Suzanna Lamria's Site

Take your keys with you every time you have to leave home

 

Use them to close the home door

 

Do it in the gentle way,

 

so no tremble caused

 

and everyone left at home remains undisturbed

 

 

Be certain that the door is perfectly locked, if you are the last to leave …

 

 

Surely,  your keys are needed to open the home door

 

 

Then…

 

 

Put your keys on the chest in the foyer

 

so we know that you are at home

 

and you know who are at home

 

 

 

The fellowship of the keys:

Daniele, Ilde, Suzanna, Vera, Antoine

 

 

Might we not be able to be together again

 

But at and by heart we will make sure that

 

the memory of our brief togetherness

 

and the feeling of being at home

 

are perfectly preserved

 

as once and forever we have

and put our keys at their place…

 

 

 

Via Caff, Catania

October 2008 - February 2009

 

Note:   I was supposed the first one to leave the fellowship…

              Yet…

Riza Adrianti Supono wrote on my facebook wall.  How was Rome? I thought the answer was already predicted, “It was fantastic!”  A standard answer.  But, was it?  Of course!  Also Pisa, Venice and Florence which I visited. 

I wish, I will forever remember that I had once been in the San Pietro’s square admiring the Church, the high-arched pillars and the fountain.  It was great, I had an opportunity to step in Musei Vaticani which concluded The Sistine Chapel and connecting way to Basilica S Pietro and to marvel at the beautiful painted ceilings and numerous wonderful art artifacts.  I was grateful to experience the inside atmosphere of the church, touch the beautiful statues, even offer prayer in one of the altars.  I stopped for quite some time to extend my respect at Pope John Paul II’s and St. Peter’s tombs in the basement of the church.

I wish, I will forever remember that I had once visited some most beautiful churches in the world and monuments in Rome.  I threw coins into Fontana di Trevi, with profound wishes that I will some day be in Rome again.  I went to Colloseo and argued with a couple of men dressed in ancient Roman soldier wardrobe  who abruptly asked to take my picture with them with my camera and after then charged me 50 Euros.  I succeed not to pay anything (after showing my empty purse) and decided to leave the colloseo and came again the next day.  I admired the beauty of the Pantheon when the rain pierced the temple through its circle-open ceiling.    Yes, during my visit,  Rome mostly was raining but still I was intoxicated by the beauty of the eternal city.

I wish, I will forever remember  the Leaning Tower of Pisa and also the river side view from the bridge on the way to the Piazza del Miracoli – the square where the tower located and accompanied by beautiful church and fountain.   

I wish, I will forever remember that I once was lost in the labyrinths of amazing maze little city of Venezia (Venice) while admiring its  churches and river.

I wish, I will forever remember that I walked surrounding the Dome of Firenze (Florence) and enjoyed the pink-green-beige-white of the beautiful Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore. 

But I think I got more than memories of beautiful places. 

 I wish, I will forever remember the nice well-dressed old gentleman who literally guide me to S. Pietro from the Metro Stazione.  He got off the Metro two stop after me and kept assuring me… “Don’t worry, when you arrive in S. Pietro Metro Station, ask anybody there how to reach the church! Even every stone will show you the way!”  He even guarded me from being squeezed in the crammed full metro and warned me to always watch over my backpack… And I ended up being guided by three beautiful junior-high-school students, who enthusiastically walked with me approaching the square (I almost out of breath following their steps).

I wish, I will forever remember the officer of Musei Vaticani who let me re-enter the museum from the exit (since I took the wrong direction and finished in S. Pietro with my bag still was in the museum deposit counter) and made me tour the museum twice… 

 I wish, I will forever remember the British university student who directed me to the bus stop of Bus number 40 which goes to Termini from the Piazza Navona.  It was heavily raining, and I gave up walking.

 I wish, I will forever remember the people who took my picture in front of or beside the beautiful sites:  An Indian couple in front of the S. Pietro, a friendly police officer in Musei Vaticani, a smiling Korean woman in Fontana di Trevi, a Californian musician who was beside me explaining the fountain, a bunch of gents from Poland in front of Fontana del Tritone, a group of four Japanese girls near Pisa tower, an Australian boy who voluntary offered himself to take my picture with the Pisa.

I wish, I will forever remember the Italian lady with whom I shared an compartment in a night train from Rome to Venice and woke me up two station before Venice’s Santa Lucia Railway Station so that I might not miss the station, the young man from Shanghai who was the first to greet me at river side of Venice, the  young girl who was a violin player from Taiwan  with whom I chatted by the river bank of Venice and suggested me to go to little town named Creamo which produced the best violins ever in the world. 

