apparently enough that it broke the shutter and debilitated my digital camera abilities.
2 weeks to get it replaced, I leave for Morocco on Friday, hopefully it'll be done soon! Good thing I brought a back up camera. It's film, but she's a beaut.
I'm very excited about Morocco, after this weekend, I'll have been on every continent except Antarctica! Have to brag.
Long overdue
Ragazzi,
It's been a month since I really sat down and blogged. Here's an overview of what's been going on in my life(more details to come in the future with stories):
Carrie visited me, we had a blast wandering around Rome, seeing the Vatican Museums and the beautiful Sistine Chapel, going to Assisi(also beautiful) and hanging out. At the end, we saw Gino again, then went to the Hilton for the night(thanks dad) and watched a movie with ice cream! Perfect ending. It was great to bond with my little sister, we barely get to see each other now that we're in college so it was great to hang out.
After Carrie left, I went to Termini and left with my two friends Esther and Pooja for Venice, Italy. Venice is amazing! We drank wine out of water bottles from a little place in Venice that pumps wine out of flasks(into water bottles, of course), we tried on Carnavale masks, ate on the banks of the river, fed the pigeons from our hands in St. Mark's Square, and found the X from Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade. Remember? Indy goes to Venice to find the tomb of the knight that contains the other half of the grail map. We found the library(actually a church) in the center of Venice at Campo San Barnaba, or the Church of San Barnaba. It's relatively easy to find in the center of the city. Have some gelato in that square and then walk south to the canal.
A week later was spring break and brett visited me. I was supposed to pick him up at the airport at 7:30 am, so I set my alarm the night before and did my laundry. When I woke up at 11 am, I nearly peed my pants. I raced to Fiumicino airport, illegally riding the train there, but brett wasn't there. Afterwards, I took the train home, racing to find Brett. I didn't buy a ticket that time either, but this time they checked! I got up real casual, walked to the front of the train, and realized I was screwed. I talked to the conductor at the front, who informed me that I'd have to pay a fine of 25 euros in addition to the 11 euro ticket. I talked with him for 10 minutes, and the ticket collector had already walked through the train. He saw me speaking with the conductor, and he must've assumed I had a ticket, because I walked right by him! Crisis avoided and 36 euros richer, I walked off the train. Later that day, I found brett and was thrilled to see him. I set him up in my place and then went to the US Ambassador's place for drinks(more on that later).
Brett and I had a blast in Rome. We went to Naples, Pompeii, saw most of Rome and many churches in the city. Best of all was our talks. We're deep talkers and our conversation inside the Vatican prayer area is one that I'll never forget. We were both marveling at where we are in life, and Brett told me some advice his friend had gotten. Whenever he would despair, Brett's friend's dad would stop him and ask "Joe, look at your feet. Look where you are." I think it's some of the best advice I've ever heard. Look where you are. Think about it.
Anyways, I was sad to see brett go, but glad I stayed in Italy. The rest of Europe was freezing that weekend in March!
So, the last weekend of March, I went to Ravenna for class. It's a little town north of Bologna in the arch of North East Italy. I went for my Early Christian and Byzantine Art class, and we spent the weekend looking at ancient churches and murals. It wasn't too exciting, but I did get to see an amazing mural, very famous that I've seen in history books in the Basilica of San Vitale(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Basilica_of_San_Vitale). Very cool.
My Easter was splendid. I went to mass with the Pope at 10:30 am, it was awesome. I had bought a tie from Enzo, an Italian friend I made in a tie shop on Via Vittorio Emmanuelle. He's 79, 6', and used to play on the Italian National Basketball team. I told him about my grandfather and how he made the Polish olympic soccer team, but never went because he broke his leg. Enzo still plays basketball, we swapped more stories, he sold me a 100% Italian Silk tie, and then invited me back for coffee sometime. To know me is to love me. I wore that tie to Easter mass, but didn't recieve communion at Mass. There were too many people. People were screaming, waving, jumping up and down for communion. But the tight schedule of the mass seemed to take priority, and many priests turned back before they finished. One priest, God Bless his soul, kept administering communion until he was literally pulled away by a security guard. I ended up going to a nearby church for communion.
There were no more Romans left in Rome on Easter weekend, they all left! Millions of tourists took their place. It was insane. Very eerie feeling in the city.
I started eating at 1 pm that day, and didn't stop till 11 pm. My friend Gillian had her family in town, and they were gracious enough to take us all out to dinner. Great to be in a family atmosphere for Easter. They were very kind and I am in their debt.
Gillian's friend Nikki came over Easter, and next thing I knew all of us were partying every night! I've never gone out so much, and I don't think there was a night I went to bed before 4 am. What a blast.
Finally, I went to Pompeii this past weekend and climbed Vesuvius! A live volcano, and I climbed it. I was looking down into the pit of Vesuvius, marveling at this amazing mountain that had just erupted 63 years ago. Really blows the mind. It was raining, but still magnificent. While in Pompeii, we wandered the large city(all single floor, so very spread out, a lot of walking) for a few hours with a good tour guide. Incredible to see the actual petrified bodies of the dead(they were very small), bent backwards in a horrifying scream of agony, arms protecting their face, as they were overcome by hot ash. Apparently, the air was so hot that their heads exploded. Pretty awesome. I thought of the movie Mars Attacks! where they play Hank Williams until the aliens brains pop. I'm in Pompeii and this is what I think of, sheesh.
Anyways, we saw Sorrento after that, beautiful city. Had a great view of the coast and made my way back to Rome on Sunday.
Yesterday, one of my best friends, Tim was here, it was so good to see him. We hadn't gotten together since January, and then suddenly we were in Rome together. It was great! He saw me across St. Peter's Square and we were running towards one another "TIM!" "MIKE!" We hugged. I might have twirled him. We looked like we were a little too close, but we didn't care. Nothing like an old friend. I've seen so much of Rome, Italy and Europe, but there's so much more to do! Hard to believe that it's almost over!
