Week 4: Famous Last Words--Marco Polo

"I have not told half of what I saw."

This past Friday, we over here at OUA took a class overnight field trip to Padova.  And while Padova was awesome (I got to see the beautiful Scrovegni Chapel painted by Giotto and the Basilica of Saint Anthony--which of course holds St. Anthony's voice box, tongue, and jaw--as well as Galileo's house and other sites), Venice was beyond description!  Especially seeing as I got to go during CARNEVALE!!!

We didn't get into Venice until Saturday afternoon; once there, we stopped at our hostel where our hostess was kind enough to leave us a bottle of Proseco--thus the first thing we got to do in Venice was stare over the streets from our fake flower-y balcony while toasting our study abroad experience and drinking wine from fancy flutes.  Not bad.  Not bad at all. . .


So after meeting up with the rest of our group at the train station on the main island of Venice, we got our first view of the Grand Canal (see the top picture here).  That image is what you see when you step out of the train station.  That gorgeous view.  Gahhhh!!  It's just so amazing, so beyond words. . .

We then headed to get combo tickets for the buses and waterbuses, and we took a waterbus to see the beautiful islands of Murano and Burano.  Murano, famous for its glass blowers and glass sculptors, had so many beautiful shops and colorful products that it was just. . . just. . . *sigh*.  Beautiful.  Here are some example displays (I especially love all the glass with glass fish inside--don't know how they do it, but it's freaking adorable!)

Unfortunately there were no grand parties or big going-ons Saturday night in St. Mark's Square, but we were able to explore the city as it was lit up with twinkling lights and scattered with people in fancy costumes.  A waterbus back to the mainland and a short hike back to the hostel, and one day was sadly gone. . .

But of course, less than 5 hours after I went to sleep, I woke up and caught a bus back to the island in order to see the sunset over the Grand Canal.  (Even if it wasn't the most spectacular sunrise, it was totally worth it.)  A small group of us then wandered around the city on foot, walking through empty roads and piazzas and following whatever arrows and signs we could find to get to Saint Mark's.  A few wrong turns and dead ends may have been found, but being able to just amble through the city before the festivities began was so cool.  Especially since when I wandered with a friend back through the same streets later, we got to see the streets come to life--the contrast was fantastic and awe-inspiring.

We saw the parade of costumed Venetians with their percussion and trumpets reverberating off the walls of St. Mark's Square, we saw various people dressed to the nines in various bright and gorgeous outfits, and we saw-we saw--soooooo muchhhhh stufffff.  There was an ice rink in a random piazza off the beaten path, there were strings of musicians parading through main thoroughfares and back streets, gorgeous churches and monumental buildings around every corner, an amazing music box which you cranked to play bright and festive songs.  We found a small pizza shop with great character and groovy tunes, and wandered across as many bridges as we could find, haha.  We got to go into a shop where they made miniature glass sculptures and witnessed the owners sculpting a turtle and a bird right in front of us.  A corner was turned to find a random and unexpected park, and before that we saw couples enjoying the scenery from gondolas as their gondoliers sang to them while passing below.  There was just so much that happened that I cannot tell even half of it. . .

Therefore I will leave you with some images of people who went all-out in dressing up for Carnevale--which I, for one, much appreciate.  Especially since they usually couldn't make it two feet before being stopped once again by a crowd of tourists trying for pictures, haha.

Hope everyone is having a fantastic semester!  Buona giornata!!!  :)



Image Information.  All of these images are personal photos, taken on Feb. 7th and 8th, 2015.  In order (left to right if on same line), these are photographs of:  the Grand Canal as seen from the Venice train station; Saint Mark's Square, Venice; Murano glass on Murano; Murano glass in a shop at Saint Mark's; a canal on the island of Burano; a canal on the island of Venice; Venice's Rialto Bridge; a typical Venetian Carnevale costume; Nefertiti Venetian Carnevale costume; a white reaper Venetian Carnevale costume.

Week 4: Extra Reading Diary--Extra, Extra, Read All About It! (Voyages of Sindbad)

Rather than an essay this week, I decided to read the Voyages of Sindbad, a continuation of this week's posts on the Arabian Nights.  So, yeah, here comes some fun!!!