I wish, I will forever remember the Senegalese young man who grabbed my hand when I was almost left behind by train from Venice to Florence.  the  young female student from Chinese who was a future master of communication from an Austrian University who beautifully spoke English with American accent and shared comments on S. Maria del Fiore of Firenze (Florence)

I wish, I will forever remember the Italian uncle with two nephews (Fabio and William) and Eleanor (Fabio’s girlfriend and a smart Mathematics student) and beautiful Damiano (Eleanor’s baby brother) with whom I chatted and shared jokes in the train from Florence back to Rome.  They enabled me to stay awake through the 3 hour journey after an exhausted long walking tour in Florence.

I wish, I will forever remember Vivi and Irwan the two bank bureaucrats from Jakarta with whom I enjoyed the rain of Rome and whom treated me a hot Chinese food in the city.   “Rice”, said Irwan “provides energy!”  I hope they didn’t catch any cough after being forced to follow my long walking tour to see the Colloseo.  Two nice people who I wish forever befriend.  

I wish, I will forever remember the middle aged hotel attendant who every morning was always ready for the suggestion of the shortest path to the objects in Rome.  I wish, I will forever remember the  Bangladesh man who owned an Internet cafe  who offered me an umbrella since I broke mine on my way to the railway station.  I wish, I will forever remember Andrea the Napolitan and Sidha from India whom practically led me from Track 25 of Leonardo express in Termini to Terminal A of Fiumicino Airport in a dawn of my leaving for Rome back to Catania.

I do realize that I wish I remember more people than places… People who came from many different parts of the world.   They might speak different languages yet offer the same friendly smile and practice a universal helping hand.  I believe there are many kind people left in Rome, Pisa, Venice, Florence and ... in the world. 

That’s wrapped up my brief vacation report.

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

. . . in Rome –  The Eternal City, once even was the Capital of the World –  was depleted in Fiumicino Airport.  Give thanks to the cheap flight provided by Blu Express.  The Catania-Rome-Catania trip was only  48 €. And nothing to complain… ?

Actually, the plan was indeed very good.  Flew from Catania, on 21:20, arrived in Fiumicino (Leonardo da Vinci) Airport on 22.40, went straight to Termini Stazione (Central Railway Station in Rome)  and off to the reasonable little hotel near the station.

But, the flight was delayed…. I flew on 22:something.  As, the passengers boarding, I spoke my mind loudly. “I cannot catch the train to Termini!”  A gentleman near me, responded, “Yes, you can… The Leonardo Express goes every 30 minutes!”  Yup, I know,  I learned from the internet…. but I know also that the last train departs from the airport on 23:30.  The gentleman then soothed my heart, “But the flight only takes an hour…!  You will have time”  No, it takes an hour and  twenty minutes.

So, what I was afraid of really came true. happened.  The plane landed and the pilot announced the arrival time.  It was 23:20 and Rome was raining.   Plus,  we had to wait for a bus for about 20 minutes.  I said goodbye to the last train to Rome, by heart.  Yet, we arrived in Terminal A sound and safe.

At the airport, I asked an handsome officer, “How could I go to Stazione?”  He turned his head to the other way, “Ah it’s closed…!” Maybe, what he meant was, the way from Terminal A to The Railway Station is closed? Yes!  Because then he suggested, “Turn right, to Terminal C… The Station is on that part!”  I asked whether I still  possibly caught the last Leonardo Express (with the 11 € fare).  “Yes!”

So, I went to the pointed direction.  Actually with doubtful.  Because, even though the passenger-conveyors (travelerator) still operated, no other person there except me….  I finally arrived at the stazione.   No one.  A man came from the opposite direction, and shouted madly in Italian as I asked (in English) whether there will be another train.  “No, the next train will be on  6 (in the morning)!!!”  Oh oh!  I read the schedule.  Leonardo, Termini, 06:37?

 I decided to go  back to Terminal C, because it had more lights and was warmer than the station.  Then, a cab driver offered his taxi for 40 €.  Come on! So, my saving didn’t worth at all?  The taxi would be approximately the same as the plane tickets?  “How about 20?”  I bargained.  The face of the driver turned annoyed.     How about getting the bus? The bus shelter seemed abandoned.  The last bus -I thought - has also left me.  Alone in Fiumicino. I left the option getting a taxi or a bus and really went back to Terminal C.

 

 

Numerous people had already slept in the benches.  I chose my corner, in front of counter 413.  I opened my notebook.  The first to do was viewing my picture collections.  And good things really ease  the sorrow heart.  Then I came to an idea to write this story.  Even arranged the self-captured picture.  Hmmmm.. Strangeness has healing power.  But then I had to surrender to the unconquered limitation.  My notebook battery ran out.  I could not find the electricity plug holes.  So, I set my body somehow in the double seats and tried to sleep.  I could not.  But at least, I was dry and warm.  Outside, the rain was still pouring.