It's been a month since I really sat down and blogged. Here's an overview of what's been going on in my life(more details to come in the future with stories):
Carrie visited me, we had a blast wandering around Rome, seeing the Vatican Museums and the beautiful Sistine Chapel, going to Assisi(also beautiful) and hanging out. At the end, we saw Gino again, then went to the Hilton for the night(thanks dad) and watched a movie with ice cream! Perfect ending. It was great to bond with my little sister, we barely get to see each other now that we're in college so it was great to hang out.
After Carrie left, I went to Termini and left with my two friends Esther and Pooja for Venice, Italy. Venice is amazing! We drank wine out of water bottles from a little place in Venice that pumps wine out of flasks(into water bottles, of course), we tried on Carnavale masks, ate on the banks of the river, fed the pigeons from our hands in St. Mark's Square, and found the X from Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade. Remember? Indy goes to Venice to find the tomb of the knight that contains the other half of the grail map. We found the library(actually a church) in the center of Venice at Campo San Barnaba, or the Church of San Barnaba. It's relatively easy to find in the center of the city. Have some gelato in that square and then walk south to the canal.
A week later was spring break and brett visited me. I was supposed to pick him up at the airport at 7:30 am, so I set my alarm the night before and did my laundry. When I woke up at 11 am, I nearly peed my pants. I raced to Fiumicino airport, illegally riding the train there, but brett wasn't there. Afterwards, I took the train home, racing to find Brett. I didn't buy a ticket that time either, but this time they checked! I got up real casual, walked to the front of the train, and realized I was screwed. I talked to the conductor at the front, who informed me that I'd have to pay a fine of 25 euros in addition to the 11 euro ticket. I talked with him for 10 minutes, and the ticket collector had already walked through the train. He saw me speaking with the conductor, and he must've assumed I had a ticket, because I walked right by him! Crisis avoided and 36 euros richer, I walked off the train. Later that day, I found brett and was thrilled to see him. I set him up in my place and then went to the US Ambassador's place for drinks(more on that later).
Brett and I had a blast in Rome. We went to Naples, Pompeii, saw most of Rome and many churches in the city. Best of all was our talks. We're deep talkers and our conversation inside the Vatican prayer area is one that I'll never forget. We were both marveling at where we are in life, and Brett told me some advice his friend had gotten. Whenever he would despair, Brett's friend's dad would stop him and ask "Joe, look at your feet. Look where you are." I think it's some of the best advice I've ever heard. Look where you are. Think about it.
Anyways, I was sad to see brett go, but glad I stayed in Italy. The rest of Europe was freezing that weekend in March!
So, the last weekend of March, I went to Ravenna for class. It's a little town north of Bologna in the arch of North East Italy. I went for my Early Christian and Byzantine Art class, and we spent the weekend looking at ancient churches and murals. It wasn't too exciting, but I did get to see an amazing mural, very famous that I've seen in history books in the Basilica of San Vitale(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Basilica_of_San_Vitale). Very cool.
My Easter was splendid. I went to mass with the Pope at 10:30 am, it was awesome. I had bought a tie from Enzo, an Italian friend I made in a tie shop on Via Vittorio Emmanuelle. He's 79, 6', and used to play on the Italian National Basketball team. I told him about my grandfather and how he made the Polish olympic soccer team, but never went because he broke his leg. Enzo still plays basketball, we swapped more stories, he sold me a 100% Italian Silk tie, and then invited me back for coffee sometime. To know me is to love me. I wore that tie to Easter mass, but didn't recieve communion at Mass. There were too many people. People were screaming, waving, jumping up and down for communion. But the tight schedule of the mass seemed to take priority, and many priests turned back before they finished. One priest, God Bless his soul, kept administering communion until he was literally pulled away by a security guard. I ended up going to a nearby church for communion.
There were no more Romans left in Rome on Easter weekend, they all left! Millions of tourists took their place. It was insane. Very eerie feeling in the city.
I started eating at 1 pm that day, and didn't stop till 11 pm. My friend Gillian had her family in town, and they were gracious enough to take us all out to dinner. Great to be in a family atmosphere for Easter. They were very kind and I am in their debt.
Gillian's friend Nikki came over Easter, and next thing I knew all of us were partying every night! I've never gone out so much, and I don't think there was a night I went to bed before 4 am. What a blast.
Finally, I went to Pompeii this past weekend and climbed Vesuvius! A live volcano, and I climbed it. I was looking down into the pit of Vesuvius, marveling at this amazing mountain that had just erupted 63 years ago. Really blows the mind. It was raining, but still magnificent. While in Pompeii, we wandered the large city(all single floor, so very spread out, a lot of walking) for a few hours with a good tour guide. Incredible to see the actual petrified bodies of the dead(they were very small), bent backwards in a horrifying scream of agony, arms protecting their face, as they were overcome by hot ash. Apparently, the air was so hot that their heads exploded. Pretty awesome. I thought of the movie Mars Attacks! where they play Hank Williams until the aliens brains pop. I'm in Pompeii and this is what I think of, sheesh.
Anyways, we saw Sorrento after that, beautiful city. Had a great view of the coast and made my way back to Rome on Sunday.
Yesterday, one of my best friends, Tim was here, it was so good to see him. We hadn't gotten together since January, and then suddenly we were in Rome together. It was great! He saw me across St. Peter's Square and we were running towards one another "TIM!" "MIKE!" We hugged. I might have twirled him. We looked like we were a little too close, but we didn't care. Nothing like an old friend. I've seen so much of Rome, Italy and Europe, but there's so much more to do! Hard to believe that it's almost over!