1-2. First Voyage (The Island)- He actually wised up and didn't spend all of his parents' fortune?  Say whatttt.  A spoiled but somewhat realistic rich kid; go figure.  (Jk, people, jk.  I base this stereotyped view off of countless TV shows and various movies, not knowledge of rich kids irl.  I apologize for any offense this may cause.)  This is a whale of a tale, of a tale or two!  But seriously, how big is that whale?  I mean, for a whale to be taken to be an island it has to be ginormous. . . Also, poor Sindbad, left behind in the sea.  :(   But at least he managed to find an actual island afterwards.  I really have to learn to retain how long a cubit is.  I keep looking it up and then immediately forgetting, which is no help, at all.  (It's 45.72 cm or 18 in, if you were wondering.)  Mmmmmm, ginger.  Love that stuff. . . Additionally, am I the only one who imagines a sequined jacket or other article of clothing every time they mention sequins, as in their money?  'K.

3-4. Second Voyage (Valley of Diamonds)- An empty island full of fruit trees and fresh spring water. . . can I live there?  Pretty please?  And how often is Sindbad just going to be forgotten by his sailing companions--is he really that forgettable?  Poor dude.  A giant white ball alone on an island. . . this is just a guess, but based off of the image of a giant bird at the top, could this be a giant egg?  (A crazy leap of logic, I know.)  Guys, it's a bird egg--a roc egg to be exact.  Score one for Jessica!
  Is it worth the diamonds to be stuck on an island full of giant snakes?  Depends, are they man-eating snakes?  Probs, since they're like titanoboa size.  Nope, not worth it. . . My vegetarian sister would be horrified by this story--especially since she hates snakes and such.  So rhinos skewer and carry around elephants, only to be blinded by their blood and fall helplessly to the ground, where both are carried off to be the meal of a roc?  Did not see that one coming.

5-7. Third Voyage (The Giant)- How much wealth has Sindbad accumulated at this point?  Like, dang.  Also, I was prepared for a giant and the first thing we encounter is a plethora of hairy dwarves.  Totally unexpected.  Oooooohhhhh, castle.  Here we go; human bones and spits to roast humans.  This must be where the dreaded giant comes in. . . Just let him roast your captain without a fight.  Goodness, what terrible pirates you all would make.  (Also, is anyone else reminded of Odysseus and Polyphemus here?  They even blinded the giant's eye with a red-hot stake!  And the giants throw rocks at the merchants as they sail away.  Deja vu, man.)  And now Sindbad encounters another titanoboa.  tough luck, dude.  Who knew turbans made such great signal flags?  Why is everyone so nice in keeping the goods and profits of Sindbad to give to him/his family?  Where are all the greedy, selfish merchants of the world?!

8-10. Fourth Voyage (The Wife)- Stop sailing, Sindbad!  It never goes well for you, at least not at first.  And it's not like you aren't rich enough already. . .  At least the entire ship sank this time, rather than just leaving you behind again.  Wooooo, cannibals!  I was hoping there might be more man-eaters in these stories.  One is never enough, lol.  I could totally live off of coconuts; they are deliciousness incarnate.  Luckiest.  Guy.  Ever.  (Now I'm sensing a bit of A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court.  Anyone else?)  Burying the living spouse with the newly dead one--now that's not a practice you hear about every day.  I, too, am horrified.  Poor Sindbad, being buried alive next to his not-so-dear wife.  Okay, not so poor Sindbad.  He just murdered a woman who was also buried alive, just so he could live a little longer.  Bad, homicidal Sindbad!  Bad!  And then he just escapes the crypt with all the jewels and riches buried down there and hops on another ship home--goodness, just how lucky is this guy?!?!

Ta-dahhhhh!!!  That's all folks!  I'm sure this was quite an experience to read, especially if you haven't read or heard the stories before--these comments probably make the most sense on a side-note, read-them-as-you-read-the-voyages basis.   Have a wonderful weekend!

Ciao!  Ciao!!  Ciao!!!



Image Information. Scroll Saw Whale, carving by M2Grzegorczyk.  DeviantArt.
Bird of Prey Sculpture, carved by David Gross, 2003.  Geograph.org.uk.

Week 4: Storytelling--Locked in a Storm

 

I am but a bird, passed as a vibrant and exotic trinket between the hands of various masters.  Some are kind, some are not.  Forever locked in a cage, I wait for the day when my imprisonment may end and I may once again fly freely through the skies.  Yet, as a parrot of remarkable skill and memory, I fear that day may never come.