On six something, I decided to go back to Stazione.  It was freezing.  Handful people had already there waited for Leonardo.  A nice Italian man showed me the automatic machine where I could get my ticket.  “Could I put the 20 € bill?” I asked.  He read the machine inscription for a minute, and said, “Sure, the maximum change of this machine is 9 €!”  He pressed all the menus (which are in Italian, but I noticed they were available in English too), I put the money and at the same time, my biglietto and changes came. 

The train came at 6:24… The nice man, said “There is come the Train!  Validate your ticket to the yellow box!”  OK.  I done.  Then got on the Train, entered one of the compartment and precisely on 6:37 the train left the Airport Stazione.  It took only 30 minutes (I even thought less than that) to arrive in Rome Termini.  So, it was around 7 in the morning and Rome was still raining heavily. 

The Central Station was great.  I went for a cup of capuccino in first caffeterria I found and learnt my way to the little hotel I had reserved from the internet.  It was only 200 metres from the station.  OK.  I will wait for the rain then go to the hotel.  I decided.  But then, I remembered that was my first mission to Rome was to report myself to the Embassy of Indonesia.  The Education Ministry still waited for the signed report from the Embassy.  I learned the map from Termini to Via Campania (The Embassy of Indonesia) which I got from the maps.google and read a notice from a member of Indonesian Students Association in Italy that to reach the embassy I should get bus number 910 and stop at Fermata (Bus Stop)  Piemonte. 

I asked a man sit across my table at the Caffeterria, how  I could catch the bus, how I knew where to stop.  “The bus station is on the north side of this station.  Bus number 910, I think is in the farthest line, but you could read the number in the line.  To stop, asked the driver or someone will always there to help you!”  See, I always have a helping hand every time I need one.  How could I ever stop praise God for His kindness extending helps through others’ hands?

Leaving the caffeterria, I went to the Information City tour at the south wing of the Station.  I got my City Map  I also informed must – to see objects.  OK.  Now I must have my telephone card.  I ran of telephone credits.  I went to the Tabachi, bought two biglieti and a telephone card.

I called Ilde my landlady to inform her that I was alright even though I have not slept.  I called the Embassy to arrange the meeting (and was thrilled to hear Indonesian spoken). Then, I was ready to go to the hotel.

Along the short way to the hotel, I went in a souvenir shop and got six postcards for three beloved friends at home in Catania and other three ones in Indonesia. Then I arrived at the hotel. It was some minutes passed from 9 in the morning.

Just I opened the door, the guy in the reservation desk saluted me, “Buorgiono, Signorina Suzanna?” Great, the internet reservation worked!  Yes! “Ah, a room is ready for you!”  Thank you! “Actually, I should be here early in the morning, but…!”  The guy cut my explanation, “No, it is a right time to come.  The check in and  check out time is around this hour. We could not have you earlier, because we were full!”  I suddenly realized that my staying in Fiucimino for a night and the lateness of the aircraft indeed were not bad at all. 

Thursday Dec 11, 2008

Note: Actually, I have thought to give this story a subtitle: Questions and Answers I Found That Are Too Personal.   Below, you will find that I discuss my age, nationalism, political view, my perspective on homosexuality and my Christian missionary spirit.   Feel free to stop reading this writing from this line, or any line you want…

I remember a pre-departure briefing once held for the “sandwichers” (fourteen of us entitled the scholarships) …  One of the Don’ts questions, I recall is, “Don’t ask about someone’s age!”  But just before my first 24 hours in Catania completed, the question has already posed by two Italian high-educated ladies.  Before my first week, maybe six more people asked the same question…

The more ridiculous of the question is when I answered it with my really age number.  None of them believe.  I once answered this disbelief with question:  “Do I look too old for my age?”

 “No… you look like my age!” (An almost-10 year younger post-doc scholar spontaneously answered)

My contentment didn’t stay forever since the same question answered like this

”But, you have not got your doctoral degree yet?” A fifteen-year younger doctoral student felt sorry

 OK! I’m a Dinosaur in this case.

So, maybe it will easier to answer the disbelief with question like this:

“OK, what age I am supposed to be? I’ll go with your choice.”

For most personal things, you really don’t want to share, I learned this answer, “I never answer that question!”

  “Actually, by not answering the question, you obviously answer it.”  But then, a conclusion comes… Hmmm

 Another serious matter to be talked about is politics.   “ Are you destra (right) or sinistra (left)?”  This question came in the middle of the coffee-break in the school. 

“Oh, I don’t think the Indonesian political system has that two partisans?  Moreover, we don’t share our political choices openly!”

“OK,  how do you consider your government ?”