Saturday, March 24, 2007
The Monastic Life, Revisited
Dear Abbot,
I am sending this letter to formally request an opportunity to photograph at your monastery and to meet with you in the near future.
I am a John Cabot University student studying photography in Rome and am interested in photographing members of the monastic community in Italy. With your permission and guidance, I would like to request the opportunity to photograph at your Monastery. I am interested in compiling a photographic documentary on the monastic life in Italy.
I have photographed at a Monastery in the United States with monks of the Cistercian Order. I will call by the 5th of March to speak with you and discuss the possibility of this project.
Sincerely yours,
Michael Rudzinski
I sent this letter, in both english and Italian, over 2 weeks ago to the Monastery of Fonte Colombo in Rieti, Italy. A small industrial town near Assisi, Rieti and its 4 monasteries were the original 4 abbeys that St. Francis of Assisi visited. Fonte Colombo is still active, so I thought, why not do another photo project on monks?
My professor suggested the idea about a month or so ago, and I’ve been trying ever since to get ahold of Fonte Colombo. Whenever I call, I explain my situation in broken italian and receive a “call back in a few days.” A few friends helped me at JCU and interpreted for me, only to receive the same response.
So finally, I decided I was just going to go there this weekend. I got sick and couldn’t make it out there today, but called them and, to my surprise, someone picked up on the other end who spoke a little english. It turns out that Fonte Colombo doesn’t have an Abbot, which means no one read my letter. I’m staying there tomorrow night as a pilgrim inside the monastery and will start my project. Hopefully, I can win the trust of the monks and start to take more of the photos that I’d like.
More on this after I get back.
I am sending this letter to formally request an opportunity to photograph at your monastery and to meet with you in the near future.
I am a John Cabot University student studying photography in Rome and am interested in photographing members of the monastic community in Italy. With your permission and guidance, I would like to request the opportunity to photograph at your Monastery. I am interested in compiling a photographic documentary on the monastic life in Italy.
I have photographed at a Monastery in the United States with monks of the Cistercian Order. I will call by the 5th of March to speak with you and discuss the possibility of this project.
Sincerely yours,
Michael Rudzinski
I sent this letter, in both english and Italian, over 2 weeks ago to the Monastery of Fonte Colombo in Rieti, Italy. A small industrial town near Assisi, Rieti and its 4 monasteries were the original 4 abbeys that St. Francis of Assisi visited. Fonte Colombo is still active, so I thought, why not do another photo project on monks?
My professor suggested the idea about a month or so ago, and I’ve been trying ever since to get ahold of Fonte Colombo. Whenever I call, I explain my situation in broken italian and receive a “call back in a few days.” A few friends helped me at JCU and interpreted for me, only to receive the same response.
So finally, I decided I was just going to go there this weekend. I got sick and couldn’t make it out there today, but called them and, to my surprise, someone picked up on the other end who spoke a little english. It turns out that Fonte Colombo doesn’t have an Abbot, which means no one read my letter. I’m staying there tomorrow night as a pilgrim inside the monastery and will start my project. Hopefully, I can win the trust of the monks and start to take more of the photos that I’d like.
More on this after I get back.
My Extended Italian Family (Take 2 and 3)
Carriekins, my lovable faux-hawked sister, visited me a couple weeks ago. And again we stopped by Gino’s, more than happy to oblige us. When I made the reservation for that night, GIno insisted on feeding me a small plate of food and giving me white wine. When you’re Roman, you’re family.
As many of you know, Carrie doesn’t drink. That left me in quite the predicament when Gino poured 2 glasses of white and then brought a bottle of red. Add the grappa at the end of the meal, and I was feeling it. I finished just about all of it, and held my own, anything for Gino!
When Gino brought us the cheese platter, the center of the plate was a hearty piece of blue cheese. Oh baby. Gino came by and drizzled that puppy with honey, at which I proclaimed “Gino! Questo e mi favorito!” And it is, that combination of thick honey with moldy cheese is unbeatable.
Later on, Gino returned with a plastic bag, reached inside to reveal . . . a jar of honey! I realized I should have specified “gorgonzola e miele sono mi favorito”. I’ve been eating honey on toast every morning since.
A week after Carrie, my best friend from back home came with his parents. There are 2 types of funny in this world: regular funny, and Brett funny. This is roll around on the floor, sides, aching, crying, pee-your-pants funny. I was happy to see Brett.
We visited Gino again this past Wednesday, this time with Brett and his parents. After a bottle of white, and two bottles of rosso, we were feeling pretty good and enjoying the great food. Of course, the best wine was from Gino’s home region of Puglia, a dark, rich Nero wine by the same makers of the Primitivo wine Gino sells. Gino even made a special dish just for Brett who had given up meat for lent. Grappa came afterwards, clearing the sinuses, and we even got a couple of pictures with Gino.
I gave Gino his present from my dad, 2 Chicago Bears T-Shirts, pretty crappy if you ask me! This guy gave us a bottle of fine olive oil, honey, and a Rosso del Montalcino and he gets 2 t-shirts? Come on dad, you gotta do better than that.
As a parting gift, Gino gave us 2 more honey jars, and a bottle of wine. I’m sure I’ll have more Gino stories to come.
As many of you know, Carrie doesn’t drink. That left me in quite the predicament when Gino poured 2 glasses of white and then brought a bottle of red. Add the grappa at the end of the meal, and I was feeling it. I finished just about all of it, and held my own, anything for Gino!
When Gino brought us the cheese platter, the center of the plate was a hearty piece of blue cheese. Oh baby. Gino came by and drizzled that puppy with honey, at which I proclaimed “Gino! Questo e mi favorito!”
Later on, Gino returned with a plastic bag, reached inside to reveal . . . a jar of honey! I realized I should have specified “gorgonzola e miele sono mi favorito”
A week after Carrie, my best friend from back home came with his parents. There are 2 types of funny in this world: regular funny, and Brett funny. This is roll around on the floor, sides, aching, crying, pee-your-pants funny. I was happy to see Brett.