Not long past, I was sold once again by a merchant in the streets.  My new master was a jealous and distrustful man, always believing the worst in others.  These sentiments extended to his wife, a woman who was of perfect beauty and grace.  Because I was known as a knowing and cunning bird, a bird of remarkable memory who forgot not what I saw, he had purchased me at the market in order to keep an eye on his lovely wife in the times of his absence.  And so I did.

On my master's first journey, while he traveled to far lands to sell his gleaming wares, I stayed behind in a cage within the mistress's room.  Not knowing of my talents, she proceeded to treat me as nothing more than another decoration, something to brighten her abode.  She never suspected that I might be a spy in her midst and so carried on with those actions which would subject her to my master's wrath.

You see, the mistress was in love with a young Turkish man, a man as handsome and decorous as she was beautiful and graceful.  Together they spent their days feasting and their nights lying in bed, never leaving the side of the other in these stolen moments of time.  If not for the adulterous nature of their relationship, there could not have been a more true and fulfilling love.

But unfortunately my master soon returned, and I was brought before him to speak of his wife's pastimes in his absence.  My very nature required that I dutifully impart to my master the truth of the mistress's actions, and so I told him thus:  "Thy wife has a friend, a young Turkish man, with him she consorted with every day and night over thy absence.  This I swear to you is true."

Being the jealous man he was, master did not react well to the knowledge of his wife's infidelity.  Ired, red-faced with rage, he ordered his wife come into the room and beat her unmercifully until she could take no more.  The pounding of his fists against her soft flesh resounded like thunder, his slaps cracked like lightning.  Tears fell like rain from his wife's eyes, cinched tight against the raging storm.  I looked away, not able to witness the sudden violence that my accusations had brought.  Then, his anger sated, my master then left to spend the night with a business companion, wasting the hours away with lewd entertainment.

Mistress slowly rose from her crumpled position on the ground, a cut streaked with blood and various purpling bruises marring the porcelain complexion of her face.  Anger, fear, and betrayal burned in equal parts within her eyes, disappearing behind a blank wall as she shuttered her emotions and gathered her countenance.  As I watched on from my own prison with sympathetic gaze, she called to herself her maid servants.  Before I could hear what was said, I was carried from the room back into the mistress's bedroom.

Later that night, I awoke to the sounds of crashing thunder, seeming as if it arose from right beside me.  My cage had been covered with a thin, red blanket, but through it I witnessed flashes of lightning which tinged my prison scarlet as blood with their unholy light.  The shutters on the window behind me banged from the violence of the storm, wind entering the bedchamber and causing the cover to rustle and blow against my cage.  The gusts even sent spatters of rain into the room, some of which wet the sheet around me.  I could hear nothing of the mistress over the cacophony of noise and believed that she was nestled into bed, recovering from her beating and sheltered from the storm.

Alas, what was I to tell my master when called upon the following day to speak of his wife's repast the night before, when I knew not her actions?  Even fearing his wrath, I could tell of naught but the truth.  "I beg your pardon, master, but I could neither see nor hear the mistress due to the storm that raged through the night.  Forgive me, but I have naught to report."

As I spoke, the shutters on mistress's eyes raised briefly, and I saw there a flash of pain and sorrow while unshed tears glistened on her lashes.  But then the moment passed, and her eyes once again seemed impenetrable and the tears disappeared on a blink.  A flurry of movement drew my attention back to the master, who roughly grabbed hold of my cage and shook it harshly.  Fear filled my being as he shouted through the clatter of the bars.  "The summer tide is at hand!  Do not speak to me of storms and rain when none could have come.  Tell me what has passed!"

Feathers ruffled and shaking with terror, I spoke again of what had occurred; "My vision was obscured by cloth and flashing lightning, my hearing overwhelmed by rumbling thunder, and the wind and rain kept me huddled in my cage.  All this kept me from witnessing any behavior of your wife.  This much I swear to you is true."