Hmmmmm

The interviewer  seemed a little bit disappointed.

In many occasions, when I asked the same question to the several foreign people, all of them expressed dissatisfaction towards their governments.  None agreed! Strange!

“How about your president?”  The young foreigner asked

“He is a good looking gentleman.”  I considered myself witty coming with this answer.

“How about your country? Is it good? Do you love your country?”  Unexpectedly the discussion turned to nationalism…   Absolutely!  I then gave lecture on the national five principles.  I told briefly how the founding fathers seized the moment to proclaim our national independence… I’m good at history…. I have almost sung the National Anthem. No, I’m exaggerating!

“So, all the Indonesian should have religion?”  One question emerged elated to the first principle.

“We believe in God…”

“Do you believe in God?”  The coffee-break discussion was approaching  the top-ranked-very-personal question.  See, the foreigner keep asking forbidden questions. 

“Yes!”  I answered

“What is your God?, Who is your God?”

I took a deep breath and recited the Apostles Decree by heart then answered.  “I believe in One God, in God Father Almighty, Jesus Christ and The Holy Spirit”

The young face almost smile… “Ah, you are Christian!”

“Aren’t you too? Do you believe in God?” I asked

“I don’t know?” comes the reply

Curiosity kills the cat!  Does every European born Christian? At last some  even most of them named after the Saints? Forgive my narrow-perspective!

The young head shaken… “Maybe I was baptized when I was an infant.    But, I don’t know if I believe in Christian God.  Basically, I never go to the church!”

Suddenly, I felt sorry…. In the city practically with churches in every inches of it, this young soul cannot find a single temple.    

I’m a protestant and not having found the protestant church in the city does not make me stop to pray.  I do enjoy the catholic churches.  I pray there.  It’s delightful to find the God’s dwellings open every day.  Recurrently in the evening on my way home, I go into the church. Finding warmness both physically (because it is warmer inside the church than outside) and spiritually. 

I have my prayer frequently accompanied  by Italian prayers.  My Indonesian Lord’s Pray intertwine with “Padre nostro, che sei nei cieli…" I recite my faith in Indonesian side by side with the Credo enchanted marvelously… “Credo in un solo Dio, Padre onnipotente . . . Credo in un solo Signore, Gesu Cristo, … Credo nello Spirito Santo!” 

I enjoy the Holy Scripture read in Italian.  I can look it up in my e-Bible to find out which part being read… Sometimes even grasp the theme of the priest’s sermon (especially when he explore the Bible part I am familiar with).   I still have my God speaks with me listens to me… I mean, we can always figure out way to be near our God – regardless the religion or Supreme Sovereignty we believe in. 

“I will go to hell!”  The young soul exclaimed cynically.

(If there is no heaven nor hell, do  we still believe in God? Sounds like a song of Ahmad Dani)

“Take my God as your God….!” I said lightly.   I’m a missionary! Alleluia! Praise the Lord!   Later, I remember, Ruth the foreigner daughter-in-law of Naomi, said this similar phrase but from other side, “Your God will be my God” (Ruth 1:16).

The young face grinned.  Oh, oh, oh!!! Yes, belief is truly a very personal thing. Yet, I was not the one who ignited the matter.

”I’m kidding. . . !” I said, The young face sighed.  “I’m kidding, but take it seriously!”  I completed my sentence.  The young face smiled. 

 We emptied our coffee glass, ended the discussion, promised to see each other soon.  I left the caffeterria with my wandering mind .  

Couple of days before, in a discussion abruptly I was asked to give opinion on homosexuality.  “You are Christian… so are you homophobia?” Sounds like  a  theme of the American TV-series..   I concluded and said “A homosexual friend does not make me better than her/him. I love and respect my friends.”   

Bizarre, my mind was still drifting.  Positively, wherever those questions will be asked, my answers will remain the same.  OK, being religious will not make me judgmental as well.  I pray!  

 

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Although I considered myself as a very active-talkative person, honestly I don’t speak English well.  Maybe, I write English better than I speak the language.  In writing, correction can be done… In speaking, fault remains forever, for eternity!!!

In speaking, how could we get time to check tenses and agreements? pronunciations and vocabularies?  There will be no thesaurus providing word choices.  There will definitely no red under-line to mark mistakes in forming the words.

Relate this to the fact that: my first living abroad is not in an English-speaking country.  In Catania, communicating is regarded more important than perfect diction.  The result: Yes!  You are right!  My English speaking ability does not improve…

Hmmm…  But I think somehow my ESA  ( that is my English Speaking Ability) develops to – though not absolutely  right point –  hilarious surface.  Sometimes, I even come across new funny but factual and even philosophical truth. Oooh Oooh Oooh???