We visited Gino again this past Wednesday, this time with Brett and his parents. After a bottle of white, and two bottles of rosso, we were feeling pretty good and enjoying the great food. Of course, the best wine was from Gino’s home region of Puglia, a dark, rich Nero wine by the same makers of the Primitivo wine Gino sells. Gino even made a special dish just for Brett who had given up meat for lent. Grappa came afterwards, clearing the sinuses, and we even got a couple of pictures with Gino.
I gave Gino his present from my dad, 2 Chicago Bears T-Shirts, pretty crappy if you ask me! This guy gave us a bottle of fine olive oil, honey, and a Rosso del Montalcino and he gets 2 t-shirts? Come on dad, you gotta do better than that.
As a parting gift, Gino gave us 2 more honey jars, and a bottle of wine. I’m sure I’ll have more Gino stories to come.
Croatia and Plitvice, part 2
Didn't think my post on Croatia was adequate, so here's the rest of what I typed:
Croat |ˈkrōˌat; ˈkrōˌät; krōt|
noun
1 a native or national of Croatia, or a person of Croatian descent.
2 Ethnically, somewhere between Italian, Greek and Slavic Russian. Eats squid. Speaks funny sounding language similar to polish. Lives in a beautiful country. Hates Italians. Tasty trout.
I realized I never blogged on Croatia. It is a beautiful country and very cheap. Unfortunately, many Americans are still underneath the impression that there’s still a war raging in the Balkans. You’ll find a lot of bullet riddled houses(and land mines, if you venture off into the wilderness), but no war. The Croats are very nice as a people, and polite, not to mention cheap.
Croatia has yet to join the EU, and even though they have a deal to use the Euro for tourism, their main currency is the Kuhn(“Coon” just like the end of “raccoon,” which, oddly enough, means “Fox” in Croatian). It’s about 5 Kuhn to the American dollar, which is pretty awesome when you want to travel around one of the most beautiful places in Europe. Split and Dubrownik are considered the most beautiful part of the world by National Geographic(this is hearsay, but probably valid), but we didn’t have the chance to make it down there.
We did make it to Zagreb in the north, the Istrian Peninsula, and Plitvice National Park.
Croatia, despite claiming to be ‘South Central European”, is extremely Eastern. Conquered by from every direction by a variety of peoples(including the turks, russians, romans and italians), they’re a pretty unique culture that’s just starting to become more well known in the years after the war. We rented a car in Zagreb and drove to Istria, a peninsula of the northern coast. I had hoped to go to Venice while dad was in town, but there was a warning for Americans during Carnevale and we found cheap tickets to Croatia instead. Stumbling around the coastal towns, not really finding any tourists or anything of interest, I was starting to wonder how smart that decision had been. In Rjeki, a small town in the south of Istria, dad and I stumbled into a Carnevale festival.
In Croatia, men dress up as wolves during Carnevale to chase the evil spirits out of town(as I understand it). While waiting for all this commotion to occur, we were enjoying a cappuccino in a sidewalk cafe when a pickup with four guys playing homemade tambourines, trumpets and electric keyboards pulled up, one yelling into a megaphone. They tell me he was ‘singing.’
Behind the european redneck band, was another pickup with a lifesize plastic cow in the back, being chased buy a dozen men in masks and monkey suits. One was carrying a live chainsaw.
I had hoped they had come to sacrifice the band to the cow god, but that wasn’t the case. Instead, they danced around the cow in the square for a while, my favorite devil-worshippers being the guys dressed up as a wolf and a gorilla doing the tango.
Dad and I left after the guy with the chainsaw started spicing things up by chasing passers-by while revving the motor. I’m pretty sure he was drunk. All this time I’m thinking “I could be in VENICE right now at the real Carnevale!” I was kicking myself.
At the next town, dad and I stumbled into a wedding, which was also very Eastern European with fake tuxes and a bride with bad makeup. I think it was in the church courtyard where we decided Istria was a bust.
We piled back in the car after buying some bread, cheese, wine and baklava and started driving south. Switching plans on a trip can reinvigorate things, especially if your first plan doesn’t work out. In our case, it was just time to get out of Istria.
The road to Plitvice National Park was mostly highway until we started driving east. Climbing up a mountain in our tiny Fiat, we were taking 180 degree switchbacks along a narrow, wet road and praying hail marys like nobody’s business. That was before the fog. Once we hit the fog, we couldn’t see more than 20 feet in front of us, and ended up turning back for the nearest town.
We found a hotel just as the kitchen was about to close, and dad ordered squid for the 2nd night. I had veal, or what looked like a dark meat, as it was floating in a puddle of grease. Neither were anything to write about, but the irritable waitress and the owners were a trip.
We thought our server was a piece of work, until we were shown to our room. The two owners, an elderly german looking gentleman with a million wrinkles and teeth like nails, spoke in a raspy German accent to his accomplice. He stood no taller than 5’ 10”, but was the toughest looking Croat I had ever seen. Built like a brick wall, ‘Dozer,’ as I’ve come to call him, had a shaved head and looked like colonel from the war. When they led us into our room and discussed prices, I was convinced they were going to gut us both and take our money.
Dozer obviously had a way with women, especially his wife the irritable Croatian waitress who served us dinner. She had a way of rolling her eyes each time you asked a question and only responding when she felt like it. I’ve since decided to marry a Pole.
In the morning, we left Dozer and drove to Plitvice through still-thick fog. Totally worth the trip. The Hotel Jezero, overlooking the system of waterfalls Plitvice is known for, was very nice and the staff spoke english well. Plitvice has 10,000 visitors a day during the summer, but in February it was abandoned. One of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been.