At this my master grew more agitated, veins pulsing along his forehead and his throat.  A red flush stole over his face, and his eyes grew bloodshot.  A key was thrust into the lock of my prison, and the door flung open hastily.  The freedom I desired was so near it could be tasted, and yet I knew even then that I would never fly free from this prison.  A meaty fist clenched around my body, squeezing like a vice.  I could not gain my breath, and my vision began to gray.  I looked one final time towards the mistress, whose eyes were once again cluttered with a sorrowful emotion and endless pain.  A tear tracked down her purple and white cheek, and then all was black as midnight. . .

Author's Note.  "This parrot is no more.  It has ceased to be.  It's expired and gone to meet its maker. . . This is an ex-parrot."  Just a bit of humor to brighten up this hopelessly depressing story.  Sorry 'bout that one.  In any case, I decided to tell the story of "The Merchant and the Parrot," from the Arabian Nights unit. I told it from the point of view of the parrot just to give it a bit of a twist and a different perspective.  In this tale, a merchant buys a parrot to tell him whether his wife is cheating on him in his absence.  The parrot is eventually deceived by the wife when she has her maids simulate a storm around the parrot's cage.  No longer believing the parrot is telling the truth when he tells the merchant his wife is cheating, the merchant kills the parrot in anger.  Then, when he discovers that his wife really did cheat and the parrot was telling the truth, he kills the wife and the Turk she cheated with.  (Since I told this story from the point of view of the parrot, though, you don't get that last murderous section of the tale.)  Basically, a happy story all around.  Ciao!

(Sorry for the obligatory Monty Python quote, but it was necessary--I mean, this story had an actual dead parrot sooooo. . . yeah.  You're welcome.)

Image Information.  Parrot in Bloom; photo by russavia, 2012.  Wikimedia.
Amazona aestiva; photo by Penando .... DSCF2141a, 2006.  Flickr.

Bibliography.  "The Story of the Parrot" from The Arabian Nights' Entertainments.  By Andrew Lang, illustrated by H.J. Ford (1898).  Untextbook.

Week 4: Reading Diary--Will the real Aladdin please stand up?

Now it is time to read probably the most famous of the tales from the Arabian Nights.  Woooo!  Aladdin here we comeeeeeee!!!!!

11-16.  Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp- It's weird to think of Aladdin as being idle and having a family, what with the whole Disney, street-rat, Robin Hood-ish appeal.  Awwwwwww!  Where's the giant talking tiger head?   Just a trap door with a brass ring?  For shame, Sheherazade!  Though the magic ring was a nice addition, haha--my precioussss. . .

There's a lot of fainting in this story; it reminds me of Dante in The Inferno (an odd comparison, but true).  Also, Aladdin is kind of just a lucky bastard in this story.  No skill or talent, just a propensity for genies and eventual good luck.  Disney definitely took some major liberties with this tale.  Additionally, Aladdin is a peeping Tom, something I never would have guessed.  And he totally stole another man's wife and bed on their wedding night, which is just-just-. . .so odd. . .

Ahh, the changes that greed and lust can breed in a man.  And wealth, the greatest of all aphrodisiacs!  Yet, somehow, through all of this, Aladdin remains modest and courteous?  Psssshht.  What Aladdin is this?  Haha.  (Also, anybody else surprised by the lengthy time scale for this story?  Something like a decade or more has passed by here. . .)

To think that it is an evil magician and not the evil sorcerer-vizir Jafar that will take Aladdin down. . . *sigh*  Disney totally ruined this story for me.  (P.S.  Can you tell I love Disney movies?)  The whole China-Africa thing is also really weirding me out. . .

Go girl power!  Even hostile, unable-to-bear-her-company, harsh girl power!  Woo!  And you've gotta love a good poisoning--only in stories, of course. . .

An even eviler brother magician?  Whatttt?!  And such a callous murder just placed there so matter-of-factly.  Goodness, this tale just gets better and better.  Though the ending is definitely more abrupt than expected, what with the genie just giving all the deceptions away like that and Aladdin murdering another sorcerer.


Well, that's it folks, another week of reading diaries come and gone!  I bid you adieu!



Image Information.  Magic-Lamp, photomontage by Rachidbenour.  DeviantArt.

Week 4: Reading Diary--Oh, I come from a land, from a faraway place. . .

". . . Where the caravan camels roam, where it's flat and immense, and the heat is intense; it's barbaric, but hey, it's home!"

I'd apologize, but an Aladdin reference was necessary for this post on Arabian Nights.  But now, on with the show!  Arabian niiiiiiights, like Arabian daaaaaays. . .