Background to this story, of course still my staying in Catania. This time, my story  is part of my lives with my room-mates and my landlady… I now  live with three most beautiful angels God ever sent to the earth… My gorgeous goddess-featured young sister Vera  comes from Germany.  My full-of-surprises and striking baby brother Antoine who is French.  My warm-hearted loving Ilde, a truly signora as my landlady… (Meanwhile, Daniele my very intellect-informative landlord an Italian gentleman left home to work abroad). 

The three (or four of course with Daniele) of them speak Italian very well and to venerate my incapability to verbalize the beautiful language, they speak English…  So, I experience listening English spoken in German, French and Italian accents.  I praise Almighty God for this diversity!  I absolutely love them… 

In incorrectness, I learn that speaking is not only about good choices of words, excellent pronunciations and right stresses, it goes beyond all of those, it is also about heart, mind, gesture, understanding, philosophical truth (here I go again… Ooh Ooh Ooh, I just pick the word to because its sounds so smart) and sense of humors.            

So the Capita-Selecta starts . . .

One day, I decided to skip school.  Vera paid a visit to my room, “Hi… what happens to you? Are you alright?” She asked attentively.  From my warm bed, I answered her lazily… “Hi… I got my moon!”  And Vera as one of the smart people in the world got my message.  Getting one’s moon!  Literately translation of Indonesian word for have a (menstruation) period.  I explained the meaning.

The discussion did not stop.  Vera nodded and said, “Hmmm, it’s a beautiful phrase!”  She continued, “In ancient time, would a female who is having her period  estrange herself from the community?”  I agreed.  “It was good, it gave a woman time to contemplate letting some part of her body out…!”  Philosophical truth…!

            Another . . .

Some other day, Ilde greeted me at the door.  After mounting six stories to be at home, I ran out breath and were sweating.  Ilde asked how I was.  I said, “Oh. I’m sweating…!”  She didn’t get my point.  So, I paraphrased, “I’m wet!”  Ah Ha!

Countless occurrences

I frequently mistakenly use the pronouns.  While telling about a woman, I referred her as he or him…  More frequently I erroneously employ the tenses. “I go to school at 9.00 yesterday!” 

This happens too

Bloopers also colored by unique of pronunciation of soft even unsounded of  “H” from Ilde and Antoine… So, instead  of  “horrible’, I heard, “’Orrible”

And of course, this

Many times, in our conversations at home…  I raise my hand and say, “I don’t get it…!”  Then the speaker(s) repeat her/his story more clearly in a more simple words, using gestures or even bringing the dictionary to the table.   If the speaker(s) is so intense in exposing her/his story… I don’t even have heart to do and say that.  I look at Vera.  She seems understand.  Smart girl… So, later I ask her about the story… And you know…  Many time, she just smiles naughtily and says, “I don’t get it either!”  Mamma Mia!  O Boy!           

The funny inventions continue. . .

We invent some phrases which may be only meaningful to us.  As… (give credit to Antoine for these…), “Do you need your laptop?” (The story was so personal, I will not write it publicly).  And also  “Getting serious with the professor” in term of my “student” position in school and how my professor treats me as I’m his real PhD student.  I expected more fun than reading papers and writing reviews… But at the end,  I must admit, it is good… I’m getting serious with the school life, the professor… (and the thesis).  Nothing to complain. Nothing to worry.  Wish me luck, I‘m getting closer to write my thesis. 

 

Many more, I believe will be on the line… I am looking forward to having those… But meanwhile.. “I’m tireet!”

 

We have just finished our pasta.  Antoine suddenly growled and exclaimed, “I am tireet!”  We looked at him confusedly.  He grunted still, “Tireet… Tired in my French accent!”  “Je suis fatigué!”  We laughed. We hugged! We kissed! 

How I love these lovely friends of mine!

My room in Catania is in a  well-preserved ancient apartment on the sixth-floor of also an old building (of course with no lift) in the center of old town.  When I open my windows, I am able to see  my neighbors’ windows and walls.  The walls with holes and some bended short poles.  I think the holes are for the pigeons to nest and the poles are for the birds to sit.

 

Also seen from my room windows is open-terrace of a neighbor.  I asked my landlady about the neighbors, where exactly my neighbors are.  It seems that we are not in the same street… Yes, the answer come, they are in the opposite street.  I sometimes wave to the man at the windows across mine. I don’t know him and don’t know where he is.  Looking through the windows is like looking at a maze and feel like living in a maze.

The old part of the town and the new one can be easily distinguished by their streets.  While the much modern part of the city has the asphalted streets, the ancient has streets paved  with stones came from Mount Etna.  The first time I saw the stone-paved street in Via Etnea, honestly I barely hold myself to kiss the street.