Croat |ˈkrōˌat; ˈkrōˌät; krōt|
noun
1 a native or national of Croatia, or a person of Croatian descent.
2 Ethnically, somewhere between Italian, Greek and Slavic Russian. Eats squid. Speaks funny sounding language similar to polish. Lives in a beautiful country. Hates Italians. Tasty trout.
I realized I never blogged on Croatia. It is a beautiful country and very cheap. Unfortunately, many Americans are still underneath the impression that there’s still a war raging in the Balkans. You’ll find a lot of bullet riddled houses(and land mines, if you venture off into the wilderness), but no war. The Croats are very nice as a people, and polite, not to mention cheap.
Croatia has yet to join the EU, and even though they have a deal to use the Euro for tourism, their main currency is the Kuhn(“Coon” just like the end of “raccoon,” which, oddly enough, means “Fox” in Croatian). It’s about 5 Kuhn to the American dollar, which is pretty awesome when you want to travel around one of the most beautiful places in Europe. Split and Dubrownik are considered the most beautiful part of the world by National Geographic(this is hearsay, but probably valid), but we didn’t have the chance to make it down there.
We did make it to Zagreb in the north, the Istrian Peninsula, and Plitvice National Park.
Croatia, despite claiming to be ‘South Central European”, is extremely Eastern. Conquered by from every direction by a variety of peoples(including the turks, russians, romans and italians), they’re a pretty unique culture that’s just starting to become more well known in the years after the war. We rented a car in Zagreb and drove to Istria, a peninsula of the northern coast. I had hoped to go to Venice while dad was in town, but there was a warning for Americans during Carnevale and we found cheap tickets to Croatia instead. Stumbling around the coastal towns, not really finding any tourists or anything of interest, I was starting to wonder how smart that decision had been. In Rjeki, a small town in the south of Istria, dad and I stumbled into a Carnevale festival.
In Croatia, men dress up as wolves during Carnevale to chase the evil spirits out of town(as I understand it). While waiting for all this commotion to occur, we were enjoying a cappuccino in a sidewalk cafe when a pickup with four guys playing homemade tambourines, trumpets and electric keyboards pulled up, one yelling into a megaphone. They tell me he was ‘singing.’
Behind the european redneck band, was another pickup with a lifesize plastic cow in the back, being chased buy a dozen men in masks and monkey suits. One was carrying a live chainsaw.
I had hoped they had come to sacrifice the band to the cow god, but that wasn’t the case. Instead, they danced around the cow in the square for a while, my favorite devil-worshippers being the guys dressed up as a wolf and a gorilla doing the tango.
Dad and I left after the guy with the chainsaw started spicing things up by chasing passers-by while revving the motor. I’m pretty sure he was drunk. All this time I’m thinking “I could be in VENICE right now at the real Carnevale!” I was kicking myself.
At the next town, dad and I stumbled into a wedding, which was also very Eastern European with fake tuxes and a bride with bad makeup. I think it was in the church courtyard where we decided Istria was a bust.
We piled back in the car after buying some bread, cheese, wine and baklava and started driving south. Switching plans on a trip can reinvigorate things, especially if your first plan doesn’t work out. In our case, it was just time to get out of Istria.
The road to Plitvice National Park was mostly highway until we started driving east. Climbing up a mountain in our tiny Fiat, we were taking 180 degree switchbacks along a narrow, wet road and praying hail marys like nobody’s business. That was before the fog. Once we hit the fog, we couldn’t see more than 20 feet in front of us, and ended up turning back for the nearest town.
We found a hotel just as the kitchen was about to close, and dad ordered squid for the 2nd night. I had veal, or what looked like a dark meat, as it was floating in a puddle of grease. Neither were anything to write about, but the irritable waitress and the owners were a trip.
We thought our server was a piece of work, until we were shown to our room. The two owners, an elderly german looking gentleman with a million wrinkles and teeth like nails, spoke in a raspy German accent to his accomplice. He stood no taller than 5’ 10”, but was the toughest looking Croat I had ever seen. Built like a brick wall, ‘Dozer,’ as I’ve come to call him, had a shaved head and looked like colonel from the war. When they led us into our room and discussed prices, I was convinced they were going to gut us both and take our money.
Dozer obviously had a way with women, especially his wife the irritable Croatian waitress who served us dinner. She had a way of rolling her eyes each time you asked a question and only responding when she felt like it. I’ve since decided to marry a Pole.
In the morning, we left Dozer and drove to Plitvice through still-thick fog. Totally worth the trip. The Hotel Jezero, overlooking the system of waterfalls Plitvice is known for, was very nice and the staff spoke english well. Plitvice has 10,000 visitors a day during the summer, but in February it was abandoned. One of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
@ The Ambassador's:
Mired in midterms, our class continued presenting on artists for my Landscape Painting class on Wednesday. After sitting through 3 hours of Matisse and driving a screwdriver through my eye to relieve the boredom, class was dismissed and my professor casually mentioned "oh yeah, the US Ambassador to Italy wants to have drinks with some of the young American and Italian artists going to school in Rome. Anyone interested?"
BAH-ZING!!!
Oh baby, I'm there. I left my email for the invite and skipped out the door. And then, I received a little something in the mail:
The Ambassador of the United States of America
and Mrs. Spogli
request the honor of the company of
Mr. Rudzinski
at an Evening of Art and Music
on Friday, March 16
from six-thirty to eight-thirty o’clock
How do I pull this stuff off? Private mass with the 2nd most important man in the Catholic Church? Papal audiences? Dinner with bishops? Drinks with US Ambassadors? To know me is to love me.
More on this topic after I've networked the art scene at the embassy. Live vicariously, friends. Vicariously.
BAH-ZING!!!