1.  Scheherazade- First off, I'd just like to say that if my life depended on telling entertaining stories, I might live for like a week max--probably only a day or two.  There are only so many tales you can tell about dragons and lightsabers and knights and horned penguins, you know?  In any case, you've gotta love a heroine in a tale who is clever, courageous, and educated. . . Oh, yeah, and beautiful, though that's placed almost as an afterthought.  Love it!  Though I definitely would not recommend that women place themselves in mortal danger willingly on a daily basis; don't do it, women of the world.  But do tell me a charming story, Scheherazade!

2.  The Merchant and the Genie- What's the point of a sabre if it's not a lightsaber?  Goodness.  Regardless, this was an interesting story.  Firstly, I love that the merchant actually kept his word--it is not a cowardly man who can voluntarily go forth and greet his death.  Secondly, I find the type of man who can sit and watch a man die at the hands of an evil genie for curiosity's sake sick and intriguing and totally realistic (that would probably be me, too. . .).  At least they're trying to help the guy, I guess.  Though this story is totally too complicated for me to ever come up with, haha.

3.  The First Old Man and the Hind- I am flashing back to Io, possibly my favorite mournful person-turned-cow.  Low away, oh pitiable, innocent, transformed humans!  Perhaps you shall be saved!  Unless you are a wicked witch, then a pitiable hind you shall remain.


4.  The Second Old Man, and Two Black Dogs- (Side note:  When I first saw the image of the sequins on this page, I thought they were cookies--granted, I was at the time eating similar-looking square cookies, but this is still so sad, haha.)  Everyone in these stories is so nice and fair. . . Well, for the most part.  But seriously, this is a great departure from the innocent victims and shameless adultery found throughout Ovid's Metamorphoses.  Like, woahhhhh.  Also, I think it would be fun to be a dog for a while; not ten years a while, but maybe like a few days or weeks.  I could definitely think of worse punishments, that's for sure.  And so many happy endings! What?!

5.  The Fisherman- Yay, another genie!  And this one comes with a pot!  We are getting closer and closer to the rubbing of a lamp here. . . But props to the fisherman for being an actual genius!

6.  The Greek King and the Physician Douban- Stories within stories within stories, changing perspectives, a variety of characters--Scheherazade definitely deserves all the accolades she receives in the opening of these tales.  I couldn't pull something like this off if I tried.  Granted, I also wouldn't get myself into a situation like this, but let's not split hairs.

7.  The Parrot and the Ogress-  Poor parrot!   Killed for telling the apparent truth because of a vindictive wife!  And so the story goes, time and time again. . . Though not often with parrots.  Also, does the vizir in this story within a story remind anyone else of Jafar?  No?  Just me?  'K.  But as for the ogress story, I don't think I have ever heard a tale about a beautiful ogress--aren't they supposed to be hideous and all?  (Except for maybe Fiona?)  And what was with her suddenly just letting her prey go?  And why is the vizir so evil just because he couldn't keep up with a youthful and rash prince?  So many questions about this one. . . It makes sense that it was told by an evil and avaricious vizir, haha.

8.  The Physician's Revenge- Again with people wanting to witness another person's beheading, tsk tsk!  It's like the Colosseum up in here!  Though if I heard that a dead man's head could talk, I would totally be present; and while I wouldn't personally do it, I kinda agree with the king that that would be a good reason to kill a person even if he was innocent.  Well, maybe not a good reason, but and intriguing one, for sure.


9.  The Sultan and the Fish- I really want to go fishing now; perhaps I can catch some fascinating fish.  Or nothing.  Yeah, probably nothing.  Maybe a tire or some seaweed.  Or a suitcase--that's happened before. . .

10,  The Young King of the Black Isles- A happy ending for you, and for you, and, yes, for youi too!  It's like Oprah up in here, haha.  But again, I really love the clever characters and simple yet somehow simultaneously complicated plots.  And everybody is just so friendly!  Happily ever afters for everyone!!!

Until you read again, CIAO!


Image Information.  Camel ride in the Thar desert; photo by Flicka, 2005.  Wikipedia.
Man and his dogs; photo by James Jin, 2005.  Flickr.
Types of Koi; photo by Stan Shebs, 2001.  Wikipedia.