The Department of Business Economics ad Management – University of Catania  to where every day I go is on Corso Italia.  It is in the new part of the town. Several routes can be taken from home to school.  The first I know is the one through Via Etnea turn left  to Viale XX settembre and walk straight up to Corso Italia.  If walked indifferently, it will take 20 minutes to the campus.  That’s not frequently happened since I do enjoy the display windows of all the stores along the way.  Not to mention the Piazzas, O bless Italia for all their squares.  Added to the delights are beautiful buildings, churches with their bells ringing (O Lord Jesus, forever I praise you!), beautiful people, tender weather and bright sunshine…   On one the piazza on Via Etnea, I usually call my mom by public phone.   So with this pace, I usually arrive in school in about 40 to 45 minutes.  The way to home from campus will much-much time consumed since repeatedly interfered with coned-gelato or pizzette.

 

The way to home from campus will much-much time consumed since repeatedly interfered with coned-gelato or pizzette.  In an evening on my way back home, at the piazza an old gentleman even told the story about Santa Agata, the patrole saint of Catania, in Italian. How she stood up firmly for her faith in Christ.   I catched some phrases I thought meant: “you must go to the Cathedral… Il Duomo…”  Yes, I went to adore the Cathedral then… In another evening, another old gentleman greeted me and pointed at the fenced ruins across a square… “Americano?”  I shook my head…”Amigo?” No, I was alone… He told that the site fenced was used to be a Teatro Romano, used for the gladiator show. As almost the entire town, it buried by the debris of Mt. Etna’s eruption in 1693.  "And you know?" The kind man pointed to the statue in the middle of the square… “That's Bellini, Vincenzo Bellini… The Composer, The Maestro!”  "You should go the the Casa Bellini…!" I kept the suggestion by heart

 

Later, I discovered several shorter routes, all leave out Via Etnea and always go to Corso Sicilia and Via Giodarno Bruno then turn left to Via Monsignor Ventimiglia and go straight up to Corso Italia.  Via Giodarno Bruno is what you can called a china town.  But only Chinese letters written on some parts of the stores and red lampions scattered justified this fact.  The ambience  blends with the whole town.  The town is thematic (whatever it means then) with its yellowish and grey colors.

The very helpful aid to the discoveries come from the map of Catania that I bought at my very first day in town.  It well drawn, so I always feel safe to be lost.  The streets are also easy to be familiar with, just keep walking to the direction you want to go, if you turn, may get in to several different streets, but you finally come to the destination.  That’s how I let myself lost in the town. 

 

Sometimes a thoughtful person helps directing the way, pointing the place at the map then at the streets. I love when Italian speaks, s/he speaks with loud and clear voice, full vocal, nice stress, expressive gesture,  full eye contact and melodious rhythm as beautiful as a Batak speaks the dialect (see the point of this sentence?).  Oh, it’s a shame I don’t speak the lovely language. Non parlo Italiano!  An English-Italian dictionary lent to me by my loving-and-caring landlady is also a resourceful help. 

 

Another simple things that really matter found on the way to school is how most of the street names especially those named after famous persons bear informative inscription .  For example:  Giodarno Bruno, Filosofo (Philosopher) 1548 – 1600, Monsignor Ventimiglia, Vescovo (Bishop), 1721 – 1797, Giacomo Pucini, Musicista (Musician) 1858 – 1924, Paolo Bentivoglio, Educatore (Educator) 1894 – 1965.   In front a building used to be the dwelling of someone famous  a inscription hang.  Take these  as examples: “Casa di G. Verga, 1840 – 1922”  Now it’s a museum of Verga the Sicilian famous writer.  “Michele Rapisardi/Il pittore correto ed elegante/Nasceva in questa casa/Addi XXVII dicembre MDCCCXXII” (Michele Rapisardi, the painter born in this house).  Now the house functions as a store.    I think it’s kind of preserving the historic site and still utilize it  economically…. Once I have confessed, I love inscriptions, this why I spend some time reading the inscriptions in town.  It will be good if Giacarta has the same things,  Raden Saleh, painter 1811 –  1880, Cut Mutiah, warrior princess, 1870 – 1910,  Ismail Marzuki, composer 1914 – 1958, .  Ki Hajar Dewantoro, Educator 1889 – 1959.  Ahhh, Giacarta we have lots of  too…!

 

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Being in a new milieu means learning a lot!  Some things particularly done in a very weird way compare to one at home… Strange way doesn’t always means  illogical, instead it brings new view-angle to appreciate how other people value things including one that we think is a common sense…

            Some time before leaving Jakarta for Catania, I have already anticipated the new-ness(es).  Being in Catania is a life-time worth experience, so I should absolutely find ways to survive.   Survive in a very narrow meaning, finding room and food and things alike.