Oh baby, I'm there. I left my email for the invite and skipped out the door. And then, I received a little something in the mail:
The Ambassador of the United States of America
and Mrs. Spogli
request the honor of the company of
Mr. Rudzinski
at an Evening of Art and Music
on Friday, March 16
from six-thirty to eight-thirty o’clock
How do I pull this stuff off? Private mass with the 2nd most important man in the Catholic Church? Papal audiences? Dinner with bishops? Drinks with US Ambassadors? To know me is to love me.
More on this topic after I've networked the art scene at the embassy. Live vicariously, friends. Vicariously.
Monday, March 05, 2007
My Extended Italian Family
This post is over a week late, but one of my best experiences in Italy so far.
My dad visited over a week ago, and while trying to get out of the rain one day, we stumbled into a restaurant off Via Trastevere.
The secret to finding a good restaurant in Italy is quite simple: find someplace where no one speaks English. Not hard to do, but a challenge once you’re in the restaurant. But the reward was well worth it when we found “La Vecchia Bottega del Vino” at 9A/11 Via S. Maria del Pianto.
Brown wood shelving stacked 4 high to the ceiling with wine, impassioned romans having intense conversations(evident by theatrical hand motions) over glasses of vino, and a lime-green bottle of Olia di Oliva on every goomba’s table. Oh baby, you can’t go wrong. We were ushered in for lunch sometime around 1 p.m.
I knew we were in business when the owner addressed us in Italian despite our undeniably American looks. I had to work with what little Italian I knew, but we had only ordered two glasses of Barbera D’Alba(a Hilberg 2004, in case you’re interested) when a plate of smoked fish arrived. Thin slices of salmon, tuna and a few other pesce(fish) sat atop a salad of rugetta, a bitter but tasty green leaf that looks like dandelion, and the freshest cherry tomatoes I’ve tasted.
The next plate sold us on this place. I can’t really describe everything we ate, beauty would be lost in translation. In Croatia, we ate well. In Italy, we dined on art. My mouth is watering just remembering the plate. As dad said, it was a “cacophony of positive flavor.” That’s my dad.
The zucchini here is picked earlier, and is therefore smaller, tastier and more flavorful. A mountain of zucchini slices was the center of the plate, surrounded by different appetizer like pieces of food. Prosciutto wrapped around hard Italian cheese with a sprig of rosemary. Zucchini flowers stuffed with a cream of ricotta, parmesan and pistachios. Or ricotta in pineapple slices sprinkled with cinnamon. Every one was different, each was a work of art.
That was the best lunch I’ve ever had. But then we came back for dinner the next night.
We arrived before they opened and introduced ourselves to the owner, Gino, who seated us, gave us a tour of his private wine cellar(there was no one else in the restaurant except for Gino, Dad and I, and Gino’s brother), his 2000 year old Roman column and 2 glasses of Brunello di Montalcino. If you know anything about the town of Montalcino, then you know it’s wine, Brunello. It’s perhaps one of the best wines in all of Italy, starting somewhere around 30 euros a bottle and going up to 600 euros a bottle(when I was there with a school trip, I bought a bottle of Rosso di Montalcino for 20 euros. It’s 95% the same wine and much cheaper. But do let it age, dad wanted to drink it and it was much to early. You owe me wine, dad).
This wine was good, but nothing compared to Gino’s choice for the night. Gino speaks only a few words of english, my dad speaks no Italian, but there was never a misunderstanding between the two of them that night. By the time we left, they were brothers. Dad asked where Gino was from, next thing you know Gino has the map out explaining where his hometown is, he’s bringing us meatballs made by his grandmother, we’re getting loads of appetizers.
But what really amazed me here was watching my dad. Over dinner, dad kept asking about ingredients, about Gino, about his family and his restaurant. Dad was genuinely interested. And that’s where the story got interesting for me. I remember stories about my grandfather, and dad always used to talk about his father’s hunting trips out west. He would go out west, walk up to some farmer’s door and ask to spend the night. Years later, he would return and find they had added a room or an extra building just for Stan. I never understood how he did that until I watched dad and Gino talk. Dad really is interested in Gino, he really wants to know everything about the food, the ingredients, the wine. But more importantly, he’s interested in Gino. They didn’t speak each other’s language, but understood every word.
After another plate of fish, and then a collection of different food arts, dad and I enjoyed a Primitivo from Gino’s region of southern Italy. THAT was an amazing wine, better than the Brunello.
Later in the night, we had desert and Gino opened his private collection of Grappa(5 bottles!) for us. On the house, courtesy of Gino and Papa Rudz. Who better to enjoy grappa with than dad? 7 glasses of Grappa later, we left, dad and Gino exchanged emails, and they hugged. Somehow we found our way back to the hotel.
My dad visited over a week ago, and while trying to get out of the rain one day, we stumbled into a restaurant off Via Trastevere.
The secret to finding a good restaurant in Italy is quite simple: find someplace where no one speaks English. Not hard to do, but a challenge once you’re in the restaurant. But the reward was well worth it when we found “La Vecchia Bottega del Vino” at 9A/11 Via S. Maria del Pianto.
Brown wood shelving stacked 4 high to the ceiling with wine, impassioned romans having intense conversations(evident by theatrical hand motions) over glasses of vino, and a lime-green bottle of Olia di Oliva on every goomba’s table. Oh baby, you can’t go wrong. We were ushered in for lunch sometime around 1 p.m.
I knew we were in business when the owner addressed us in Italian despite our undeniably American looks. I had to work with what little Italian I knew, but we had only ordered two glasses of Barbera D’Alba(a Hilberg 2004, in case you’re interested) when a plate of smoked fish arrived. Thin slices of salmon, tuna and a few other pesce(fish) sat atop a salad of rugetta, a bitter but tasty green leaf that looks like dandelion, and the freshest cherry tomatoes I’ve tasted.