            Finding a room considered done when I finally got in touch with a friend (*) through the web of easystanza.it.  She even picked me up from the bed & breakfast at Vialle della Libertà the next morning of my arrival to go to the apartment at Via Caff, the place where she arranged to be my home during my stay in Catania.   

            They then were (and I really know will be) followed a bunch of kind, friendly and helpful people. Some of them are with me in the Campus, the all beautiful and smart doctoral students in Stanza 19 Dottorandi.  Many more remain nameless: nice and patient people at the supermarket, caffetteria, gelateria (Oh… the unforgettable gelato), pizzeria, the panificio (the bakery), the kebab shop, the bank, the bar/chiosco (coffee and soft drink kiosk), the market, the tabacchi (the tobacco store who practically sells everything) who every time I stumbled when describing or just pointed the thing  I needed, responded with kindness.  I was practicing my motto: “I’m here and I won’t ever let myself hungry!” Just pointed things I want to eat…

            Later, My very-loving Landlady taught me some simple phrases which can be used in the cafe, caffetteria or gelateria… Vorrei questo, per favore. (I would like that, Please).  It is suitable for the shop with the things displayed in the glass shelves.  But to the bank, to change money, was change considered the right term? or fracture into smaller amount?  Uhhh!

            At the end of a discussion with the  Professor, I  just snapped the question.  “How am I able to change the money…. I mean….. my home university gave my living allowance in 500 Euros. The money seems too big to be used in the supermarket…….” (It’s so me… using word ineffectively…).  The kind Professor  immediately called his friends in a bank across the campus.  He wrote a memo describing my urgency and names of his friends at the bank.  After reassuring himself that I knew the bank location, he started to explain the procedure entering the bank: “You have to put all your metal thing and cellphone that are with you in one of the lockers near the entrance.  Lock them, the key for every locker is available and can be brought inside the bank.  Next, you come in the glass cabin, press the green button to let the door open, when you are in the closed cabin you must put your finger (your thumb) in a slot”. The fingerprint became the “Alakazam!”  mantra to open the door. “When you already inside the bank, please ask for the name(s) on the memo”.  I got my money fractured in no time at all.

            An almost similar entering procedure happened when I went to the post office, only fingerprint was not necessary this time.  Yet, as soon as we were inside the post office, we had to fetch a number from the machine… Different code for different services we needed. There were A, C and P.  After getting the number, the waiting begun.   Where did I know the procedure? Of course, from a kind man who demonstrated it as soon as he knew I was confused.  Barely with words, just by pointing out and fetching  the number for me… There were eight counters and it seemed they could serves every kind of services, there was also a LED board displaying the number in turn, one of the attendant even shouted the number: “C  cento ventisette…” (C 127).  “O boy, I’m the C165!” An almost-an-hour waiting! 

            Number is also become crucial at the meat division of  the supermarket.  My room- tenant-fellow  and I decided to walk around the neighborhood one evening.  After a cone of lemon-chocolate gelato and a pizzatte con funghi (mini pizza with mushroom) for each of us, we ended up in one of the major supermarket.  The meat department provides also the cooked meat and chicken.  One man also the customer who overestimated us as Erasmus scholars suggested us to try some cooked meal served.  Hmmm everything looks delicious. My friend decided to buy the chicken. Since, She has ever lived in Catania before, she knew what to do next,  she went to fetch the number.  The attendant will only serve you as your number appears on the LED board.

            It also happened in the Kebab kiosk the next afternoon.   Right after the door of the little shop was the preparation desk of kebab completed with three big meat being grilled. Yummy!  So, I thought I just asked for a kebab.  But then a woman said… “biglietto….cashier…!”  Oh, I had to get the ticket (the number) at the cashier and pay for my meal.   After that, I had to wait… At the little shop, the number systems also run… OK my number is 58… Cinquata-otto.  I placed the ticket bearing the number and the order.  After three kebabs, the attendant came to me.  She asked something I considered… “would you like to put all the vegetables inside the kebab?”  I already planned my answers… “Senza Cipola” (without Onion)”.  She prepared the kebab, and I heard something sounded like “portare via?” (take away?).  I nodded… Si… My kebab then wrapped nicely!

            The number brings fairness… First come, first served…  Fairness is not always fun… Yet, I learned my lesson…  Have you got your number? Hope, your number suits you well!

 

(*) All names have been omitted due to privacy causes

 

Sunday, October 26, 2008

An hour had been added to my life!

Thanks to the day light saving time

Reader’s Digest in the Family: A Note

It was my grandfather who introduced me to Reader’s Digest, decades ago. My grandfather a former officer in the forestry ministry was known for his faith, honesty, kindness, wide perspectives and love for books. He read, wrote and spoke Batak, Indonesian Language, Dutch and English.