The next plate sold us on this place. I can’t really describe everything we ate, beauty would be lost in translation. In Croatia, we ate well. In Italy, we dined on art. My mouth is watering just remembering the plate. As dad said, it was a “cacophony of positive flavor.” That’s my dad.
The zucchini here is picked earlier, and is therefore smaller, tastier and more flavorful. A mountain of zucchini slices was the center of the plate, surrounded by different appetizer like pieces of food. Prosciutto wrapped around hard Italian cheese with a sprig of rosemary. Zucchini flowers stuffed with a cream of ricotta, parmesan and pistachios. Or ricotta in pineapple slices sprinkled with cinnamon. Every one was different, each was a work of art.
That was the best lunch I’ve ever had. But then we came back for dinner the next night.
We arrived before they opened and introduced ourselves to the owner, Gino, who seated us, gave us a tour of his private wine cellar(there was no one else in the restaurant except for Gino, Dad and I, and Gino’s brother), his 2000 year old Roman column and 2 glasses of Brunello di Montalcino. If you know anything about the town of Montalcino, then you know it’s wine, Brunello. It’s perhaps one of the best wines in all of Italy, starting somewhere around 30 euros a bottle and going up to 600 euros a bottle(when I was there with a school trip, I bought a bottle of Rosso di Montalcino for 20 euros. It’s 95% the same wine and much cheaper. But do let it age, dad wanted to drink it and it was much to early. You owe me wine, dad).
This wine was good, but nothing compared to Gino’s choice for the night. Gino speaks only a few words of english, my dad speaks no Italian, but there was never a misunderstanding between the two of them that night. By the time we left, they were brothers. Dad asked where Gino was from, next thing you know Gino has the map out explaining where his hometown is, he’s bringing us meatballs made by his grandmother, we’re getting loads of appetizers.
But what really amazed me here was watching my dad. Over dinner, dad kept asking about ingredients, about Gino, about his family and his restaurant. Dad was genuinely interested. And that’s where the story got interesting for me. I remember stories about my grandfather, and dad always used to talk about his father’s hunting trips out west. He would go out west, walk up to some farmer’s door and ask to spend the night. Years later, he would return and find they had added a room or an extra building just for Stan. I never understood how he did that until I watched dad and Gino talk. Dad really is interested in Gino, he really wants to know everything about the food, the ingredients, the wine. But more importantly, he’s interested in Gino. They didn’t speak each other’s language, but understood every word.
After another plate of fish, and then a collection of different food arts, dad and I enjoyed a Primitivo from Gino’s region of southern Italy. THAT was an amazing wine, better than the Brunello.
Later in the night, we had desert and Gino opened his private collection of Grappa(5 bottles!) for us. On the house, courtesy of Gino and Papa Rudz. Who better to enjoy grappa with than dad? 7 glasses of Grappa later, we left, dad and Gino exchanged emails, and they hugged. Somehow we found our way back to the hotel.
Friday, March 02, 2007
Photos from Plitvice
Istria:
Almost forgot, photos from Plitvice:
Check out the rest on my flickr page:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/rudz1985/
Almost forgot, photos from Plitvice:
Check out the rest on my flickr page:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/rudz1985/
Hidden Treasures: Plitvice National Park
Frustrated by a fruitless wine tour of the Istrian Peninsula, Dad and I piled into our 4-door Fiat and left Croatia's beautiful Coast. We had had enough of empty vineyards, vacant hotels and grumpy locals. We wanted wine, there was no wine; we wanted beautiful countryside, everything was brown; we found the coast, and no one was on it. Time to move on.
Luckily, this decision came on the 2nd day of our trip to Croatia, my father's 3rd day while visiting me in Europe. Instead of sticking around the unexpectedly vacant coast, we reverted to our original plan: Plitvice National Park. The first shot of the Serbian war was fired in the park, killing a ranger. That was 15 years ago, and, to our delight, most Americans still think the war is going on. Over 10,000 visitors a day during the summer aren't afraid of the park, its maze of waterfalls and dense forest, or the sound of water crashing on the rocks below the 70 meter Veliki Slap waterfall. Although we drove through several old warzones(complete with bullet riddled houses, buildings with half the frame gone from tank shells and one outdoor display of heavy armor, including a MIG, modified Sherman Tank and some Russian armor)
, Croatia is probably one of the safest countries I've been in.
But Plitvice is an amazing treasure, mostly undiscovered by Americans and Western Europeans. It reminded me of something between Yellowstone National Park and Niagara Falls. It didn't have the dramatic fall or breadth of Niagara, and lacked the buffalo, bubbling mud pits and grizzlies of Yellowstone, but I could have spent another 2 days hiking and exploring the huge network of waterfalls, emerald green lakes and beautiful birch forest.
What really made our morning arrival special was the thick fog. We had to stop at a hostel the night before, forced back before the park due to thick fog, and the next day was no different. We drove to Hotel Jezero in thick fog and hiked the main network of lakes in heavy blanket of white fogginess. Loved it. The forest was a thick, soupy consistency 100 meters in front of you, and every lake ended in white.
Favorite moment: hiking past Veliki Slap, the tallest waterfall at 70 meters, and finding a spot hidden from the roar of the waterfalls. Just on the edge of one of the lakes, we were behind a hill, hidden from all the noise, so quiet all we could hear was the running water and the Croatian ducks flapping their wings above us. Dad and I agreed it reminded us of Boy Scouts, hiking long days and sitting in the tent late at night when all that we knew were the stars, the wind and our own whispers. Of course, what good is silence if not enjoyed with a cuban cigar and Croatian wine drank from a plastic water bottle? Not any good at all.
We enjoyed a delicious dinner of Croatian trout(the waters are teeming with them, but fishing is forbidden in the park. Damn). We also met a large group of Americans, on tour in Croatia; another couple of Americans from Venice, on vacation for their anniversary; and another couple, Barry from Virginia who was working at the US Embassy in Moscow for the State Department, and his fiance, Nina, who had the most contagious laugh ever and worked at the Embassy in Sarajevo. She said it was beautiful, I'd like to go.