When grandfather was very sick, my mother, my father and I visited him. Back then, he lived with grandmother in Pematang Siantar, a nice tender weathered city in North Sumatra. Then one day, I opened one of grandpa’s book cabinets and found dozens of Reader’s Digest. All in a very good condition. I picked one, read it and immediately fell in love with it.

His son – my mom’s eldest brother – a kind-hearted and honorable vet, also had the same taste. I discovered that my dearest uncle also read Reader’s Digest. When paying my last respect and in grieve letting him enter the heavenly eternity, I saw stacks of Reader’s Digest in his study. As a memento, I picked one.

I must admit that I am not a truly fervent Reader’s Digest subscriber. There was time, that I bought the whole year issues of Reader’s Digest Asian Edition, but many more (years) I didn’t even buy a single copy. But even if I didn’t buy a copy, I sometimes re-read my Reader’s Digest collection and once again (and again) amazed by its wonderful stories and humors.

Below is one of my favorite short piece. I had typed and printed it. And for years kept it hanging on my room’s wall. Now, I just want to share it with you...

Check the article on http://net-abbey.org/nogod.htm (later I found it became someone else's favorite too)

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THERE IS NO GOD

By Jim Bishop

There is no God. All the wonders around us are accidental.

No Almighty hand made a thousand-billion stars. They made themselves.

No power keeps them on their steady course. The earth spins itself to keep the oceans from falling off towards the sun. Infants teach themselves to cry when they are hungry or hurt. A small invented itself so that we could extract digitalis for sick hearts.

The earth gave itself day and night, tilted itself so that we get seasons. Without magnetic poles, man would be unable to navigate the trackless oceans of water and air, but they just grew there.

How about the sugar thermostat in the pancreas? It maintains a level of sugar in blood sufficient for energy. Without it, all of us would fall into coma and die.

Why does snow sit on mountain-tops waiting for the warm spring sun to melt it at just the right time for young crops in the farm below to drink? A very beautiful accident!

The human heart will beat for 70 to 80 years without faltering. How does it get sufficient rest between beats? A kidney will filter poison from the blood, and leave good thing alone. How does it know one from he other?

Who gave the human tongue flexibility to form words, and brain to understand them but denied it to all other animals?

Who showed a womb how to take the love of two persons and keep splitting tiny ovum until, in a time a baby would have the proper number of fingers, eyes, and ears and hair in the right places, and come into the world when it is strong enough to sustain life?

There is no God?

Reader's Digest, December 1993

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On Friday, June 13^rd 2008, I attended the launching of Madame Margaretha Siahaan’s book “The Mirror of Life”. Miss Marga was the one who introduced me to the community of Monday Manna. The book compiled her life experiences, thoughts and wishes. The book both revealed the dark and bright of herself. Yet, genuinely Miss Marga admitted that the book was not a form of revenge. It was simply a compilation of her perspectives, a description of her life from with others can learn. The book was dedicated to God, family, friends and to those who were in opposition to her.

The launching itself went successfully, taken the new modern Gramedia Book Store at Matraman, East Jakarta as the venue. Miss Marga’s friends, colleagues, family and also publishing crews gathered to celebrate friendships. What a superb bunch of buddies ranged from mid-twenties to mid-ages yet shared the same exhilaration. Among her friends dated from her university life in the mid of the 70’s, was Mrs. Meutia Farida Hatta Swasono, state minister of woman empowerment. She was Miss Marga’s senior in the university and kindly wrote a foreword in the book. She also gave speech in the launching ceremony.

With her soft and nice voice, Mrs. Meutia congratulated Butet (that was Miss Marga’s nickname) and commented the book. As an anthropologist, Butet was accustomed to observed people, adding her talent to that mannerism and born the book. Later – in other section of the ceremony – Mr. Ahmed Kurnia from the BUMN magazine – the moderator reckoned that anthropologists (take Miss Marga and Mrs. Meutia as examples) tend to write descriptions.

At the end of her speech, Mrs. Meutia as national officer included a phrase that sounded like common ‘propaganda’. But later, while I pondered, it became reasonable... After extended her expectation to read another and another books of Miss Marga, she then asked the audiences to work together to educate woman.

By educating woman, we helps man as well – She said... Smart woman eases the life of man. Man no longer needs to train woman. As simple as that. Education for woman doesn’t mean to take woman at the higher level than man or to dominate over him. It makes woman as man’s best counterpart not precisely equivalent but perfectly matched. Well-educated woman will be an equally qualified partner for man. She will be an active companion with whom man can discuss over all matters and work side by side to lead and to rear the young - with much more sophisticated intellect – generation.