Both mentioned working for the State Department, and I must say that it sounds quite appealing. Traveling the world, expenses paid, working for the government. I have been bitten by the travel bug.
Croatia is beautiful, I highly recommend. But no one beats Poland.
Luckily, this decision came on the 2nd day of our trip to Croatia, my father's 3rd day while visiting me in Europe. Instead of sticking around the unexpectedly vacant coast, we reverted to our original plan: Plitvice National Park. The first shot of the Serbian war was fired in the park, killing a ranger. That was 15 years ago, and, to our delight, most Americans still think the war is going on. Over 10,000 visitors a day during the summer aren't afraid of the park, its maze of waterfalls and dense forest, or the sound of water crashing on the rocks below the 70 meter Veliki Slap waterfall. Although we drove through several old warzones(complete with bullet riddled houses, buildings with half the frame gone from tank shells and one outdoor display of heavy armor, including a MIG, modified Sherman Tank and some Russian armor)
, Croatia is probably one of the safest countries I've been in.
But Plitvice is an amazing treasure, mostly undiscovered by Americans and Western Europeans. It reminded me of something between Yellowstone National Park and Niagara Falls. It didn't have the dramatic fall or breadth of Niagara, and lacked the buffalo, bubbling mud pits and grizzlies of Yellowstone, but I could have spent another 2 days hiking and exploring the huge network of waterfalls, emerald green lakes and beautiful birch forest.
What really made our morning arrival special was the thick fog. We had to stop at a hostel the night before, forced back before the park due to thick fog, and the next day was no different. We drove to Hotel Jezero in thick fog and hiked the main network of lakes in heavy blanket of white fogginess. Loved it. The forest was a thick, soupy consistency 100 meters in front of you, and every lake ended in white.
Favorite moment: hiking past Veliki Slap, the tallest waterfall at 70 meters, and finding a spot hidden from the roar of the waterfalls. Just on the edge of one of the lakes, we were behind a hill, hidden from all the noise, so quiet all we could hear was the running water and the Croatian ducks flapping their wings above us. Dad and I agreed it reminded us of Boy Scouts, hiking long days and sitting in the tent late at night when all that we knew were the stars, the wind and our own whispers. Of course, what good is silence if not enjoyed with a cuban cigar and Croatian wine drank from a plastic water bottle? Not any good at all.
We enjoyed a delicious dinner of Croatian trout(the waters are teeming with them, but fishing is forbidden in the park. Damn). We also met a large group of Americans, on tour in Croatia; another couple of Americans from Venice, on vacation for their anniversary; and another couple, Barry from Virginia who was working at the US Embassy in Moscow for the State Department, and his fiance, Nina, who had the most contagious laugh ever and worked at the Embassy in Sarajevo. She said it was beautiful, I'd like to go.
Both mentioned working for the State Department, and I must say that it sounds quite appealing. Traveling the world, expenses paid, working for the government. I have been bitten by the travel bug.
Croatia is beautiful, I highly recommend. But no one beats Poland.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
The Honest Critique and Discerning Photographic Tastes
A few weeks ago I updated my flickr.com profile concerning my frank and honest comments. I consider flickr.com to be a site for photographers, no matter their seriousness, and intend to treat other members as such. Therefore, I stated in my profile, I am going to be blunt, honest and forthright in my critiques of your photographs. I’m here to evaluate real photography, not “ooo” and “ahh” all over somebody’s cute kid pictures.
I treat photography seriously because, for me, it is serious. I really want to give it my all and try and make it in the business of photography. Only recently have a come to the conclusion that I love and honestly want to try photography, throwing myself into the craft with all I’ve got. But quite honestly, all of life should be treated in this way.
Shouldn’t we give everything our best? Shouldn’t we approach each new idea, pursuit, and love like its the first, last and only thing we’ll ever do? If anything is worth doing, it’s worth our best. I realized that I’m wasting my time if only doing half the effort I’m capable of, only attempting something halfway. If you really want something, really love something, really want to do something, then go for it, completely and all the way.
As I get further into photography, taking more photographs, evaluating my own more critically and being enlightened by the industry’s best, my taste has matured. I have become increasingly critical of photographs, looking at them in a completely new light from before. My inspiration: Magnum Photos, the best photography in the world. If you get the chance, I do suggest you pick up a copy of the Magnum catalog in your local library. It’s a thick book with a multicolored cover and MAGNUM in large, white letters on the front and side. I spent the better part of 3 hours pouring over its photographs, couldn’t pull myself away. Truly the best.
I treat photography seriously because, for me, it is serious. I really want to give it my all and try and make it in the business of photography. Only recently have a come to the conclusion that I love and honestly want to try photography, throwing myself into the craft with all I’ve got. But quite honestly, all of life should be treated in this way.
Shouldn’t we give everything our best? Shouldn’t we approach each new idea, pursuit, and love like its the first, last and only thing we’ll ever do? If anything is worth doing, it’s worth our best. I realized that I’m wasting my time if only doing half the effort I’m capable of, only attempting something halfway. If you really want something, really love something, really want to do something, then go for it, completely and all the way.
As I get further into photography, taking more photographs, evaluating my own more critically and being enlightened by the industry’s best, my taste has matured. I have become increasingly critical of photographs, looking at them in a completely new light from before. My inspiration: Magnum Photos, the best photography in the world. If you get the chance, I do suggest you pick up a copy of the Magnum catalog in your local library. It’s a thick book with a multicolored cover and MAGNUM in large, white letters on the front and side. I spent the better part of 3 hours pouring over its photographs, couldn’t pull myself away. Truly the best.
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